Jacob makes a soft noise, a huff of annoyance at the veal comment. When will people stop telling him he's a child? When he's thirty? He might not live that long. Assassins don't normally see old age, and while there's no Templars here, there's plenty of other things that could kill him. Plenty of people too, for that matter.

"Something told me you two had history." Jacob says, recalling the fight. Going down into the flooded forgotten rooms had been adventure enough, but there's nothing like a fight for your life to make things interesting.

He takes another swallow of the drink, eyes moving over the other man. He doesn't believe it. He watched the two of them. Chronos made a good attempt at killing Cold, no doubt about it, but he stopped short at the crucial moment. Cold held back too, wouldn't let Jacob finish the job. As if something held them both back.

Jacob shakes his head just to dislodge that thought. It's not really his business and ninety nine times out of a hundred he doesn't care one whit about anyone else's terrible past.

But... well. He'd put money on the fact that neither of these two is ever going to kill the other. They talk a good talk, go through all the motions but he'd seen it first hand. Neither of them really had the bottle to carry it out.

"I doubt it. You both hold back, saw it myself. If you meant to do it, you would have done it by now."