If nothing else, that easy leap definitely confirms in Jacob's mind that this is like with Connor. It's exciting, not to mention a bit frightening. What kind of templar unit can grab this many assassins and gather them without any of them having a clue how they came to be in this place?

Jacob opened his mouth to reveal his name, and then he just stops. Not a word. Congrats Altair, you managed to shut up Jacob. For a minute.

"You're Altair? They Altair? I... That's entirely not what I expected," he admits, still just kind of staring, wide eyed, blinking. "Uhmm, right. Name. Jacob Frye. London. 1868."