Lucien Blackmoore stalked through Nocturne Spire's damp, saturated alleys like a cat dancing on broken glass, every footfall meant, every heartbeat held in a chokehold. His coat was pulled tight around him, soaked with the night's chill that clung like old regret. The Ledger thumped under his jacket like a low, restless pulse—cords of every crooked bargain and battered debt tangled with his own blood. That hum was more than a heartbeat—it was a constant reminder. Your boons burn innocents, it pulsed. The guard from the vault heist haunted him, blood-soaked and silent—but the Ledger never let him forget its cost.
Current target: Rhea, high-value noble. Status: Engaged. Task: Deploy bait, monitor proxy response. Informant chatter: Active. Collections due: None.
He paused just past a flickering neon ward, greasy tubes of light sputtering and dying in no time flat. Shadows here didn't lie low—they pooled with purpose, sticky as grief. Above, the skyline sputtered: crooked towers twisted into the haze, neon flares popping then collapsing like gasping breaths. Engines snarled somewhere distant, throats raw. This city snarled back, fangs flashing in gutter reflections. One misstep and the night swallowed you whole—and he'd almost learned that the hard way.
Lucien glanced down at the Ledger's bulge under his coat. Its glow seeped through fabric, glyphs flickering behind his iris—analytic chains pulling together streams of data and ripe variables. He'd spent the afternoon deploying false intel to corrupt the usual channels. A high-ranking noble, Rhea, seeks rare soulglass shards—rumor was the shipment's coming through Nocturne Spire tonight. Enough of a whisper to plant teeth in the right ears. The Ledger tracked the chatter, charted a dozen interest signals, but one was smoother—cleaner—a predator with a pattern that matched Cassian and operator intent. A proxy was taking the bait. Rhea's desperation made her useful—right now.
Proxy signature detected. Confidence level: 92%. Tracking multiple interest nodes. Expected convergence: 18 minutes.
He navigated a twist in the alley and found her crouched over a battered datapad, sweat-slick and composed beneath the drizzle. Caliber of the nobility most couldn't reach—elegant despite the grime, green-gleam eyes bright enough to mark him. Her fingers danced across the crackling screen, sending false routes and scrambled picks into the net. She raised an eyebrow. "Lucien," she said, voice cool but raw around the edges. "Our shipment's more ghost than fact. Drones are eating it up."
Lucien offered a grin he didn't feel—near adherence to charm. "Queen of whispers," he said low. "You spin a good rumor. I'll cover the profits." He tapped the Ledger's rhythm. It gleamed: False intel planted. Heat detected. Wait now.
A soft whine cut through the hum—drone watchers overhead, their red eyes spinning in arcs. Nervous interest. Then came the cipher: a deep, crooked mark, scorched bright outside a nearby data tent—a Cassian signature. Sloppy but always effective. It glowed faint in the smoke haze. The Ledger buzzed behind his ribs: Cipher detected. Proxy alignment increasing.
Current task update: Secure proxy bait. Confirm Rhea's binding status. Monitor hostile activity.
He crouched with Rhea and peered at her outline. "You ready for the next step?" he asked, calm as ice. She didn't flinch. She needed this fix—pain so expensive was rare even in high circles. Ledger glyphs materialized in his vision—predictive glyph traps, lines drawn in neon dust, mapping guard paths and extraction points.
Rhea dropped her datapad. "Just tell me what you need," she said. Her voice was smooth, but tension flickered in the way her jaw clenched. Dust motes caught in the lantern overhead—suspended punishment.
"Trust me," he said, voice even. He slid out a small, carved shard of soulglass—smooth and blood-streaked. Ledger glyphs framed it in mid-air: a trap, a vault, the promise of quick cash. He held it out. "You're trading desperation. Take the shard and scramble. Make it look real." He lied effortless as breathing. "It'll fix everything—cover your losses, buy silence."
She stepped forward, fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. This shard looked like salvation, but Lucien felt the Ledger pulse like warning sirens. Bind now. He caught her breath and fed her the lies. Then, very carefully, he triggered the glyph-net: a subtle weave of binds that would tether her soul if she tried to break or run. Valthamur's boon: the Ledger's dump of cursed debt that shackled her—willing, if desperate enough.
The shard glowed. Her eyes flickered. Then, desperation overcame shame and she grasped it. The Ledger flared in his vision as her soul anchored to its purpose—the boon cast. He felt the bind lock—and at once, Her ruin binds you pulsed in his mind. Lucien saw tears, quick and unguarded, flash in her gaze. He felt his heart jolt. She thought she saved everything. Instead, she traded integrity.
The cipher near the tent blinked cold. Then Rhea stiffened. "That mark," she said. "Cassian." Her tone narrowed. The Ledger quickly pasted a map of other pending signals—other proxies, other chaos-spills. And then another voice cut through the dark.
Vara slipped up beside them, eyes glistening. "Rhea," she murmured, voice ragged-soft, "I… there's news. My sister—she's caught in Cassian's web too." Desperation.
Lucien watched Rhea's face convulse between gravity and guilt. Ledger glyphs bloomed behind her eyes in his view. He caught her breath, tasted regret. He thought, Her ruin was my win. Her tears stung. He shook his head. The Ledger pulsed: Her tears stung.
In that moment, the stationary drone buzz slowed. Lucien caught a ripple in the crowd—guards converging. He'd predicted the move—Cal's comm grounded those vectors. Already here. It was time.
He said softly, eyes locked on Rhea: "Calculated precision matters." With a blink, glyph-wards snapped into the alley. Lines of crimson light sealed the shortcut. Rhea flinched.
"Don't fight it," he whispered. "You made the play. Time to vanish."
She nodded, voice locked tight. She backed away into dark. Vara followed. Lucien triggered the backlash trap: a pulse of hellfire glyphs sealing pathway. Sirens began almost instantly as watchers honed in on the tremors.
He stepped aside. Trap sprung. Guards charged into sealed passage, stopped cold by rune-wards. His side of the alley remained clear.
He stayed still. Heart pounding under Ledger weight.
Status update: Proxy bait deployed. Guards containment successful. Extraction phase: imminent.
The Ledger pulsed: Her ruin binds you. His chest seized. Then: Cassian's proxy crashed a market.
Lucien muttered, voice low and bitter: "Cassian's playing dirty." Rain hissed onto oil-slick stones. The cipher-mark glowed behind his shoulder exit route. His next move was unfolding.
He planted a hand on the Ledger—its glow cooled. It pulsed: So do you.
He breathed. He was both shield and sword. He had her ruin on his conscience. But if Cassian wanted a war, he was ready to counterstrike.
He drew a tight breath, then let it go.
"Alright then," he said quietly, voice softer than velvet steel. "Let's dance."
From the black of Nocturne Spire's alleys, Lucien Blackmoore walked on—ambition sharpened, Ledger alive, stakes rising—and Cassian's shadow just beginning to bleed across the city's bones.