Lucien Blackmoore drifted through Nocturne Spire's underbelly like he already knew how the story ended. The highborn market here wasn't slick with neon like the Undergleam. It breathed a slower kind of rot—one that dressed itself in elegance, then reeked of denial. Light from a nearby 2187 holo-ad pulsed green and sterile, blinking out a pitch for "Oblivion-Grade Sleep Therapy" while security drones floated overhead, too polished, too quiet.
He'd already mapped the guards. Two on rotation, fifteen-second loops. A third lingered by the alley choke point, lazy stance, favoring his left leg. Weak ankle. Lucien filed it away.
The Silent Ledger pulsed once, a slow crimson throb against his ribs. He tapped the watch on his wrist, once… twice… a rhythm to keep his thoughts aligned.
Rhea stood near the merchant's arch, wrapped in midnight silk, posture too upright for a place like this. She didn't belong here and didn't care who noticed. That was her whole armor—money that still thought it could outrun consequence. Her face was carved from restraint, but her eyes hadn't gotten the message. They betrayed the pressure, the quiet dread curling in her chest like smoke before the fire.
Lucien stepped up beside her, not bothering with a greeting. Just presence. The Ledger's crimson interface opened in his mind's eye—analytics scrolling like patient sharks. Her desperation tracked at eighty-six percent. Margin of success: ninety-one.
"Rhea, darling," Lucien said, smooth and slow, like he was already holding her signature. "This city's a busted slot machine with all the levers snapped off. But me? I'm the winning ticket. Sign with me and I'll leash the nightmares. Might not be forever, but it'll buy you time. Breathing room."
Her jaw tensed, just slightly. "Your deals break people, Lucien," she murmured. "Don't act like I haven't seen the aftermath."
Lucien didn't flinch. Just folded his arms, letting the green-white light slice across the red of his coat. "Break them? Maybe. But bleeding out slow's worse. Your family's held together with borrowed prayers and IOUs dressed as favors. Sign with me, and at least the bleeding stops."
She turned toward him, just enough to let her words land harder. "I'm not afraid of falling."
He leaned in, a breath closer, just enough so his presence could settle under her skin. "Good. Because I'm the one holding the ladder."
Behind them, one of the sidewall holo-panels stuttered and blinked. A glyph flared for half a second—wrong shape, wrong energy. Sloppy cipher. Not his. Lucien's gaze narrowed. Cassian's fingerprints.
Rhea noticed. Her voice dropped low. "They call you the devil in crimson. Say your contracts twist people. Maybe I should walk."
Lucien offered a smirk that didn't bother pretending warmth. "Walk if you want. But out there, all you'll find is mouths with teeth and debts that chew. I'm not selling salvation. I'm selling leverage. And I always collect."
The Ledger's interface rippled once. Her trust wanes. Lucien tapped the datapad against his palm, gently, a deliberate rhythm.
He drew the contract from his coat. The glow of it was cold, veins of script moving beneath the surface like living ink—Lex Aeterna, etched in soul-ink, pulsing with promise and demand.
"Sign it," he said, laying the stylus across the contract. "And the collectors vanish. No more threats. No more fear. Just silence."
Rhea's fingers hovered. Her expression stayed unreadable, but her breathing had changed—shallow, quiet.
"What do I lose?" she asked.
"A sliver," he said. "You won't miss it. Like trimming a nail. Except this keeps the devils on the other side of the glass."
The Ledger hummed against his ribs. Close. Ready.
Rhea drew a breath that felt like it scraped. "They say the Crimson Broker burns the ones who buy too fast."
Lucien shrugged, eyes locked on hers. "People say a lot of things. Makes them feel like they matter. You want peace? Wrong dealer. You want to survive long enough to buy some time? Sign."
His watch clicked once more. The Ledger's glyphs pulsed—red, then deeper, almost black. It was watching.
She signed.
The signature flared, then sealed. The page dimmed like a candle had been snuffed out. The contract vanished into the pad with a quiet hiss.
Rhea met his eyes. "Don't make me regret this."
Lucien's grin didn't soften. "Regret's for the dead and the drunk. You're neither. Yet."
He turned on his heel, slipped through the crowd like water finding the cracks. Behind him, Rhea stood in the holo-glow, watching the contract's warmth fade from her hand.
Just past the plaza, tucked between a food stall and a gate shrouded in plastic sheeting, Lucien ducked into shadow. He checked the Ledger.
The interface flickered once, then shifted. Cassian's forged token detected. Market integrity breached. A faint glyph blinked where the earlier cipher had been.
Lucien sighed through his teeth, rolled his wrist. "Cassian's got no finesse."
He input a command. The Ledger pulsed. A counter-trap would deploy through proxy channels in thirty-seven seconds.
Counter his chaos, the Ledger warned.
Lucien closed the interface and looked up toward the distant curve of the Spire's higher levels. "Already ahead of you."
He stepped out again, past the static-stuck holo-ads and into a corridor where reality peeled. Light dimmed fast. Heat dropped out of the air.
The Veilshade Plains didn't need an announcement. They unfolded like a memory no one had invited back. The colors drained, the air turned thin, and time slowed into something quiet and deliberate.
Lucien's boots touched stone. Not city tile. Real stone, the kind old worlds forgot. The mortal world flickered behind him, a faint stutter in the air.
He was in the other place now.
Here, echoes came with voices. And contracts weren't written—they were carved.
He walked forward. A shimmer tugged in the air to his right. A stall, half-present, where a figure tried too hard to be still. The glyph burned in Lucien's mind again—Cassian's cipher, etched like graffiti on magic.
He turned away, jaw tight. This wasn't random. Cassian was pushing now. Testing reach. Painting over Lucien's territory with smoke and half-truths.
The Ledger stayed warm. Watching. Waiting.
A kid crouched by a broken crate, fumbling stims. Skin too pale. Fingers raw. Lucien didn't pause long. He tossed a few creds down.
"Keep your hands cleaner than your heart, kid. That way, you might make it to twenty."
The boy blinked like someone had just introduced him to luck. Lucien didn't wait to see if he used it.
Bootsteps scraped behind him. Measured. Unhurried. Not street thugs—these were trained. Veil enforcers, likely. Two, maybe three. He didn't glance back.
"Guess the knives are out," he muttered.
When he stepped into the Drunken Watcher, the smell hit first—cheap synth liquor, sweat, and neon burn. Tess stood behind the bar, red curls wild and shoulders squared like she'd slap fate if it asked for a tip.
Lucien slid onto the stool. "Blind spot still open?"
Tess poured him a shot without looking. "For now. But something's shifting, Lucien. You feel it?"
He downed the drink. It hit hard and didn't apologize.
"Oh yeah," he said, voice low. "And it's only just starting."
Outside, the neon lights twitched like a nervous heartbeat. Somewhere distant, a siren wailed and cut out.
Lucien leaned back, the Ledger pressing firm into his ribs. It was satisfied. For now.
But the game had changed. Cassian wasn't hiding anymore.
And Lucien?
He wasn't folding.
Not for Cassian.
Not for chaos.
Not for anyone.