The dive bar reeked of a funeral no one had the decency to finish. Not the kind with hymns and weeping—this was the kind where the corpse got left behind, and the grief turned septic. The stink of piss, copper, and warm rot clung to the walls like it had a lease. Neon signs flickered outside in hues of nausea, casting pink and green tremors over faces that didn't want to be seen. The whole place sat wedged between crumbling towers like a bad tooth waiting to get yanked.
Lucien Blackmoore slipped onto a barstool that hissed like it hated him, cracked leather coughing up dust and some memory of defeat. His coat stuck to him from the alley rain, speckled with grime and city runoff. The Ledger, tucked under the ribcage of his jacket, throbbed with a low rhythm. Not loud. Not yet. Just a murmur like a conscience that wouldn't shut up.
You chose this.
The pulse echoed beneath his skin, hot and familiar. He remembered the vault heist. The guard who didn't scream long. His fingers twitched near his glass, but he kept his face blank. The floor stuck to his boots with each shift, pulling like regret.
The bartender didn't speak. Just slid over a glass full of something amber and sharp. Lucien threw it back. It bit like spite, but didn't slow him down.
Tonight wasn't for contracts or Tribunal favors. Tonight was for watching the cracks spread.
Current Target: Kael (Cassian's Proxy). Status: Active. Task: Monitor location, intercept if possible. Informant reports: Delayed. Collections due: None.
The Ledger murmured softly, a pulse synchronized with his own heartbeat, feeding him fragments only he could understand. It wasn't just a tool anymore—it was a presence, alive beneath his ribs.
He wasn't alone. Kael was near. Cassian's proxy, slippery as guilt, tracked by the Ledger's glyphs scribbled under his skin like burn-scars. Lucien had baited the line earlier—spread word of a soul-deal moving dirty through Nocturne Spire. Fake documents, ghost chatter, a courier with just enough confidence to sell it. It was a decoy. But Kael wouldn't know that yet.
The bar lights trembled above him. On the screen behind the counter, a hacked Watcher feed glitched and spat static. Then, for one flicker—clean image. A man, mid-spire level, cloak fluttering near a wire-laced scaffold. Kael.
Lucien leaned forward. The Ledger pulsed warmer.
He moves like you used to.
The thought scraped in, sharp as a knife in his mind. Too close. He downed another shot.
The door creaked. And in came Elise.
She walked like someone who'd been ambushed before and learned how to keep her knives forward. Sharp eyes, jaw scar catching the neon just right. Her perfume was a cocktail of rust, budget narcotics, and burnt powder. Nothing soft. Just survival with better posture.
"Elise," Lucien rasped, half-turning to catch her silhouette in the cracked mirror. "This bar's my sanctuary. You bring gossip, I'll carve your name on the altar."
She didn't laugh. Just slid onto the stool beside him, napkin between her fingers already shredded into ribbons.
"Cassian's sigils are showing up places they shouldn't. Shrines. Medical bunkers. Even a Watcher post. It's not just a message anymore. It's rot." Her voice was low but full of edge, like the tip of a blade resting on skin.
Lucien's eyes went to the screen again. This time the signal flashed, and a mark lit up on a rain-slick wall. One of Cassian's, all jagged curve and scorched corners. It bled into the brick like the city couldn't reject it fast enough.
Lucien muttered, "He's not creeping anymore. He's rooting."
The Ledger stirred, heating against his ribs.
He hunts me.
Elise didn't flinch.
"Folks are vanishing. No bodies. Just... gone."
Lucien stared at his drink.
"Silence up top. Down here, walls still talk."
He stood. Didn't say goodbye. Just melted through the bar's stink like smoke between floorboards.
In the far booth, Hal waved him down, grinning like a cat who'd killed something it couldn't drag home. Lucien slid in without asking.
"You look like last week's mistake," Hal said, fingering worn cards.
"And you smell like its consequence," Lucien replied, all ease and iron.
Hal grunted. Slid over a scrap of folded paper like it weighed lives.
"Shipment tonight. Souls and secrets. The sigil's burned into the side of the crate. But this... this smells wrong."
Lucien pocketed the paper without unfolding it.
If it's bait, someone's fishing for me.
The Ledger flickered against his ribs.
Jace knows. He led Kael. You've been sold.
Lucien's hand went still inside his coat.
"He's working for Cassian?" he asked aloud, though the Ledger had already answered.
"Who?" Hal asked, confused.
"Just ghosts whispering. Nothing urgent."
He stood. Nodded once. The table creaked under his exit. Outside, rain slammed against him like a bouncer with old grudges. He turned his collar up, slid into the alley maze behind the Spire.
Informant Update: Movement detected near fuel stacks. Kael's pattern erratic but predictable. Task: Intercept without civilian casualties.
Kael was already moving. Lucien didn't need eyes on him. The Ledger fed him patterns, pressure points, timing. He moved fast, ducking scaffold shadows and slipping past gate relays.
When Kael appeared—a flicker near the fuel stacks—Lucien was already counting.
One.
Kael's blade sang through air.
Two.
Lucien ducked. Metal sparked off concrete. No words. Just breath and murder.
Three.
Lucien shoved a bystander into Kael's path—a dockrunner, twenty, maybe. She didn't even scream before the blade caught her.
Lucien didn't pause. He sprinted through the gap. Smoke. Lights. Sirens rising late. Screams behind him, sharp and raw.
The Ledger thrummed like a second heartbeat.
Blood stains you.
Lucien didn't speak. His jaw clenched so tight it made his teeth ache.
Up a ladder. Through a drainage pipe. Past a Watcher drone that didn't see him. Kael wouldn't catch him—not tonight. The trap had sprung just wide enough.
He emerged on the roof of an abandoned spa, breath ragged, coat soaked, the city's stench clinging like shame. He turned toward the spire below.
The market he'd used as bait? Gone. Torched.
The Ledger pulsed colder.
Cassian's proxy damned them.
Lucien's mouth curled, bitter.
"Cassian's got no class."
So are your traps.
Lucien shut his eyes for a beat. Saw the dockrunner's face. Heard the breath she never finished.
"Their screams bought my exit," he muttered. "Blood on my coat... but I'm still breathing."
He stared across the city's ruin-scape. Cassian was pushing louder now, sloppier, faster. And someone had to push back.
"I need intel on the next move," he said aloud.
The Ledger burned warmer in answer.
I'm your shield.
Lucien walked toward the edge of the roof, coat billowing in wind thick with heat and ash.
The city had a thousand knives, and he'd just handed it one more.
Next time, he'd be sharper.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd aim lower.