Lucien Blackmoore stood just outside Nocturne Spire's service corridor, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of a storm that hadn't broken yet. Rain slicked the worn stone beneath his boots, turning every step into a slip-risk. The city above flickered in erratic pulses—neon bleeding through mist, violet twisting into bruised rose across puddles that reflected nothing steady.
His coat, dyed red once but now clotted with damp and city-smoke, dragged at him. Rain and fatigue soaked every seam. Beneath the coat, the Silent Ledger stirred—a thrum against his ribs, not unlike a warning drum or a whisper too old to forget.
A glyph flickered into his vision.
"Tracking: Lila. Location: Level 16, Nyx Tower Wing D. Informant status: dormant. Proxy markers detected near east elevator. Collections overdue: 3. Drones rerouted: 2. Decoy placement: required."
Lucien muttered under his breath, barely audible over the soft hiss of rainfall, "Time to dance."
Watcher drones glided overhead, cold red eyes panning like hunter moons. Their whirr barely broke the silence. Lucien pressed his body against the corridor's slick masonry. One wrong move and he'd be a red smear tagged as unauthorized. No face, no warrant. Just gone.
He reached into his coat and pulled a small capsule. One click, and the drone-decoy glyph embedded inside shimmered faintly blue. He rolled it beneath a row of stone gutters. The hologram flickered—a blurry heat signature echoing his frame.
"Decoy placed. Risk window: 14 seconds."
Lucien slid forward. His movement was liquid shadow between the columns. The drone paused, eye flaring, then drifted toward the decoy. He slipped through the first gate.
Inside, the corridor's air changed. It always did. Outside was grime and breath and heat. In here—polished chill, sterile and unforgiving. The scent of coolant and bleach lingered. The floor glistened under sterile halogens, and crystal-wall panels blinked blue with access requests.
The Ledger pulsed.
"Access: Rhea. Cover: valid. Passkey active. Elevator lockout: 3 minutes. Estimated path clearance: 80%."
Lucien nodded to himself. "Plenty."
Footsteps echoed nearby. Two suits—Nyx execs—arguing in clipped tones. Something about contract recalibrations, digital misfires, audit overrides. He slid past without a word, posture casual but alert. The kind of walk that said he belonged.
A door slid open to his left, soundless. A hallway lined with glass-walled offices stretched ahead—transparent coffins dressed up in mahogany and glowglass. Lucien ignored them. He moved with direction, with calculation. Not fast. Not slow. Measured.
On the fifteenth floor landing, Rhea stood at a reception console carved into blackstone veined with soft gold. Her dress shimmered under thin light, sleek and synthetic, cut to draw attention without apology. But her posture drooped, exhaustion pulling her frame down.
Lucien stepped in like wind cutting through still air.
"Rhea," he said, voice low and edged. "You always did wear overtime like a crown."
Her eyes rose, sharp despite fatigue. "Blackmoore."
He gave a small, tired grin. "These Watchers? Not even pretending to sleep tonight."
She looked him over—soaked, no badge, no escort. Her hand twitched near the console.
He raised his watch. Brass glinted through rain. "You still run diagnostics on tower clearances?"
"Sometimes," she said, guarded.
"Then you know this pass is clean." He stepped closer, voice softening. "Look, I need thirty minutes. I'm not here to blow up your shift. Just passing through."
Her fingers hesitated. Then, slowly, she keyed a series into the console. A shimmering sigil formed between them. Clearance. Access from 16 to 18. No flags.
"You didn't get this from me," she said.
"Didn't get what?" Lucien replied. His eyes softened. "Stay warm, Rhea."
He took the sigil, let it sink into the watch glyph. The elevator opened a second later.
Inside, the lift thrummed quiet. No music. Just the rise.
"Warning: Drone arc sweep rescheduled. Window: 5 minutes. Lila proximity: 52 meters. Threat markers: 1—unknown."
He tapped a wrist button. Another decoy glyph activated, transmitting Lila's signature just one hallway over. It would buy them breathing room. Maybe.
When the doors opened, the air had shifted again.
Sixteenth floor. Soft lighting. Carpeted hall. Digital rain piped in overhead—a luxury simulation meant to soothe, not chill. The lounge ahead gleamed with chrome and obsidian. Inside, executives loitered like bored predators. Nobody looked twice as Lucien passed, shoulders square, stride steady.
He found Lila in a recessed alcove, shadowed from drone sightlines and away from prying eyes. She was dressed in plain black—a courier's outfit with reinforced seams and data cuffs glowing faint at her wrists.
Her eyes jumped up as he approached.
"You said two hours," she whispered. "They changed patrol schedules."
"They always do," he muttered, crouching beside her. "Decoys are live. Your signature's ghosting east."
Her gaze flicked to a glyph hovering near his shoulder. "Ledger active?"
"Always." He leaned close. "You have the route?"
Lila hesitated, then slid a data-chip into his hand.
"Analyzing: route schematic. Destination: proxy vault. Drone nests: 3. Detour advised. Risk: moderate."
He slid the chip into the Ledger port near his wrist.
Lila's voice came low and shaky. "I crossed into a Nyx proxy bay. Masked my code, but someone followed. Might be Cassian's."
Lucien froze. "You saw him?"
"No. Just... his mark."
The Ledger pulsed hard—searing against his ribs.
"Signature match: Cassian cipher. Probability: 91%. Drone scan patterns corrupted. Trace vector compromised."
Lucien's throat tightened. "He's leaking into this side too."
Then, a sharp light flashed at the edge of the corridor.
Lucien looked up.
Scorched into the ceiling—subtle, cruel—was the sprawl of a Cassian cipher. It pulsed once, red and black, then vanished.
The Ledger flared:
"Her soul's on you."
Lucien cursed under his breath, yanking Lila back from the corridor's mouth.
"We move now," he said.
He tapped a sequence on his watch. Trap glyphs unfolded—like webbing drawn through light. Two traps went hot. One cloaked in silence, one laced with bleed-dampening magic.
"Trap set. SIGIL layers active. Bait window: 90 seconds."
Lucien turned to her. "Your risk was my win. I needed someone they'd follow."
Lila blinked, face stung.
"But you're not expendable," he said, slower now. "Stay behind the glyph. If they take the bait, I'll snap the door."
She didn't move. "You used me."
He nodded. "Yes."
She didn't run. She didn't flinch.
That cut worse than anger.
The trap blinked in his vision, active. A blur slipped down the corridor. Lucien flicked his wrist. A net of glyph-thread closed behind the intruder—trapping the figure mid-movement.
Screams echoed—warped through the dampening wards.
Lucien walked over, looked the man in the eyes. Proxy runner. One of Cassian's. Teeth sharpened with debt-magic.
"Tell your handler," Lucien said coldly, "I'm tracking him now."
He released a low-voltage glyph into the man's skull. The proxy dropped. Unconscious. Still breathing.
"Threat neutralized. Signature recovered. Lila: elevated trust. Remaining decoy lifespan: 3 minutes."
Lucien turned.
Lila stared, fists clenched. "I could've been him."
"You weren't," he said.
"Because you were lucky. Not kind."
Her voice was steel. Lucien felt the sting crawl up his spine.
"Her loyalty stung."
He walked past her, silence thick.
"Cassian's traps are sloppy," Lucien muttered, breath fogging. "Too loud. Too desperate."
The Ledger's glyphs burned sharp:
"So are yours."
He stepped through a maintenance panel, dropping into a chute that curved beneath the lounge and spilled into an old stairwell void of light. The walls pulsed softly with forgotten wards.
He moved fast, the Ledger guiding every turn.
When he reached the base corridor, the air had changed again. Cooler. Denser. Older.
Veilshade bled through the cracks—thin air mixing with Dominion rot. A rift opened ahead, humming with residual glyphlight.
Lucien stepped through.
The world shuddered.
Metal and neon bled away into black stone and silence. He landed on obsidian slabs wet with dewless mist. No wind. Just ash drifting like sleepwalking ghosts. Veilshade. Always waiting.
"Collection due in 6 hours. Proxy trail registered: Sector Twelve. Lila loyalty confirmed. Suggested action: reinforce trust."
Lucien sat on a stone bench, drew the small chip from his coat—the route Lila handed him. He turned it over once. Twice.
"Her risk was my win," he whispered. "But her loyalty? That cut deep."
He pocketed the chip. Ash clung to his coat.
Above, a soft flare—Cassian's cipher etched into sky-light, too faint for most eyes.
"Escalation inevitable."
Lucien nodded.
His next move began forming in pieces:
Secure Lila's exit through silent corridors
Intercept Nyx data-feeds via rift interface
Forge counter-proxy loops beneath Dominion faultlines
Expose Cassian's falsified token circuit
Collapse trust vectors via public contract release
He stood slowly, coat sagging with the weight of secrets.
Obsidian stretched ahead, smooth and endless. Lucien walked, and the ash rolled to meet him.
The Ledger burned against his ribs.
He didn't look back.
Tonight, another trap closed.
And somewhere, Cassian would feel it.