The Crimson Room smelled like burnt whiskey and stale smoke, thick and choking, like the air itself was holding onto every bad deal ever made inside these walls. The booths looked worn and tacky, scarred from years of spilled drinks and secrets left to rot. Shadows curled in corners like ghosts of deals gone sideways, waiting for the next poor soul to slide in and drown their doubts in cheap liquor.
Lucien Blackmoore slid into his usual booth with the kind of slow, easy confidence only a man who carried a ledger heavy with debts could pull off without looking worn down. The ledger thudded against his ribs beneath his coat like a living thing—a constant reminder that these debts weren't just numbers, but tangled lives and souls caught in contracts that didn't care about mercy. It pulsed once as he sat, sending a thin ripple through his chest like a heartbeat out of sync.
LEDGER UPDATE: ACTIVE TASK—CONTRACT NEGOTIATION PENDING (TARGET: RHEA VALTHAMUR). STATUS—TARGET UNSTABLE. MANIPULATION STRATEGY DEPLOYED: FALSIFIED INTEL. SECONDARY OBJECTIVE—TESS: COLLECTION SETTLED.
He rubbed the rough edge of his jaw, feeling the scratch of a few days' scruff against his fingers. That tired prickling wasn't just neglect—it was armor against the sharp edges of the city, and against the dark myth growing thicker every day.
Cassian's name had started to crawl into every shadowed corner, carried on ragged breath like a warning or a curse. The myth wasn't just spreading anymore—it was racing like wildfire licking dry grass, eating everything in its path. Lucien felt it gnawing at him, like a rat scratching under the cellar floor beneath his feet. These rumors weren't quiet anymore. They were teeth—loud, jagged teeth sinking into the bones of mortal streets and immortal halls alike. This wasn't just a game. It was war. And Lucien wasn't sure he had the weapons to last.
Boots scraped cracked tile before Jyn slid into the booth across from him. Her movements were sharp, efficient—like a blade sharpened on a stone that didn't quit. Silver streaks caught in her wild hair, which she tossed back with a quick flick—restless energy that never settled right. Her eyes were sharp, always scanning, calculating, either a step ahead or a few behind the chaos just beneath the surface.
"Lucien," she said, voice rough and dry like sandpaper dragged across wood, but laced with that teasing edge that made you want to lean in just to catch the next jab. "This room's your hideout, but it's buzzing with ghosts tonight. You sure you want to keep stirring trouble here?"
He grinned, crooked and tired—the kind of smile that knew too many bad nights but refused to quit. "Jyn, sweetheart, I'm buying drinks if you dig up some syndicate dirt for me. Cassian's sigils are a damn headache, and I need to know where the next mess is brewing."
She pulled a datapad from deep in her coat, fingers moving fast and sharp, like she was twisting secrets out of some stubborn machine. Holographic feeds blinked to life, casting eerie glows across the cracked table—faces, names, encrypted chatter spilling out like dark water pooling between them. Jyn's fingers danced over the screen like a pianist hitting a jagged melody, hacking through code and static with surgeon's precision.
Lucien's eyes snagged on a jagged shape flickering in the feed—a burned sigil, half-hidden beneath a flickering holofeed, cracked and blackened like a scar seared into the city's skin. His breath caught, slow and tight.
"That's him," Lucien muttered, voice low and rough, like the word carried more weight than he wanted to admit. "Cassian's mark again. No finesse, just chaos scrawled in fire."
Jyn's eyes narrowed, sharp like broken glass. "He's turning up everywhere now. This isn't just a shadow anymore. It's a goddamn plague."
The noise in the Crimson Room thickened—laughter split by tension, glasses clinking on worn wood, whispered deals folded in smoke and desperation. The ledger throbbed beneath Lucien's coat, steady and demanding, reminding him this was about more than survival. It was about control—not letting the myth swallow him whole.
He rubbed his face again, slow and tired, fingers dragging rough like sandpaper over nerves. A long, ragged sigh slipped free. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm the one who's falling behind."
Jyn reached out, tapping his knuckles lightly—silent solidarity in the thick, smoky air. "You're not alone in this. But you gotta keep moving. Cassian's chaos is getting louder and bolder, but so are you."
Lucien's smile thinned, stretched over fatigue and stubborn resolve, but it was real. "Yeah, well, bold's about the only thing I've got left."
Then, the Ledger pulsed twice, more insistently now.
INCOMING: CONTRACTEE RHEA VALTHAMUR—ARRIVAL PENDING. WARNING: TARGET EMOTIONAL STABILITY—LOW. PROCEED WITH RISK-CALCULATED MANIPULATION.
He stood, nodding once to Jyn. "Keep watching that feed. If Cassian's proxies move again, I want the location burned into my head before sunrise."
Outside the Crimson Room, the transition between realms wasn't as jarring as usual. The Ledger buzzed again beneath his coat.
REALM TRANSFER: INITIATED. NOCTURNE SPIRE—ELEVATION: 75TH CIRCLE. ATMOSPHERIC SHIFT—MANA-INTENSE. SIGNAL STABLE. TARGET RHEA—PRESENT.
Nocturne Spire welcomed him with silence so thick it might've been painted on the walls. The city's elite played their games high above the filth, but the air still tasted stale with privilege and something sour beneath it—old money and older desperation. Lucien walked through the dim corridor of an estate tower, boots quiet on imported obsidian tile. Every polished surface caught distorted glimpses of him—the shadow of a broker threading a needle of lies through a world that thought itself untouchable.
Rhea waited in the lounge, glass trembling slightly in her hand. Her eyes flicked to him fast—relief, then fear, then that tight composure she'd spent years perfecting. Her dress shimmered like dusk, too regal for someone so wrecked beneath the surface.
"Blackmoore," she said, voice trying to be smooth, but cracking just a breath too late. "Is it done?"
Lucien offered her the smallest of smiles. "Tess's debt is cleared. The weight's off her. But yours... well, it's not just coin we're dealing in."
He took a slow seat across from her, letting the Ledger thump once beneath his coat like a warning shot. He watched Rhea grip her glass tighter. The ledger pulsed again.
CONTRACT TERMS—INITIATED. TARGET: RHEA VALTHAMUR. SOUL COLLATERAL—ACTIVE. TRIGGER PHRASE: INSTILL FEAR. EMOTIONALLY BINDING.
"You've been fed some bad intel," Lucien said, voice low, measured. "Cassian's people aren't after your family's assets. They're looking to unseat you personally—burn your name, not your coin. I've intercepted their plans."
He let that sit, let it crawl under her skin. Rhea's knuckles went white on the glass. The fear was real. Her ruin was inches away.
She leaned forward. "You can stop it?"
Lucien nodded slowly. "For a price."
Her voice cracked. "Anything."
The Ledger pulsed again—brighter, deeper this time, as though it were swallowing the moment whole.
CONTRACT SEALED. SOUL COLLATERAL BOUND. SIGNATURE ACCEPTED—RHEA VALTHAMUR. VALTHAMUR BOON—ABSORBED. CASSIAN INTERFERENCE—DETECTED.
As the pulse sank through his chest, a sick ripple followed. There, etched faint into the glass wall behind Rhea—a cipher. Cassian's. Almost hidden. Almost.
Lucien's hand twitched. He'd won the deal. But the cipher had been waiting.
[LEDGER WARNING: HER RUIN BINDS YOU. CASSSIAN'S PROXY PRESENT—RECENT. TRACE ACTIVATED.]
He exhaled slow. "Her ruin was my win," he whispered, voice tight with something like shame. "But her tears stung."
He stood, fast and smooth, offering her a bow without warmth. "Your debts are settled. I'll contact you with instructions. Don't leave the Spire."
She didn't respond, too caught in the spiral. He turned before the weight in his stomach rooted him.
Outside, the Ledger hummed again—low and constant now.
MARKET CRASH—EBON BAZAAR. SOUL TRADE INTERFERENCE. IDENTIFIED: CASSIAN PROXY—KAEL VARAN.
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Cassian's playing dirty."
LEDGER RESPONSE: SO ARE YOU.
He didn't argue.
He stepped toward the shimmering edge of the Spire's transfer platform, gears whining in ancient metal as the plane opened, light folding and reshaping the world. When the transfer completed, he was back in the lowlight chaos of Veilshade's edge—closer to the Ebon Bazaar, closer to the rot.
Lucien stood alone in the neon-dark, boots settling on rain-warped stone, fingers tapping the Ledger's spine as it cooled under his coat.
" Yes I built this ruin." he muttered.
YOU'RE BOUND TO ME.
Lucien didn't look away.
He was already planning the sting.