The cold wind of early dawn slipped through the cracks of the stone corridor, brushing against Lucien's cheek as he made his way toward the archives. There was no sound beyond the gentle creak of his boots and the distant rustle of parchment in the hands of sleepless scribes. The Church never truly slept — but it dreamed, and dreams were the easiest things to twist.
Lucien's fingers trailed across the edge of the stone wall as he walked, smooth in places where centuries of touch had worn it down. The corridors were familiar, almost sacred. He had memorized every turn, every creaking door, every blind spot. This was his domain now — they just didn't know it.
Today, a name would be chosen. A life offered to keep the Inquisitors' bloodlust satisfied. It had to be someone close enough to be believable, but not essential enough to be missed.
At the corner near the lower library, Lucien turned and found Brother Matthias sitting on the steps, hunched over a worn prayer book. The man looked up at him with bleary eyes and smiled.
"Couldn't sleep?" Lucien asked, his voice warm.
Matthias chuckled. "Sleep's been scarce since the Inquisitors arrived. You can feel the tension in the walls. Like the stone itself is waiting for judgment."
Lucien sat beside him, gaze fixed ahead. "They're just here to root out dissent. Nothing to worry about if your conscience is clean."
Matthias looked down at his book, then shrugged. "Even saints sweat under suspicion."
That line stuck with Lucien more than it should have. Matthias was loyal, gentle — a man of unshakable faith. And exactly the kind of person the Church would believe capable of betrayal, if guided toward the idea. Not because he was guilty, but because his innocence would make them feel powerful when they crushed him.
Lucien placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "You've always been honest, Brother. That will protect you."
Matthias gave him a tired smile. "I hope so."
They spoke a while longer, but Lucien's mind had already moved on. The moment he walked away, the plan took root. He didn't need to lie about Matthias. He just needed to guide others to conclusions.
Whispers planted in the scribe's hall: "Did you see Brother Matthias leaving the eastern wing last night?"
A quiet word in the kitchen: "He's been reading forbidden texts, but I'm sure it's just curiosity."
A parchment left half-folded on a desk, its contents forged — enough to cause a ripple, not a wave.
By mid-afternoon, Lucien passed the main courtyard and found three clergy members whispering behind pillars. One glanced toward him and quickly looked away.
Good.
Inquisitor Halreth called for Lucien just before dusk. The meeting chamber was dim, only a single lantern lighting the table between them. Halreth was a mountain of a man, wrapped in black and silver robes. His eyes, sharp and cold, tracked Lucien with suspicion, though his voice remained formal.
"There's talk of unrest in your section. A name has come up."
Lucien tilted his head. "Whose?"
"Brother Matthias."
Lucien paused for exactly one heartbeat. "That… surprises me."
"Surprises you?" Halreth leaned forward. "You've worked with him."
"I have. He's devoted. Quiet. But maybe too quiet."
Halreth nodded slowly. "We'll be watching him closely. If you see anything — anything — bring it directly to me."
Lucien bowed slightly. "Of course."
As he stepped out of the chamber, the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows through the cathedral arches.
He had bought himself time.
Matthias would be questioned. Pressed. Perhaps even broken.
And while the Church watched their chosen suspect burn, Lucien would dig deeper, move faster, grow stronger.
The true danger still walked beside them, smiled with them, prayed with them.
And they had no idea.
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