Lucien Blackmoore stalked through Undergleam's bone-tight alleys, the Ledger pulsing faintly against his chest. It wasn't a heartbeat. It was a low hum braided with old debts and newer lies, the kind of rhythm that tickled just beneath the ribs—reminding him what he owed, who owed him, and what was circling the drain waiting to collect. He kept one hand pressed against his coat, where the Ledger rode tight against muscle and bone, warm like a coiled ember.
The alley reeked of scorched copper and spell-rot. The kind of stench that meant something had been summoned here—and something else had stuck around. The stone underfoot was slick with runoff that glowed faint and sickly, pooling in veins that never led anywhere clean. Lucien adjusted his collar as a drip of spectral condensation slid down from his temple to his jaw. The moisture clung like a hand that didn't belong to the world of the living.
No telling what, or who, in this sector might try to wear your face just for warmth.
Current Target: Jace (Cassian's Proxy). Status: Active. Task: Track movements. Informant reports: Delayed. Collections pending: None.
He'd seeded whispers earlier at the Smelt Gate, word of a high-value soul shipment laced with just enough real detail to sting. No need to shout the bait. Undergleam was a sponge—it soaked secrets like blood in cloth, and filth always traveled fastest when it smelled like profit.
Now the Ledger confirmed the play. A flash of glyphs pulsed against his vision, drawing sharp lines in the dim that only he could read. Twenty-three heat signatures had moved toward the Gate. But one…
One moved too clean. Too carefully.
A hit.
Jace.
Lucien paused beneath a half-dead lantern sputtering a weak, greasy light. The fixture buzzed like metal teeth grinding inside a dead god's mouth. Its glow sliced the haze into uneven ribbons. Motes of mist swirled and twitched, caught like bugs in amber.
His boots ground slow against the stone. This wasn't Valthara Prime. No railwork hum beneath the streets, no scent of ozone-clean skimmers. That world had edges. This place? It curved. The air slouched inward like a closing jaw. Everything smelled old and damp and offended.
Even the ghosts here sang off-key.
He pressed his palm to the Ledger again, through soaked cloth and blood-threaded leather. The glyphs in his vision flared, sharper this time—rows of floating runes ticking through calculations. Not just tracking. The Ledger was modeling paths, angles of pursuit, contingency webs.
It wasn't just hunting. It was herding.
Prediction: Probability of encounter within 3 minutes – 92%. Expect betrayal.
Lucien's lips curled, just slightly. The book had teeth, sure. But it also had instincts. And right now, every one of them pointed toward Jace—drawn in like a moth too dumb to know the fire wasn't part of the plan.
He stepped from the alley's path into a ragged stall built of obsidian slabs and rusted steel joints. The frame leaned awkwardly, like it had grown from the street instead of being built. Edges hummed faint with buried wards—trader's protections, old and desperate.
Lucien crouched behind a crooked divider, sliding one hand into his coat's inner fold. Fingers brushed cool soulglass. Three shards, all etched with falsified runes and noise loops. Crafted to mimic transport threads, but loaded with wrong coordinates, false memories, and mirrored glyphs to scatter pursuit.
Perfect bait.
He pressed the edge of one against his palm until it sparked faint orange, then waited.
The stall doors slammed shut behind him. He didn't flinch.
"Showtime," he muttered, voice low, cracked just enough to sound like the street had spoken it first.
Then came the scrape.
Light, but wrong-footed. The sound of someone not used to moving in his own skin anymore.
Jace.
He emerged from the haze with a jerky grace, like someone waking from a nightmare mid-sprint. His coat hung off one shoulder, half-soaked and stained with something blacker than rain. Eyes wild. Sweat prickling along his brow.
He moved like he'd swallowed bad information and couldn't quite keep it down.
Lucien rose slowly, shard resting between two fingers, his stance relaxed—but only in the way that a predator gets quiet before a kill.
"I've got a lead that'll fix everything," he said. Lied, smoothly. The words came like wet stone dropping down a dry well.
Jace didn't answer, but his hunger did. It sat behind his eyes like a worm writhing for air. He stepped closer, movements tight, shoulders cocked as if he expected a trap and couldn't help wanting it anyway.
The shard in Lucien's hand glowed faintly. Orange light pulsed soft across their faces.
The Ledger hissed inside Lucien's mind, colder than thought: Predicted betrayal at minute three.
Of course.
Lucien didn't blink. Just watched.
Jace's fingers twitched.
And then the storm came.
Not a sound first. Just pressure. Presence.
Jyn.
She stepped into the haze like the world owed her blood and she had just the invoice for it. Her coat stuck to her body, drenched and weather-beaten. Her hair, normally tight at the crown, hung loose now, soaked strands clinging to sharp cheekbones and jawline. Her eyes had never been soft, but tonight they held something harder than grief. Something shaped like loss, honed like purpose.
"Lucien, stop," she said. Her voice dragged across the air like glass on metal. "You're playing with a brother's soul."
Her hand hovered near the soul-calcifier strapped to her belt. An heirloom. One he'd seen used before.
Lucien didn't step back. Didn't speak right away. He just eased the shard into Jace's sleeve without breaking eye contact with her. A deliberate movement. One that cost her trust in real-time.
The Ledger's wards whispered into motion, painting the alley in lines of false direction. Glyphs etched themselves into the wet stone.
She took a step forward, boots squelching. "He's your mark, not a pawn!" Her voice cracked, but her posture didn't. "He's still got a soul."
Lucien held up both hands, calm like a lie told too often.
"He's Cassian's proxy," he said. "Sloppy one. He fed on rumors I planted. If he's this desperate to bite, it means someone bigger's already yanking the chain. He's the net. Your brother is the hook."
Jyn flinched. Barely. But Lucien caught it. A tight tremor in her fingers.
"Don't you dare use that on me," she whispered.
The Ledger punched into his chest like a cold heart skipping a beat.
Her trust breaks.
Lucien inhaled. He had weighed that risk. Chose it. Still didn't like how it felt.
He triggered the glyphs.
A harmonic thrum slipped through the alley, coating the air with static. The alley darkened—not from lack of light, but too much warded intent.
Jace jerked, sensing it too late.
Panic crawled up his throat. His blade came free, hand slick on the grip.
Lucien ducked before it could fully swing. The weapon sparked off the wardline—useless.
Lucien stepped to the side, pivoted clean.
A trap buried in the ground hissed, then snapped shut behind Jace. Its jaws clamped over a wardstone, cracking the sigil.
Jace tried to scramble away, but the glyph barrier around the alley locked. Guards, just silhouettes, froze outside the wall—eyes wide, motionless.
Jyn shoved at the barrier, growling. "You led him to die!"
Lucien turned. His face unreadable.
"I sent a message," he said.
"You played him."
"I needed a reaction. That's what we're dealing with. Cassian doesn't take prisoners. He takes patterns. Jace walks back to him? Good. Let him. Let him carry back the wrong lesson."
Jyn's hand hovered over her weapon. Her breath staggered.
"He'll burn for this."
"He already was." Lucien's voice cracked on that one, so he looked away.
The Ledger dimmed against his ribs. Not silence—just waiting.
Jyn didn't move. She just stared. Torn in half. Held together by loyalty and fury in equal measure.
Lucien stepped backward into the alley's throat. One slow step. Then another.
He vanished into the shadow.
The guards moved, finally, but too late.
From the dark, Lucien called back, voice fraying with distance.
"I know where to go next."
The Ledger pulsed against his ribs, sharp now. A whisper flared across his nerves.
Cassian's proxy damned a market.
Lucien froze. His breath went thin.
Not just another incident. This one echoed deeper.
He pressed his palm to the Ledger, slow.
Cassian's chaos is my mess.
He murmured.
Outside the alley, under the guttered lantern, he stood as the rain slicked him to the bone.
The Ledger glowed. Not frantic. Just… resolute.
Fix your flaws.
Lucien let out a breath. One he didn't know he'd held.
"Yeah," he said softly, fingers brushing his coat closed. "I will."
Behind him, Jyn remained in the alley's haze. Silent. She didn't follow. Not this time.
Lucien turned the next corner. His coat dragged heavy behind him, soaking in all the weight he'd stopped naming.
The ghost-song returned.
But it didn't sing alone anymore.