LightReader

Chapter 129 - Chapter 129 – Lieutenant’s Mask

The aftermath of the ledger war was a quiet storm. From my perch above the Veins' main thoroughfare, I could see the factions scrambling, some elated, some wary, all unaware that I had already cataloged the patterns of panic. Kara scuttled through the shadows below, convinced she'd uncovered the truth. Cute.

Lyric appeared then, stepping out from a side passage with a precision that made everything else seem sloppy by comparison. His movements weren't flashy, but deliberate every step a metronome. The lieutenants flanking him moved like extensions of his will, obeying without hesitation. I traced his hands, his shoulders, the subtle tilt of his head, even the glint of a ring on his right index finger.

soft footfall… distant clang… low hum…

He surveyed the scene with a calm that would have been comforting if he were on my side. Instead, it was infuriating. Calm people in positions of power always made me want to shake things loose just to watch their composure wobble.

I leaned against the railing, fingers tracing the cold steel. Patterns were everything. A pause too long here, a twitch too short there, and the illusion of control began to crack. Lyric's control was impressive but not flawless. And where there's a crack, there's leverage.

Click… metallic scrape… whisper of fabric…

I let Kara believe she had the upper hand. Let her dance with shadows and misreadings. In reality, Lyric and his rigid discipline provided a far better canvas for my manipulations. The ring. That small sigil would mark him for later. Carrow wouldn't notice, Kara wouldn't notice, but I would. Everything pointed toward a ledger trap, and every reaction he gave would be a brushstroke in the painting I was about to finish.

Low murmur… distant thrum… shuffle of boots…

I cataloged the whispers of the Veins, the vibrations through the floor, the subtle shifts in Lyric's stance. Patience was power, and observation was a weapon sharper than any knife or ledger. My mind played out contingencies, branching into dozens of possible futures, all converging on a single truth: Lyric thought he was untouchable.

And that was exactly why I enjoyed watching him.

Soft metallic echo…

I exhaled slowly, letting the scene imprint itself. Every footstep, every tilt of a head, every subtle breath stored, indexed, ready. The Lieutenant's mask was perfect for now, but masks were meant to slip. And when it did, I'd be there to catalog the expression, to play my hand, and to smile at the chaos that would follow.

"Oh, look at him practicing order while chaos politely queues for his applause. How civilized."

More Chapters