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 threaded with old debts and fresh omissions, the kind of rhythm that pressed cold against muscle, reminding him of the kid—that guard—dead because of their vault heist. His palm curved around the Ledger, half in shame, half in reliance. It was his map, his mockery, and his indictment all at once.
Current target: Jace (Cassian's Proxy). Status: Active. Task: Track and bait. Informant updates: Delayed. Collections pending: None.
He paused beside a cracked wall, abandoning the main path for a narrow side corridor streaked with dripping sludge. He ran a finger along the grime. That guard's blood had soaked into walls like a rot. Kid's blood stains my coat, he thought, taste bitter in his mouth. The Ledger pulsed, answering: Your boons burn innocents.
Lucien shut his eyes. He'd chosen every piece of this—ambition, greed, desperation—but he didn't get to forget the price.
He planted false intel at the Smelt Gate hours ago—rumor of a high-value soul shipment bound for Ebon Gate but rerouted through Undergleam. Enough truth to make ears perk. Too much suspicion to make shadows twitch. He waited. The Ledger confirmed the bait. Glyphs flared at the edges of his vision. Twenty-three heat signatures converged, all moving with purpose. One broke the pattern, gliding clean as a well-worn track. He exhaled. A single predator staying cautious. That heat? It was Jace.
Tracking: Target movement detected. Momentum stable. Approach vector aligned. Predicted interception: 2 minutes 43 seconds.
He pressed his palm against the Ledger again. Analytical glyphs burned red and green against his eyelids: momentum, approach vectors, predicted interception. This wasn't tracking. It was hunting. It was herding. It knew Jace by his gait.
The flickering lantern ahead buzzed in protest. He paused beneath it, studying its stuttered hum. Motes of pale mist swirled beneath the halo, blotting out spilled rune-wards etched in the cobbles centuries ago. This world wasn't Valthara Prime. There, light bled off glass towers and you could always find a pulse line. Here, air curled around you like a mouth with too many teeth. The sky was chordless; gravity leaned into the corruption. Lucien listened for ghost-songs—snatches of child-breath, half-whispered bargains, pleas for mercy. They all seemed to echo under his boots.
Environment note: Undergleam. World shift detected. Ambient spectral presence elevated. Visibility impaired.
He shifted into a stall built from obsidian and rusted steel, corners chiseled blunt and cursed. The edges hummed with old ward energy, tangled and unreliable. He crouched behind a divider, pressing shards of soulglass into his palm. Three decoys—etched with false contracts and looped destination glyphs. They looked real, smelled like opportunity, but they existed to lead someone like Jace straight into his web.
Decoy shards active. Embedded false contract data confirmed. Destination loops enabled. Tracking disruption: high.
The stall doors clanged shut behind him.
"Showtime," he muttered. His voice barely scraped the air, like stone against flesh.
Another footstep. Not masked intentionally. Too close, too real. That's when Jace appeared, shoulders hunched, eyes wide. Sweat glistened against his brow, and his breath came ragged, like a hunted animal. Lucien's chest tightened. He hated this—hunted animals. But this was Cassian's game now, this was Proxy bait.
Lucien stepped forward, extending a perfect shard.
"I've got a lead that'll fix everything," he said. It sounded calm—careful. Wet cement. It would set, but it would leave cracks.
Jace's gaze flickered between guild-marks and chance. Hunger clawed at his eyes. Lucien swallowed. The shard pulsed orange, nearly hypnotic. And then the Ledger hissed a warning:
Predicted betrayal at minute thirty.
It wasn't far off the mark.
A figure in the stall's entrance—rain-damp hair, grief in her bones—Jyn. Silent, as always. But her presence snapped the moment into shards. She'd been in tighter spots than this. She carried air like a funeral dirge.
"Lucien, stop." Her voice was a blade wrapped in silk. "You're playing with a brother's soul."
Her hand hovered over the hilt of her soul-calcifier, worn black metal.
He forced a neutral mask.
"I need his path—not his life."
He slid the shard into Jace's sleeve as he withdrew his hands. The Ledger flared across the stall walls—cipher-wards blossomed, slicing lines in stone, buzzing soft to jam detection spells and delay pursuit.
Ward network active. Signal jamming: 87%. Pursuit delay: estimated 2 minutes.
Jace twitched, pulling back. His hand hit for steel he didn't have yet. Lucien saw panic stamp the marks of fear.
"You're using him like bait," Jyn snarled. Anger shook her voice. "He's your mark, not a pawn."
"He's Cassian's proxy," Lucien said flat. "Look how clean he moves. That's desperation. I planted rumors. He bit. If he flees with this shard, he drags your brother into Cassian's crosshairs."
Jyn's eyes stung. Betrayal sharpened her gaze.
"You promised me—"
The Ledger pulsed cold:
Her trust breaks.
He swallowed. He'd made that call. But regret lodged in his chest.
"Trust is expensive." He tapped the glow of glyph-wards. "Let him chase illusions." He pressed his jacket. "If Cassian's funneling proxies through Jace, I need him to run our line."
Jyn's fists clenched at her belt. She looked down at Jace. He yanked free of the stall, panic-pale. Lucien didn't flinch.
A knife leapt out—Jace's hand shaking. Lucien ducked instinctively—steel spat sparks on the wardline. He pivoted right as a steel-bladed trap on the wall snapped open, catching Jace's ankle and collapsing behind him. He stumbled, but managed to bound away… till he hit the barrier. Guards materialized, frozen by glyph-circles solidifying in the dank alley.
Barrier locked. Guard silhouettes active. Response time: delayed.
Jyn lunged for the trap's latch.
"You led him to die."
Lucien turned, chest heaving.
"I sent a message," he hissed. "Cassian gambles with proxies. If Jace ends himself, it's on them. If he dies reaching me, it's a warning."
"Warning?" Her voice cracked. "You played him!"
"I needed a reaction. Patterns matter. His next move tells me more about Cassian's network than killing him outright."
Ledger's pulse dimmed. Not restful. Methodical. No victory in its tone.
Jyn dropped her hand away. She set her teeth.
"You're going too far."
He shook his head.
"Saving a soul isn't a promise. It's a cost."
He backed into shadows as watchers broke wards and surged forward.
From between pillars, he called:
"I know where to go next."
The Ledger throbbed hard. A cold whisper:
Cassian's proxy damned a market.
Water ran into his boots. He staggered, chest clenched.
"Cassian's chaos is my mess."
The air tasted stale. Stone walls quivered with the ghosts of deals failed.
He knelt under the lantern's battered glow. Rain hissed against feet. He pressed one hand over the Ledger's binding. It pulsed again, stubborn:
Fix your flaws.
He exhaled. Not relief. Determination glimmered. Somewhere guilt tangled with ambition.
"Ambition's a blade," he muttered.
Fingers found the rune scars on his palm—memories of the guard.
He straightened. His jacket closed over tailing run-off. Step by slow step, he moved deeper into the Bazaar's belly, ashes and curses scattering around him like embers before a wind.
The Ledger pulsed again, near his heart:
You're bound to me.
He didn't shudder. He moved faster.