Ghost Code and Gilded Lies

Lucien Blackmoore crouched low behind the third vault pillar, and the whole place buzzed like it was trying to shake him off. His coat smelled like melted plastic and burnt sigils, the kind scorched into fabric when things went wrong—shortcuts born of blood tags and broker debt. Nyx Dynamics didn't build vaults. They built shrines to paranoia. Down here, tucked in the city's blackened ribs, it felt less like a place and more like a warning. Every surface was slick obsidian streaked with metal veins that hummed like a migraine behind the eyes, and the air had that antiseptic taste that burned the back of the throat. Glyphs blinked in and out of existence across the floor like they were watching him, judging. The drones were worse. Thin, predatory things hovering on near-silent wings, sniffing out pulse signatures instead of heat. Lucien figured each one cost more than a mid-tier soul pledge.

The Ledger stirred under his ribs. Not words. It never used words, not exactly. It pulsed inside him like memory given rhythm, a presence in his bones. A hum in his nervous system that prickled behind his eyes.

"Soulglass proximity: 3.4 meters," it announced, deadpan and detached. "Trace: Marisol Krev. Codex-locked. Seventeen prior transactions. One unresolved boon."

He touched his temple, activating the overlay. Ghostlight flared across his vision—static-blue lines crisscrossed in fractals, flickering like broken neon. The vault's layout pulsed through the map, a twisting artery of reinforced walls and pressure nodes. His path blinked in rhythmic pulses, like the thing had a heartbeat.

A second tremor climbed up his spine.

"Drones recalibrating," the Ledger warned. "Pattern shift in seven seconds. Entry gate compromised. False proximity beacon... holding."

Lucien flexed his fingers, eyes narrowing beneath the mask. "Buy me time."

Lyra's voice crackled in. Clipped. Focused. "Decoy's up. Security feed's on loop. You've got ninety before their watchdog AI realizes you don't belong here."

He moved low and fast, sliding along a panel that buzzed like it resented him. The vault floor felt like it was holding its breath. Soulglass had its own pulse. When you got close enough, you didn't just hear it—you felt it in your teeth. A kind of hum that vibrated too deep to be sound.

"Target confirmed," the Ledger murmured. "Encoding marks: Valthamur lineage. Broker override applicable. Risk tier: moderate. Trap probability: 61 percent."

Lucien knelt beside the case. Runes burned against his glove when he brushed the outer ring. Warnings flared in a dead language. His bones rang with the Ledger's voice.

"Override compatible. Executing glyph bleed."

Purple light seeped out from the seams. The case hissed and popped open. Inside lay a single shard of soulglass, dark as wet ink, its center shifting with twisting black script that moved like something alive. Names floated just beneath the surface. One caught.

"Dorian Nix," Lucien muttered. "Minor devourer. Debt unpaid."

He tucked the shard into a lined pouch. It buzzed faintly against his coat.

"Pull the decoy on my mark."

The Ledger surged cold against his ribs.

"Warning: drone vector rerouting. New path intersects Lyra's position in 9.8 seconds."

"Lyra, move," he snapped. "Drones inbound. Cut left."

"Can't," she fired back. "Override burst lit up my exit route."

Lucien bit back a curse and scanned the map. He grabbed a smoke beacon from his belt. "West rail. Second vent cluster. Coolant ducts."

"That'll trigger a failsafe."

"I'll eat the fallout."

He tossed the beacon into the drone bay. Heat signatures flared like wildfire. Sirens kicked in, confused and distorted.

"Trap functioning," the Ledger said. "Drones rerouting."

He moved. Fast.

Lights above him dimmed, then started to flicker. Strobing in a pattern that wasn't random. He didn't need the Ledger to feel it in his gut.

At the far bulkhead, something wrong glowed through the haze.

Cassian's cipher.

A warped version of Lucien's own sigil, twisted like it had been chewed and spat back out. Scrawled in smears of golden ash, still fresh. Like a signature scrawled in spite.

"Proxy presence confirmed," the Ledger said. "Glyph integrity failing."

Then, colder: "Her trust breaks."

Lucien's jaw locked.

He crouched low, snapped open a conduit hatch, and shoved a hex bomb into place. "You want noise, Cassian?" he muttered. "I'll give you a finale."

"Trap primed. Detonation in 45 seconds," the Ledger replied.

"Lyra," he called into comms. "You're clear."

A beat. Then: "Moving."

He rose just as the lights cut out completely. The vault exhaled—walls groaning like something ancient had just rolled over in its sleep.

Lucien turned to the glyph and gave it a silent middle finger. Then he ran.

He bolted through the east corridor, smoke licking up the walls behind him. Hurdled a crate. Skidded sideways through the outer hatch just as the vault let loose a shockwave that sent static biting through his coat. The explosion didn't burn—it rattled, a dull concussive burst of pressure and ether.

"Success," the Ledger noted. "Damage localized. Cassian proxy disoriented."

A beat.

"Lyra loyalty index: 73 percent. Trust degradation projected."

Lucien slammed into the stairwell railing and held there, panting. His coat steamed, the hem scorched and curling. His knuckles were torn raw. He pressed a hand to his side—felt the soulglass still there, warm and unbroken.

"Status. Crimson Sector?"

"Cassian proxy sabotaged Sector B contract exchange. Five clients disrupted. Two removed. One absorbed by Kess Vol."

Lucien scoffed. "Real charming. Leave it to Cassian to light matches he doesn't bother watching burn."

"He disrupts to delay. You destroy to control. Neither builds. Both burn."

Lucien stopped halfway down the third floor. City lights bled through a cracked window. The underbelly of Valthara sprawled below in slashes of neon and fog, its veins pulsing a deep, bruised crimson. It looked almost peaceful from this high up, like the filth and politics hadn't clawed it apart yet.

The Ledger buzzed again, softer this time.

"Fix your flaws."

Lucien's fingers twitched over his coat buttons, then dropped.

He'd risked Lyra.

Her skill had shielded him, and he'd nearly turned her into another tally in Cassian's book. Her voice, sharp with frustration, still echoed in his skull.

Her trust was fragile. And he was reckless with it.

"We're all bleeding in someone's ledger," he said aloud.

The Ledger didn't respond. Just waited.

Lucien adjusted the pouch at his side. The shard pressed against him like judgment.

He looked out over the city again, then turned from the window.

Cassian had left his mark.

Lucien would return the favor.

And next time, he'd make sure it left a scar.