Department of Crimson Corrections

Lucien stood in Valthara Prime's Sky‑Tower Elysium lounge where neon from the city below softened as it passed through thick, veined marble. Glass orchids wired into impossible shapes glowed. He adjusted his collar and glanced down at his wrist.

The Ledger pulsed beneath his sleeve like a second heartbeat. It showed four active contracts, one pending boon on Rhea Valthorne's Tier IV path, unstable analytics, and slipping system integrity.

On the table before Rhea, he projected a soul‑clause draft. Cold light carved the glyphs into the air. "Power's a bet," he said, voice husky but precise "darlin' you just doubled down. Sign it and you'll rule both markets and minds."

Rhea Valthorne wore lilac silk that caught the light like captured moonlight. She didn't flinch. Her fingertips traced the glyphs, slow and measured. "Manual trigger?" she asked, tone taut. He nodded. "Ledger's glitching. I don't trust full automation." Beneath his ribs the Ledger seized, its voice cold and low: You break worlds. Lucien scrubbed that message from the interface with mechanical calm, but his knuckles whitened.

Rhea met his eyes. She pressed her thumb to the glowing sigil. The contract sealed. Boon progress flicked to seventy percent.

Lucien leaned back in his chair. "Cascade begins on your signal—one week to route custom failsafes. No leaks." Her breath hitched. She said softly: "I hope you're right." He replied, "When I'm not, darlin', we burn together." That admission hovered between them longer than comfort allowed. Her steady gaze flicked between gratitude and regret—his version of trust. He gave a curt nod and left. The city smelled of burnt copper and ozone when he stepped outside.

As Lucien reached the alley off the Sky‑Tower's base, the Ledger buzzed through bone: Veilshade destabilizing… proxy activity increasing… intercept manually. That warning was metallic in his mouth.

By the time he reached Undergleam, the rain had thickened into a static mist that soaked through fabric without sound. Neon globs reflected off puddles, and the air tasted like salt and melted wires. The Ledger's glyphs flared. Scanning… Cassian proxy detected… Falque… radius forty meters… binding window open. Lucien didn't slow. People melted aside like they knew his steps came from some invisible cue. He found Falque weaving between soul‑vendors, coat pristine, voice low and artificial as coins swapped hands.

"Buying or selling?" Lucien murmured into Falque's ear. The proxy flinched. "Just passing through," came the reply, strained.

The Ledger flared bright red. Proxy confirmed, intervention now. Lucien pressed a glyph‑tag into Falque's coat lapel. It hissed, melted, and bound in a flash of cold light. Soul‑echo locked in place. Lucien projected the clause midair: unlawful proxy detainment, binding path Tier III, boon sealed. Falque lashed out. Lucien sidestepped, twisted, and sent him stumbling into a stall. Glass shattered; soul‑smoke steamed from cracked jars. The Ledger chimed: chain secured, response down seventy‑four percent, tether confirmed.

Lucien pulled a black coin etched with mirrored glyphs from Falque's pocket and held it under the yellow lamp. The Ledger absorbed its data—sabotage cascade set for Spire Elysium node, originated in Undergleam Sector 5. Lucien pressed a chaining glyph into the coin. Falque's ragged breath stopped. Then the Ledger's voice cut razor‑sharp: Fix me or fall. Lucien's blood ran cold. He crouched in the wet briar, thumb tracing archaic binding sigils on Falque's chest. It was gardening with fire and bone. Minutes later, the Ledger hummed steady: breach sealed, boon at ninety percent, stability rising.

Lucien rose, rain dripping along his jaw. Falque gargled words. "You going to kill me?" Lucien's reply was ice: "I want answers, not bodies." Falque sagged. He whispered, "Cassian… if cascade holds… he'll detonate Elysium's name first." Lucien's throat locked. Rhea's face spooled in his mind, suspended between hope and fear. The Ledger's hum pressed against his skin: proxy secured, informant flagged, cascade defense active, next boon threshold ninety‑five percent. Lucien half‑smiled, half‑snapped: "We move. No loose reins." Falque staggered after him like a ghost chasing shadows.

They left the collapse zone behind—pipes jammed with rust, walls cracked and tagged with spell‑char, smelling of mildew and broken promises. Neon blurred across Lucien's collar. He shoved both hands into pockets. The Ledger beat slow now, like a cautious pulse: you fixed me. It wasn't a question; it was acknowledgment of something deeper. Lucien didn't answer in words. He swallowed and thought of the Ebon Bazaar—where the real game waited. Fog‑drenched stalls, souls traded like livestock, unrest brewing like low thunder.

Falque shuffled behind him, coat trailing drops like bloodwounds. The Ledger's glyphs flickered warm again: next boon path active, informants updating, Cassian proxy net responding.

Lucien brushed his collar, voice low to himself: "This stage is mine." The Ledger flickered beneath fabric: So is mine.

They passed into deeper slums, where dripping signs buzzed in foreign scripts and children scavenged soul‑glass shards. Falque trailed behind, lost in the maze of his own guilt.

In a cramped safe‑room under a collapsed shrine, Lucien pulled Falque down a narrow stair. Flickering lantern light caught the proxy's face—haggard, tense. Lucien sat opposite him at a battered table. The Ledger glowed steady on the table's edge. Lucien leaned forward. "Names. Locations. Any backup." Falque's voice cracked under pressure.

"Ril… Thorn… Morrow. Eastlight Docks… Phael Quarter… Spineglass Bunker." Tears carved through sweat.

Ledger responded in his mind: aliases matched, last traces timestamped, agents volatile, tether success rated moderate. Lucien watched Falque's expression strain toward relief and betrayal. The Ledger pulsed: emotional residue high, risk of hostility rising.

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Tell me everything about Ril." Falque rattled details. Lucien's expression didn't change. He cared only about patterns—facts spun into webs.

Before Falque could swallow more lies, the Ledger slurred along his wrist: Unauthorized breach pattern detected—Cassian fragments embedded in ledger's core. A glitch rippled though. Lucien closed his eyes. He felt guilt knot tight in his chest. The Ledger was faltering. Not a machine. Something changing.

He peeled back his sleeve and pressed glyph‑patches against the Ledger housing. Flame‑wired ritual spells under steel. The device pulsed red and brightened. Minutes later, its glow steadied, calm and quiet. Feed restoring, next boon at ninety‑eight percent, stability green.

Lucien exhaled. He looked at Falque again. The man flinched beneath the glow. He spoke softly now. "You know Cassian's plan—he's evolving in how he hits us. He uses markets and names like weapons now." Lucien's voice was cold. "But we can still outdraw him."

Falque nodded, tears salty. The Ledger confirmed: informant flagged, debrief recommended, counter‑cascade underway.

Lucien turned to exit: "You'll help. Or I break what's left." The threat was quiet but sharp. Falque swallowed. "I'll help."

He left Falque in that safe‑room, locked and anchored by contracts and fear. Outside, he stood in the mist that dripped off collapsed awnings. He closed his eyes and pulled in damp air—smoky, metallic, alive with potential. Above, neon bled through the haze.

He whispered to the night: "All right. Let's bleed them back."

The Ledger pulsed soft against his skin: Fix me, or fall.

He let the words sink in, knowing Cassandra was shaping not just attacks, but the ledger itself—testing its new sentience. Lucien touched his wrist, voice low: "We're gonna stay alive, both of us."

And with that vow between man and machine, he stepped toward the Bazaar's glow—ready to rewrite the cascade, reset the game, and keep the ledger's fractured world from falling apart. This round would be surgical. Cold. Controlled.

But his choices carried weight. And so did the ledger's judgment.