The name didn't come with a face.
That was deliberate.
Cole learned it an hour past dawn, in a place where the road pinched narrow and men forgot to lie well.
The outpost wasn't marked. Nothing was anymore. Just a cluster of sheet metal and stone pretending it had always been there. Power hummed inside—low, steady. Someone important still needed the lights on.
Cole didn't knock.
He went through the side.
Fast.
The first man went down quiet, breath knocked out of him before sound could form. Cole took his keycard, his sidearm, his balance. Dusty stayed back, teeth bared, guarding the exit like it was a promise.
Inside smelled like paper and old coffee.
Ledgers again.
Always ledgers.
Cole followed the hum to a back room where a man sat alone, fingers moving over a terminal like they were afraid to stop. Mid-fifties. Clean shirt. No weapon visible.
He looked up once.
Then slowly raised both hands.
"I knew you'd come," the man said.
"That's not impressive," Cole replied.
He shut the door.
Locked it.
The man swallowed. "You're earlier than expected."
Cole stepped closer. "Then talk faster."
The man nodded, already nodding too much. "The order—Bleakwater—didn't come through command. It came through a shell. A private account."
Cole waited.
"Name," he said.
The man hesitated.
Dusty growled.
"Alright," the man said. "Alright. It wasn't a person. It was a designation."
Cole's eyes hardened. "Try again."
"A committee," the man said quickly. "Unofficial. Three members. Old money. Old favors. They don't move territory. They move outcomes."
Cole felt the Ace of Spades shift.
"Who leads it," he said.
"No one," the man replied. "That's the point."
Cole leaned in close enough to smell the man's fear.
"You charged a premium," Cole said. "Full silence."
"Yes."
"Why my family."
The man's mouth opened.
Closed.
"That wasn't in the order," he said.
Cole waited.
"That wasn't in the order," the man repeated, quieter. "The order was for a location. The house. The time window. No witnesses."
Cole's chest tightened.
"They didn't ask who lived there," the man said.
"They knew," Cole said.
"Yes," the man whispered. "But knowing and asking are different. Asking creates responsibility."
Cole straightened.
"Name the designation," he said.
The man took a breath like he was diving.
"Cinder Ledger," he said.
The words sat there.
Ugly.
Cold.
Not a gang.
Not a king.
A process.
Cole nodded once.
"Where."
The man laughed weakly. "Everywhere. Nowhere. They move through proxies. Through clean hands. They pay others to get dirty."
"Who speaks for them," Cole said.
The man hesitated.
Dusty stepped forward.
"Alright," he said. "A woman. Usually. Changes. But there's always a mouthpiece."
Cole waited.
"Goes by Ash," the man said. "Not a real name. Never is."
Cole memorized it.
Ash.
He stepped back.
The man sagged with relief too soon.
Cole shot him anyway.
One round.
No speech.
No warning.
The House didn't intervene.
Cole wiped the gun clean and left the room as alarms finally decided to exist.
Outside, Dusty fell in at his heel.
They moved fast.
By noon, the road burned under them.
Cole pushed east again, but now the pull felt different. Narrower. Focused. Like the world had stopped offering options.
They didn't make it far before the ambush found them.
Three riders. Fast. Hard. Coming in low.
Cole didn't slow.
He turned into them.
First shot took the lead rider off his horse. Second shattered a knee. Third missed. Cole didn't correct it. He was already moving.
Dusty hit the third rider from the side, dragging him down in a tangle of limbs and screaming. Cole put a round through the second rider's throat as he tried to crawl.
The third stopped screaming when Dusty's teeth closed.
Cole stood breathing, scanning the land.
One rider still lived.
Barely.
Cole knelt.
"Who sent you," he asked.
The man coughed blood. Smiled.
"Ash," he rasped.
Cole nodded.
That was confirmation.
The rider died without another word.
Cole mounted and rode until dusk, until the land rose into broken stone and the air cooled sharp enough to bite.
At a high ridge, he stopped.
Below, a convoy moved slow. Clean vehicles. Armed escorts. Not Ace of Spades colors. Not Royals either.
Private.
Cinder Ledger.
Cole watched them pass, counted guards, measured distance.
He could hit them now.
He didn't.
That was the hardest choice yet.
He turned away.
Revenge wasn't speed.
It was accuracy.
The House finally spoke, quiet as a ledger closing.
HOUSE OF RECKONING // OBSERVATIONSTATUS: PERSONAL PURSUITNOTE: NO SYSTEM CLAIM
Cole almost smiled.
Good.
This wasn't their game.
This was his.
He rode into the dark with Dusty running silent beside him, the name Ash burning clean and bright in his mind.
A name without a face.
But names had weight.
And weight bent things.
Soon enough, Ash would feel it.