"Do you think Mr. Luthor will send her to a mental hospital soon?" Jess snickered, leaning far too comfortably against the counter for someone actively gossiping about their employer's guest.
Dylan, ever the picture of fake concern, only shot a sideways glance at Lucinda—who was currently stationed in front of the massive kitchen windows like a tragic painting come to life.
Lucinda hadn't moved since Elizabeth left.
The sky outside was dark and dramatic, the kind of dark that looked personally offended by daylight. Rain threatened but never committed, clouds brooding as if they, too, had unresolved trauma. Lucinda stood there with her arms loosely folded, head slightly bowed, her reflection ghosting against the glass.
If anyone were to glance at her now, they might assume she was: Mourning a long-dead lover lost at sea, or
Writing poetry in her head about despair, fog, and misunderstood souls.
She looked deeply Victorian about it—pale expression, distant eyes, posture just stiff enough to suggest she had opinions about corsets and none of them were positive. If she had a black lace shawl, she absolutely would've been clutching it.
Elizabeth had left not ten minutes ago, right after their heart-to-heart, which consisted mostly of Elizabeth speaking in careful riddles which were used in Smallville comics and Lucinda nodding like she definitely understood everything. She did not. Of course.
She had not eaten yet. She might as well pass out where they stood earlier.
Thankfully—miraculously—someone had called Lex away on an urgent matter. Lucinda didn't know what the matter was.
Lucinda didn't care.
Although she had a hunch, it was Elizabeth's doing to lure Lex away, so she and Lucinda could talk in private. There was no universe in which Elizabeth would allow Lex Luthor to overhear anything remotely important, especially not a conversation involving alternate realities, travelers, or Lucinda herself.
Honestly? Respect.
"Perhaps," Dylan sighed, folding his arms as if this were all terribly tragic. "After what she's been through since the Ice Man's attack, unfortunate things just… keep happening."
He sighed again. Louder this time. For effect. "I think it's safe to conclude she might have finally lost it."
Lucinda blinked. Then she spoke, still staring out the window, voice calm, casual, and entirely too sane for someone being discussed like a malfunctioning appliance.
"I can hear you, you know."
There was a brief, delicious silence.
Jess froze mid-snicker. Dylan straightened like he'd just been caught stealing silverware.
Lucinda finally turned around, expression blank, eyes tired—but with the faintest hint of amusement curling at the corner of her mouth.
"And for the record," she added, "if Lex were going to institutionalize me, he would've done it already. He's very efficient like that."
She paused, then gestured vaguely toward the window behind her. "Also, last I checked, you don't talk this much, Jess."
Jess blinked then made her way out from Lucinda's line of sight.
Lucinda then shifted her gaze to Dylan who still stood on his post. "And you—we're not even close enough for you to joke about me like that."
Dylan only shrugged, completely unfazed. "I wasn't joking though."
Lucinda reached for the nearest vase, fingers curling around it like she was genuinely considering her options. She weighed it once, thoughtfully.
"If my salary could cover the cost of this thing," she said calmly, "it would already be on your face."
She set the vase back down with exaggerated care. "Unfortunately for you," she added, "I'm underpaid."
"Oh, tell me about it," Dylan suddenly chuckled.
Lucinda barely had time to roll her eyes before he started walking toward her, slow and deliberate, until he stopped just an arm's length away—close enough to be annoying, not close enough to be brave.
"I don't actually see you doing household chores around here," he went on, glancing around theatrically. "So how are you getting paid, exactly?"
His grin turned cheeky. "Or should I ask if you and Mr. Luthor already have… an arrangement?"
Lucinda grimaced. Of all the rumors he could've chosen, he picked the laziest one.
"You know," she said flatly, "for a man who carries a gun for a living, you're surprisingly chatty. It's kind of a turn-off."
Dylan laughed again, clearly unbothered, adjusting the holster strapped around his waist like he was posing for a catalog.
"And why are you here?" Lucinda added. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding the gates or glaring ominously at strangers?"
He shrugged. "Mr. Luthor reassigned me. I'm to keep an eye on you whenever he's not around."
Lucinda blinked. "Why?" She had to ask because if she were to pick, Edgar would be her best option to guard her.
"Because," Dylan said easily, "you're a chaos magnet."
Her eyes narrowed. Nice try.
Lex Luthor didn't assign bodyguards for protection—he assigned them for observation. If Dylan was here, it wasn't to keep her safe. It was to watch. To report. To see if she cracked, ran, or did something inconveniently supernatural.
Especially after Elizabeth mentioned terms that were not yet registered in Lex's vocabulary.
Lucinda swallowed, her mind drifting—unhelpfully—to Elizabeth's parting words.
If you continue your close relationship with Lex, you will risk Lana Lang's role in his life.
You've already taken Dr. Helen Bryce's surname, Lucy. She might never even show up in the series anymore. And so, if you push further into saving Lex and Clark's friendship—God forbid—you might end up turning Clark into the villain.
Her jaw clenched.
Meet me at Miller's Field tomorrow. 6 a.m. I'll tell you everything you need to know.
"Yeah," Lucinda had muttered back then, "as if I know how to get there by myself."
"Where?"
Lucinda gasped. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. She turned sharply to Dylan, who was now looking at her with renewed interest.
"Your job is to watch me," she said pointedly, "not eavesdrop on my inner monologue."
"Of course," Dylan replied, flashing a smile so fake it deserved its own witness protection program. "Oh—and before I forget. Mr. Luthor wants you to keep your lines open."
Lucinda frowned. "Why?"
He shrugged again. "Not nosy enough to ask. Find it out yourself."
Another fake smile. Then he stepped away. He didn't actually leave. He only repositioned himself behind her.
Close enough to watch. Far enough to pretend he wasn't.
Lucinda turned back to the window, staring out at the darkened sky, suddenly very aware that being underpaid was the least of her problems.
Because one thing was painfully clear: she could never abandon Lex. Not like this. She had agreed to work with him—work, not hide behind curtains and existential dread like some tragic heroine in a gothic novel. Lex had trusted her enough to call her a business partner, which was both flattering and mildly terrifying, considering his idea of "business" occasionally involved dangerous people, secret agendas, and objects that really shouldn't hum ominously in locked rooms.
And yet… she hadn't actually helped him. Aside from that one infected man she slammed against the road.
Sure, she didn't like the part where Lex clearly intended to use her as bait for meteor-infected individuals. That had been a hard pill to swallow. But if that was the fastest way to be useful—to matter—then she could live with it.
At least this way, she was choosing it.
Lucinda pressed her forehead lightly against the cold glass. Outside, everything looked calm.
Elizabeth's words echoed again, unwelcome and persistent.
Don't get too close to Lex.
Don't get too close to Clark.
You're disrupting the plot.
As if her existence was a typo the universe kept trying to autocorrect.
Lucinda exhaled through her nose.
Elizabeth had spoken calmly. She hadn't yelled. She hadn't threatened. She had simply informed Lucinda that she was a problem.
That was somehow worse.
Lucinda wasn't stupid. She could read between the lines. Elizabeth didn't care about her feelings, or Lex's, or Clark's. She cared about preservation. About keeping the story intact. About making sure the "right" people stayed where they belonged, even if it meant pushing Lucinda out of the frame entirely.
That had been Lucinda's original plan too.
Lay low. Don't interfere. Don't change anything important. Funny how plans fell apart the moment people started to matter.
She curled her fingers against the glass, jaw tightening.
How was she supposed to walk away from Lex now—after promising she'd always choose him over anyone else? After seeing how alone he really was when the lights dimmed and the bravado slipped? After realizing that, bait or not, he had placed her inside his world?
Lucinda swallowed and was just about to continue wallowing dramatically—perhaps even sighing again for emphasis—when she heard a voice she absolutely did not want to hear right now.
"Lucy!"
She closed her eyes for half a second, as if that might make him disappear. It did not.
Lucinda sighed and turned around to see Clark approaching her, careful as ever, stopping a full two arm-lengths away.
"What is it, Clark?" she asked, her voice tired enough to qualify as a personality trait.
"Well—" Clark glanced sideways at Dylan, who was standing in the corner pretending not to exist while very clearly existing. Clark blinked, then turned back to Lucinda. "Can we talk in private?"
Lucinda snorted softly. "Just say it. Lex asked that man to look after me," she said, gesturing vaguely in Dylan's direction. "I'm kinda supervised."
Clark hesitated and whispered. "But this is about a meteor-freak."
That got her attention. "Why?" Lucinda leaned closer without thinking. "What happened?"
Clark should have stepped back. Normally, he would have. But this time, he didn't feel that familiar drain tug at him. Maybe it was because Lucinda was unusually calm.
"So—you know Lana, right?" Clark asked. "You met her once."
Lucinda nodded. Of course she knew Lana Lang. Smallville practically orbited her.
"Well, the man she was helping as a volunteer disappeared from the retirement center," Clark continued, lowering his voice.
"I was hoping you could help. Otherwise… Lana might get into trouble."
Lucinda's eyes narrowed.
"You mean the Smallville Retirement Center?"
Clark nodded.
"What was the man's name?"
"Harry Bolston."
Lucinda's face lit up like she'd just been handed spoilers wrapped in a bow.
Oh. Oh!!! This is episode 6. Hourglass. We're still on the plot!
Her mind immediately filled in the blanks. Harry Volk. Accelerated aging backwards. The retirement center. And more importantly—Cassandra Carver. The blind seer.
Lucinda swallowed hard, excitement and dread tangling together in her chest.
"Stay right here, Clark," she said, already turning on her heel. "I'll just change clothes, then I'll come with you."
"Wait—Lucy—" Clark started, but she was already gone.
She sprinted into her room, slamming the door behind her and immediately panicking.
"This is it," she gasped, throwing open her wardrobe. "This is actually it."
She rifled through clothes like her future depended on it—which, frankly, it might.
Something casual. Something not suspicious. Something that didn't scream time-displaced existential threat.
She had to meet Cassandra Carver.
Not just for Clark. Not just for Lex. But for herself.
Cassandra could see futures. Possibilities. Endings.
Clark and Lex were destined to cross her path—Lucinda knew that. And Lucinda had to be there when it happened. She needed answers. She needed to know whether inserting herself into Lex and Clark's lives was quietly saving them… or slowly ruining everything.
She paused mid-outfit change, heart pounding.
If Cassandra saw her future and it really ended up turning Clark into a villain then at least Lucinda would know what she was walking toward and might actually agree to whatever Elizabeth was planning to salvage the real plot.
"But what about Lex?" She paused for a moment and immediately shrugged the thought away.
For now, she needed shoes.