Cassandra could sense the people around her, yet for some reason, she either was deliberately ignoring Lucinda or simply couldn't sense her at all.
Lex, surprisingly flustered, glanced down at his perfectly polished footwear, then back at Lucinda. The two exchanged a brief look
before Lex stepped inside, straightening as if his shoes alone could command respect.
"Lex Luthor," he said.
"Oh," Cassandra waved her hand around lazily. "Of Luthor Everything Incorporated?"
"More or less," Lex replied with a smirk, clearly enjoying the tiny spark of tension his presence created.
"What does the savior of Smallville want with an old woman?"
The question hung lightly in the cramped room, almost playful, as sunlight filtered through thin curtains yellowed by age. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, catching the light like suspended embers. The small sitting room smelled faintly of old paper and chamomile tea—comforting, yet unsettling in its intimacy.
Cassandra gestured around cheerfully, tapping the chair in front of her.
Lex smiled and sat on it. "You seem to have made a real impression on two of my friends."
The chair creaked under his weight, its wooden legs protesting softly. Lex adjusted his posture with practiced ease, every movement deliberate, polished. His eyes scanned the room briefly—shelves of dog-eared books, framed photographs turned face-down, and a single walking cane propped neatly against the wall.
Cassandra placed her book neatly on her lap. "So, you came here to see for yourself?"
"Well, one of them's not stupid," Lex said. "If he says you know things, there must be something that made him think that."
Lucinda grimaced. "He?" She mumbled. "So I'm stup—wow," she gasped in disbelief. The sound escaped her before she could stop it, sharp and incredulous. It was loud enough for Cassandra to hear her, but she didn't. Or maybe she couldn't.
"What gives me the feeling, you're not here for stock tips, Mr. Luthor?" Cassandra leaned back on her chair.
"Please," Lex leaned. "Call me Lex. I was hoping you could give me insight into Clark."
Lucinda blinked. She knew about this conversation that they both had, but it was scarier when she heard it coming from Lex—spoken aloud, unguarded.
Hearing Clark's name in this place felt like tempting something unseen to listen more closely.
Cassandra clasped her hands together, seemingly thinking. "And you call him a friend, do you?"
"He saved my life but he's also a mystery," Lex explained.
"Most people are," Cassandra chuckled. Rubbing her hands together. "That's what makes them interesting."
Lex looked straight into her meteorite-burnt eyes. The scars were impossible to ignore—clouded, silvery, as though they reflected something that wasn't in the room at all. "I'm willing to treat this as a professional service."
Cassandra looked down, shaking her head. "Save your money, Lex. I can't tell you about Clark even if I wanted to." She waved a hand in front of him. "I can only tell the future of the person I touch."
She extended a hand towards Lex, gesturing for her to place his hand on top. Her fingers were thin, steady, patient. But Lex only stared at her hand, lips twitching before he chuckled and leaned back.
"I don't need to know my future," he said.
"Why?" Cassandra asked. "Because your father already as it mapped out for you?"
Lex leaned forward again "I believe we make our own destiny."
"And you don't want a glimpse of what it is you'll make?" Cassandra extended her hand again. "Maybe I'll see your friend Clark, or..." She shrugged. "Or maybe I'll see something else."
Lex stared at her this time. The room felt smaller, tighter, as if the walls themselves were listening. His expression hardened—not with fear, but with resolve. "Goodbye, Miss Carver," he said. "It's been enlightening."
Lex stood up, turned to Lucinda, and walked towards her. His footsteps were measured, confident, yet Lucinda noticed the brief pause at the threshold—as though some part of him resisted leaving unfinished truths behind.
"Come back again," Cassandra said. "When you're ready."
Her voice followed them out—steady, unshaken—lingering in the room long after Lex walked past Lucinda like she was just another piece of furniture he hadn't tripped over yet.
"We'll wait for you outside," Lex said, flashing her a smile that was charming, controlled, and entirely too practiced for a man who'd just almost had his destiny revealed.
Then he was gone. Dylan trailed after him, boots soft against the floor, loyalty intact and curiosity painfully suppressed.
Lucinda exhaled. Slowly. Well. At least she knew Lex would be back one of these days.
Preferably before—she winced internally.
—before Cassandra died. She really needed to stop thinking like that.
Her presence might have altered scenes, but canon things are still happening.
Lucinda pressed her lips together and turned back toward Cassandra, who had already resumed finger-reading her book as if she hadn't just emotionally body-checked the future of a billionaire.
Professional. Efficient. Slightly terrifying.
Lucinda took a step forward.
"You are not from around here, are you?"
The words hit sharper this time—rougher, stripped of the earlier cheer.
Lucinda paused mid-step, then continued until she stood directly in front of Cassandra. "I thought you didn't notice me at all, Miss Carver," she said pleasantly. "I was beginning to worry this was a selective-seeing situation."
Cassandra smiled and tilted her head up toward Lucinda's voice. "I've met two people like you before, miss—?"
"Lucy Bryce," Lucinda supplied. "Miss Carver."
"Ahh…" Cassandra gestured toward the chair Lex had just vacated. Lucinda sat, feeling faintly like she was borrowing destiny residue. "What does a supernatural being want from me?"
Lucinda shook her head, even though Cassandra couldn't see it. "I promise, Miss Carver, if I were supernatural, I'd be doing a much better job at this. I'm just a woman who was… relocated here. Without consent. Or instructions."
Cassandra's smile softened. "So you want to know your role in this place?"
"Yes," Lucinda said immediately.
Cassandra's lips pressed into a thin line. She set her book aside and folded her hands neatly atop it, her posture shifting from casual to careful.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about your future, Miss Bryce."
Lucinda frowned. "Why not?"
"Because just as I cannot sense your presence," Cassandra explained calmly, "I also cannot see the future of someone who doesn't belong here."
Lucinda's stomach dropped.
"Just like the other two," Cassandra added gently, "who came to me for the very same reason you did."
Cassandra extended her hand. Lucinda hesitated for half a second—long enough to regret all her life choices—then took it.
Nothing happened.
No visions. No shock. No dramatic gasp. Not even a spooky draft. Just Cassandra's quiet sigh.
"The three of you," Cassandra said softly, releasing her hand, "have no future in this place, Miss Bryce."
Lucinda stared at her own fingers.
No future.
Damn.
She looked back up, refusal kicking in almost immediately. She hadn't crossed dimensions just to be told she was narratively unemployed.
"But what if you look at Lex's future?" Lucinda blurted, leaning forward in her chair. "Or Clark's. You might— I don't know—catch a reflection of me through them, right? Secondhand destiny? Narrative osmosis? You said to Lex the same thing," she gestured vaguely between herself and the invisible web of people she'd somehow entangled herself in.
"Even just a fragment, Miss Carver," she said more softly now. "I just want to know if what I am about to bring them is happiness… or pain."
Cassandra was quiet for a moment. Then she exhaled, long and measured, as if weighing more than words. When she smiled, it wasn't prophetic—it was kind.
"You are a good person, Lucy Bryce," Cassandra said, tapping Lucinda's hand with her own, gentle but certain. "Even without seeing your future, I know this much: someone like Lex Luthor does not let many people close."
She tilted her head slightly. "If you are already there… then yes. You will bring him happiness."
Lucinda felt something warm and treacherous bloom in her chest. And then—inevitably—Elizabeth's voice echoed in her head.
You will risk Lana Lang's place in his life.
Lucinda groaned and tipped her head back. "Anak ng talaba nga naman," she murmured.
Cassandra smiled and gave Lucinda's hand one final, gentle tap, like sealing an envelope fate had already declined to deliver.
"Have a good day, Miss Lucy Bryce," she said warmly.
Which was, unmistakably, Lucinda's cue to leave now—before destiny decided to circle back with amendments. Lucinda sighed, turned, and stepped outside.
She had just enough time to draw in another dramatic, long-suffering breath when a deep voice erupted to her right—so sudden and resonant it might as well have been thunder with a British accent.
"Miss Bryce."
Lucinda visibly flinched. Her soul attempted to exit through her left ear. She cringed, teeth clenched, every curse she had ever learned lining up eagerly on the tip of her tongue—each one sharper, louder, and more fatal than the last—before she froze.
Lionel Luthor.
What on earth is he doing here even?!
Lucinda swallowed every single harsh word back with the reflex of someone who valued continued breathing. She knew—knew—that lashing out at Lionel Luthor would not merely end poorly. It would end historically.
She turned slowly.
Lionel was leaning against the wall beside the door, perfectly composed, reading a newspaper as if he hadn't just shaved five years off her life expectancy. The man looked like he'd been standing there for hours, patiently waiting to haunt her.
"It's good to see you well, Miss Bryce," Lionel said calmly.
He folded the newspaper with meticulous precision—each crease crisp, deliberate—then turned fully toward her.
Lucinda was still clutching her chest like she'd narrowly survived a cardiac event.
"I—I feel the same to you, Mr. Lionel Luthor, sir," she gasped, voice just a shade too high to be convincing. "Truly. Deeply. Overwhelmingly… alive."
She paused, then added, because silence around Lionel felt dangerous, "You startled me, sir. I apologize."
Lionel's lips curved faintly. Not quite a smile. More like a warning that had learned manners.
"I find honesty refreshing," he said.
"So, uhh…" Lucinda blinked, her brain scrambling for the nearest safe exit that did not involve fainting. "If you're looking for Lex, he should be outside—with Clark."
Lionel's lips thinned, the expression so controlled it felt rehearsed. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, and tucked the folded newspaper neatly behind his back, as if preparing for a very polite execution.
"I didn't come here for my son, Miss Bryce," he said calmly. "I came here for you."
Lucinda visibly swallowed.
Her heartbeat escalated into something between a drumroll and a fire alarm.
"T—That's… overwhelming to hear, sir," she managed, shoulders stiff, posture immaculate in the way of someone trying very hard not to bolt. "B-but what use would a mere housemaid like myself be to someone such as you?"
Lionel studied her then—too closely, too knowingly—as though she were a puzzle piece he hadn't yet decided where to place.
"Housemaid," he repeated, voice mild.
Lucinda nodded quickly. "Yes. Very good at dusting. Occasionally survives near Luthors. That's… mostly my skill set."
"Oh, come now, Miss Bryce," Lionel chuckled—a soft, amused sound that somehow felt more threatening than shouting. "I know you and my son had a little agreement. One that didn't include a job offer so much as a… collaboration."
Of course you know, Lucinda screamed internally. You probably know what I had for breakfast. You probably know I skipped breakfast.
She opened her mouth to argue—politely, desperately, maybe even convincingly—but Lionel stepped closer. Too close. Close enough that she had to lean back slightly, calculating the exact angle required to avoid a nose-to-nose situation that would almost certainly end with her soul being audited.
"I've pulled every string available to me, Miss Bryce," Lionel continued smoothly. "And it appears you have no origin at all. Even from the country you claimed to have come from—The Philippines?"
Lucinda's smile froze in place.
"No birth records. No school history. No paper trail that you have ever set foot to any place other than Smallville," Lionel said, clearly enjoying himself now. "Which leads me to suspect that you didn't come from this world at all."
He smirked. He sounded like he was only joking around but Lucinda knows Lionel was only waiting for her reaction to solidify into a confirmation.
Lucinda resisted the urge to glance around, hoping Lex, Clark, or anyone she could use as an alibi to escape the awkward situation but no one was around.
Even Cassandra is nowhere to be found. She must have slipped to the balcony knowing Lionel would show up.
"And," Lionel added, leaning back just enough to give her the illusion of oxygen, "I believe my son has reached the same conclusion. Which is precisely why he's kept you close—despite the considerable risk of employing someone who technically does not exist."
Lucinda swallowed, the thought pressing insistently at the back of her mind. Actually, he already knows I'm from the future… from the real future, she corrected herself. Which somehow feels worse.
She was just about to say something—anything vaguely coherent—when salvation arrived in the form of a familiar, sharp voice behind her.
"If you wanted to know that much about her," Lex said coolly, "you could always try asking me, Dad."
Lucinda nearly sagged in relief.
Lex stepped into view like a knight in shining bald armor—expensive coat, perfectly measured confidence, and a talent for showing up exactly when Lionel Luthor became unbearable. He reached out and caught Lucinda by the arm, steadying her and subtly pulling her upright.
Lionel straightened at once, his posture adjusting the way predators did when another predator entered the room.
"Ah, Lex," Lionel said pleasantly. "We were just talking about you."
"Oh?" Lex smirked. "Perhaps I misheard then." His gaze flicked briefly to Lucinda, then back to his father. "Because I don't recall you being the sort who interrogates my employees in hallways when I'm not around."
Lex smiled. Lionel matched his smile. Lucinda immediately disliked how identical those smiles looked.
"Well," Lionel said after a beat, tapping Lex lightly on the shoulder, "I have errands to attend to." He paused, then added, eyes drifting deliberately to Lucinda. "I would advise you not to take your eyes off your… friend."
"I have a feeling she attracts fortune," Lionel continued, voice silky. Then, with a faint tilt of his head, "or the opposite."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, newspaper tucked neatly under his arm, leaving behind the distinct impression that he had just mentally tagged Lucinda like a dangerous investment.
Lex watched his father go, jaw tight, eyes darkened by thoughts he didn't voice. Only when Lionel disappeared from sight did he turn back to her.
"What did my father say to you, Lucy?"
Lucinda inhaled slowly, then looked up at him. "I think," she said carefully, "he knows I'm working with you. On… something."
She hesitated, then pressed on, words tumbling out a little faster now. "I know it's been a while since we talked about this—after what happened in the auction and everything that followed—but you said you had something that could help me get back to my own time. Right?"
Lex's brows drew together. He didn't answer immediately, and that silence alone made her stomach twist.
"Are you scared of my father?" he asked at last, brushing Lucinda's question. "Because you know I'd do anything to protect my friends."
Lucinda glanced toward the room Cassandra had been in earlier, toward the place where answers should have been waiting for her. Then she looked back at Lex.
"It's not your father I'm scared of, Lex," she said softly. "It's me." She swallowed. "I'm afraid that if I stay here too long, I'll ruin your life—or someone else's I encounter."
Lex's gaze flicked briefly in the same direction she'd looked, as if Cassandra's presence—or absence—still lingered in the air.
"Why?" he asked. "Did Miss Carver tell you that?"
Lucinda shook her head. "No. And I wish she had." She let out a small, humorless breath. "But she couldn't see my future at all," she gave a faint shrug. "Maybe that's because I already come from the future."
Lucinda let out a long, theatrical breath and plastered on a smile that was about eighty percent bravery and twenty percent denial.
"But don't worry, Lex," she said lightly, waving one hand as if she were discussing weekend plans instead of existential doom. "I'm not going to leave you—even if you eventually, let's say, build a time-travel machine in one of your secret rooms." She shrugged. "I'll keep my word. You can use me as bait for meteor-infected people as much as you want, and when you're finally satisfied, you can just toss me back into my own timeline."
She grinned, clearly expecting at least a scoff. Maybe an eye roll. Possibly a sarcastic comment about her dramatic tendencies.
Instead, Lex sighed.
It wasn't an amused sigh. It was the kind that carried weight—exasperation, concern, and something uncomfortably close to fondness. Before she could react, he reached out and flicked her forehead with two fingers.
"Hey—!" Lucinda recoiled, clutching her forehead like she'd just been gravely wounded.
"That's not the only reason I'm keeping you around," Lex muttered, already turning away. "Dummy."
And then he walked off, hands in his pockets, expression carefully unreadable.