The news playing on the television wasn't hard to recognize—it was clearly reporting on Hathaway's film crew.
Lucien only needed a glance to piece things together. If Elizabeth had simply kept her distance and not inserted herself into matters she didn't understand, she wouldn't have ended up dragged into Freddy's nightmare. Cause and effect were always this straightforward, no matter how cruel it seemed. The younger members of the crew had barely survived the ordeal as it was; they were already left exhausted, both mentally and physically. For someone like Elizabeth, whose body had long passed its prime, it wasn't surprising that she couldn't endure it.
If anything, the truly unfortunate one was the director.
Through a combination of bad timing and worse luck, he had somehow become the primary suspect and was taken away for questioning. It didn't matter that the truth would eventually come out—by then, the damage would already be done. Filming would be suspended, schedules thrown into chaos, and the financial losses would pile up. In a way, the director himself had now become the biggest obstacle to his own project.
Lucien almost wondered, with a faint trace of amusement, whether the man would still have the same arrogance when facing Annie once filming resumed.
"Your dry martini… and your screwdriver."
The bartender's voice broke through his thoughts as two glasses were placed neatly on the table. The clear liquid shimmered faintly under the soft bar lights.
Jamie picked up his glass first, grinning. "To survival."
Lucien lightly clinked his glass against his, the crisp sound barely audible over the quiet hum of the bar. He took a small sip, savoring the sharp, clean taste.
Jamie leaned back in his chair, his mood relaxed. "That detective I told you about? He's been doing pretty well lately. Last time I saw him, he looked like he'd just been promoted."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Something good happened?"
"Yeah," Jamie nodded. "He cracked a cult case recently. Big one. Got recognized by his superiors. Seems like he's finally secured his position in the LAPD."
"A cult?" Jamie's words made Lucien pause slightly. His gaze shifted toward him, thoughtful. "Don't tell me… I was involved too?"
Jamie chuckled. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."
Lucien didn't deny it. He simply swirled the liquid in his glass, his tone calm. "The situation wasn't simple. The people involved weren't ordinary criminals. The police alone wouldn't have handled it easily."
He paused briefly before adding, "Besides, the victim was someone who had helped me before."
Jamie studied him carefully, realizing there was far more behind those simple words than Lucien was letting on.
"It wasn't really a cult," Lucien continued casually. "More like two practitioners of folk sorcery… and a murderer hiding behind the identity of a minor. Messy combination."
Jamie let out a low whistle. "All that happened in less than a month?"
Lucien didn't respond.
But Jamie suddenly realized something—Lucien had barely finished dealing with that incident before rushing here to deal with Freddy. There had been no real break in between.
Jamie's expression turned serious. He lifted his glass again. "You've been working nonstop, huh… This one's for you."
He drained his drink in one go, far less refined than Lucien's controlled sipping.
Lucien watched him for a moment, then shook his head with a faint smile and took another small sip of his martini.
His gaze drifted lazily across the bar, taking in the surroundings without much interest—until it stopped.
In the corner sat a disheveled young man, his posture slouched, his eyes dull, as if he hadn't slept in days. Something about him felt strangely familiar.
Lucien narrowed his eyes slightly.
If he wasn't mistaken… that face resembled Edward Furlong.
Not far away, another man sat alone at a table. Beard, messy hair, worn-out clothes—he looked almost like a homeless drifter. Yet there was something unmistakable about him.
Keanu Reeves?
Lucien blinked once, then leaned back.
"This place you picked…" he said slowly, glancing at Jamie, "is quite interesting."
Jamie scratched his head awkwardly. "Really? I just picked it randomly."
Lucien didn't elaborate further.
But inwardly, he felt a strange sense of irony. This bar felt less like a casual drinking spot and more like a convergence point of unpredictable variables. If things continued like this, he half-expected some absurd scene to unfold—a clash between completely unrelated figures as if reality itself had lost coherence.
For a brief moment, his thoughts faltered.
Then stabilized again.
As his cultivation improved, the memories from his previous life had been surfacing more clearly. Most of the time, they were sharp and precise. But occasionally, like just now, there would be brief moments of overlap and confusion.
And then—
Something clicked.
The earlier news report.
The airport incident.
A woman screaming. A flight stopped just before takeoff.
That sense of déjà vu wasn't accidental.
Lucien's fingers began tapping lightly against the table, his gaze turning distant.
In his previous life, there had been a well-known horror series.
Final Destination.
A story where people who were meant to die escaped their fate—only to be hunted down one by one afterward. No matter how they struggled, no matter how clever they were, death would always find its way back to them.
Escape was only temporary.
Delay… not salvation.
A faint chill crept into his thoughts.
In those stories, only a handful of people were involved.
But this time?
That single incident had affected nearly a hundred passengers.
Would all of them… eventually die?
Lucien's tapping slowed.
Then stopped.
No.
Jumping to that conclusion was too hasty.
Similar incidents had happened before in his previous life. Passengers causing disturbances before takeoff wasn't unheard of. Most of the time, nothing came of it.
But then…
What was this feeling?
This subtle, almost imperceptible unease pressing against his mind?
Before he could delve deeper, Jamie's phone suddenly rang.
"Hello?" Jamie answered casually.
"Jamie? Where are you? Is Lucien with you?"
The voice on the other end was familiar—the detective.
There was tension in his tone. Unease.
Jamie glanced at Lucien. "Yeah, he's here. We're at a bar. What's going on?"
A pause.
Then Jamie lowered his voice slightly. "Let me guess… another paranormal case?"
"What are you thinking?" the detective sighed. "It's not a ghost."
Jamie listened as the explanation continued, his expression gradually turning strange.
By the time the call ended, he looked… conflicted.
"You've got great timing," Jamie muttered under his breath.
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "What is it this time? Did the detective run into trouble again?"
"…Not exactly."
Jamie hesitated, then explained.
It wasn't the detective.
It was one of his patrol officers—Carl Gallagher.
Lucien remembered him immediately. The man who had charged in decisively during the voodoo incident. Courageous, straightforward, with a strong sense of justice.
A rare type.
But recently, Carl had run into a problem.
A few days ago, while on leave, he had bumped into an elderly Asian man in his neighborhood. The man had been carrying a Buddha statue—and during the encounter, it had been damaged.
Just like that, responsibility fell onto Carl.
At first, it looked like a simple scam.
Carl had intended to ignore it entirely.
But things became complicated when surveillance cameras—recently installed in the area—clearly captured the entire incident.
Now he couldn't walk away.
And then came the real issue.
The old man claimed the statue was priceless.
His demand?
Three million dollars.
Even a fool could see it was extortion.
But the man had prepared thoroughly. Physical evidence, witnesses, and even appraisal documents were all in place.
Carl was trapped.
He couldn't ignore it. He couldn't use force. And legally, he was at a disadvantage.
So, with no other option, the detective reached out—to someone who might be able to break the situation.
An antique shop owner.
Someone capable of determining the real value of the statue.
Someone like Lucien.
For a long moment, Lucien said nothing.
His gaze lowered slightly, thoughtful.
Then he leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly.
"…What kind of mess have I gotten dragged into now?"
But even as he said it, his mind was already moving.
The airport incident.
The faint premonition.
And now this sudden request.
Individually, they meant little.
But together…
Lucien's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Somehow, he had the feeling—
This was only the beginning.