"That incident from the news?"
Lucien's tone was calm, but his gaze sharpened slightly.
"So it's already public…"
Across from him, Annie blinked, clearly caught off guard. She had spent most of the day resting, then preparing for tonight. Between sleep and getting ready, she hadn't even glanced at the news cycle.
"…Looks like her team couldn't contain it," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
For a brief moment, something like unease flickered across her face.
Then, just as quickly, she pushed it away.
"But let's not ruin dinner with that," she said, forcing a small smile. "You should try the food here. It's actually worth the reputation."
She raised her hand slightly.
A waiter in the distance immediately understood, tapping the communication device at his collar. Within moments, dishes began arriving one after another—delicately plated, carefully arranged, almost like art rather than food.
Lucien didn't comment on the extravagance.
He simply observed.
The pacing of the service. The subtle coordination. The quiet professionalism.
This wasn't just a restaurant—it was a controlled environment.
Perfect for someone like Annie.
The conversation flowed naturally after that.
Freed from the tension of earlier topics, Annie gradually relaxed. She spoke more freely, even laughing occasionally—something rare for someone so accustomed to maintaining a flawless public image.
She complained about directors with impossible demands.
About co-stars who treated acting like a competition instead of a craft.
About bizarre incidents on set that bordered on absurdity.
At some point, she ordered wine.
Then another glass.
And another.
Lucien watched silently as she drank, noticing how her guard lowered with each sip—not into recklessness, but into honesty.
This version of Annie…
No cameras.
No scripts.
No expectations.
Just a young woman, venting the weight she carried.
He didn't interrupt.
Didn't judge.
Just listened.
And strangely, that seemed to matter more than anything else.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
Plates were cleared. Glasses replaced. The golden light outside faded into deep evening.
By the time the last dish was taken away, the city had already lit up.
Annie leaned back slightly, looking out the window.
"I didn't expect time to pass this quickly…"
There was a quiet sincerity in her voice now.
"For once," she added softly, "it didn't feel like I was performing."
Lucien glanced at her, then followed her gaze toward the city lights.
"It rarely does," he said, "when you stop trying to."
She smiled faintly.
Then, almost without thinking—
"If possible… I'd like to invite you out like this again."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
A brief pause followed.
Lucien didn't hesitate.
"Probably not often."
The answer was simple. Honest.
Not cold—but not encouraging either.
For a moment, Annie froze.
Then she exhaled softly, her smile returning, this time with a hint of self-awareness.
"…Then I'll leave it to luck."
They didn't linger after that.
Dinner had served its purpose.
When they stepped outside, the city had transformed.
Los Angeles at night was alive in a completely different way. Neon lights flickered. Cars moved in endless streams. People filled the streets—some heading somewhere, others simply drifting.
In the shadows, less glamorous parts of the city revealed themselves too.
But amidst all that chaos, the two of them remained unnoticed.
Just another pair among many.
"Goodbye, Lucien."
"Goodbye."
No unnecessary words.
No dramatic farewell.
Just a quiet parting.
Lucien watched as Annie got into the car, Rachel already waiting inside. The vehicle merged into traffic and disappeared within seconds.
Only then did he turn and walk away.
His expression remained calm.
But his mind… was anything but.
—
Inside the car, Rachel didn't wait even a second.
"Well?! How did it go? Did you give him everything? What did he say?"
Questions fired one after another.
Annie leaned back in her seat, a faint flush on her cheeks—not just from the wine.
"It went well."
Rachel narrowed her eyes.
Then she caught the scent.
"You've been drinking?!"
"…Yes."
Rachel immediately covered her face with one hand.
Of course.
Annie had always had this habit. Not excessive—but once she started, she tended to talk. A lot.
And talking too much… could ruin everything.
"So?" Rachel pressed. "What was his reaction?"
Annie thought for a moment.
Then smiled.
"He just listened."
"…That's it?"
"No impatience. No interruption."
Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She wanted to say something.
But looking at Annie's expression… she stopped.
Sometimes, interpretation didn't matter.
Only feeling did.
—
Back at the antique shop, Lucien returned to silence.
The familiar creak of the door.
The faint scent of old wood and paper.
Everything was exactly as he left it.
He sat down.
Picked up a book.
Then put it down again.
His thoughts drifted.
Not to Annie.
Not to the dinner.
But to something else.
Something far more unsettling.
The news.
The plane incident.
The strange premonition that had surfaced earlier.
And that… thing he had sensed at the crossroads.
"…Too many threads," he murmured.
Individually, each event seemed unrelated.
A disturbed actress.
A canceled flight.
A possessed child.
A mysterious pull he couldn't yet define.
But together…
They felt connected.
Not directly.
But inevitably.
Like pieces moving toward the same conclusion.
Lucien exhaled slowly.
Then reached for his brush.
If something was coming—
He needed to be ready.
Talismans.
Better ones.
Stronger ones.
The kind that didn't just repel—but destroyed.
Time passed quietly.
Ink met paper.
Lines formed.
Symbols took shape.
Until—
A faint sound broke the silence.
The door.
Lucien's hand paused mid-stroke.
His gaze lifted.
Outside the glass, a shadow approached.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then—
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
He looked exhausted.
Not physically—but mentally. Like someone who hadn't slept properly in days.
"Welcome," Lucien said, not moving from his seat.
The man didn't react to the casual tone.
Instead, he walked forward, removed his hat, and spoke with quiet urgency.
"I apologize for coming unannounced… Master Lucien."
He placed a business card on the table.
Lucien glanced at it.
Architect.
Carsten Johnson.
"I was referred to you," the man continued. "By Ms. Kate."
Lucien's eyes flickered slightly.
So she had recovered enough to speak about him.
Good.
But also… expected.
"I need your help," Carsten said.
His voice tightened.
"My daughter… something is happening to her. Things that… can't be explained."
Lucien leaned back slightly.
Unsurprised.
People didn't come here for ordinary problems.
"If you want help," he said calmly, "you tell me everything. No omissions. No lies."
Carsten nodded immediately.
"I understand."
He sat down.
Took a breath.
Then began.
"My daughter's name is… Scarlett Johansson."
"She's been experiencing something… strange."
Lucien's fingers tapped lightly against the table.
Another actress.
Another anomaly.
And somehow…
It didn't feel like coincidence anymore.
"Start from the beginning," he said quietly.
Because whatever was unfolding—
It had just taken a very interesting turn.