The name lingered in the air for a moment.
"My daughter… Scarlett Johansson."
Lucien didn't react immediately.
But internally, something clicked.
In his past life, that name had carried weight—immense weight. The face of a global franchise, the embodiment of the so-called "Black Widow," a woman whose fame had transcended cinema itself.
But here…
Right now…
She was just another person on the edge of something she couldn't understand.
And possibly—couldn't escape.
"Continue," Lucien said calmly.
Carsten nodded, his fingers tightening slightly around the teacup.
"A few days ago… she boarded a flight to France."
"Everything was normal at first."
"Then suddenly—she lost control."
His voice grew strained, as if reliving the moment.
"She started screaming… insisting the plane would crash."
"She begged them not to take off. Tried to stop the flight."
"The entire schedule was disrupted."
Lucien's gaze sharpened slightly.
The pattern was already forming.
"And after that?"
"She was taken away. Examined." Carsten's lips curled with restrained anger. "Doctors said it was stress. Said she developed some kind of paranoia from excessive public attention."
He let out a cold laugh.
"Fifteen minutes. Five thousand dollars."
"And a meaningless conclusion."
Lucien didn't comment.
Because the truth was obvious.
If it were just paranoia… it wouldn't be so precise.
"What happened next?" he asked.
Carsten hesitated for a moment.
Then spoke slower.
"Nightmares."
"But she insists they're not dreams."
"They're… visions."
Lucien leaned slightly forward.
"And?"
"…They come true."
Silence fell.
The ticking of a clock somewhere in the shop became suddenly noticeable.
"I didn't believe her at first," Carsten continued. "Until she described—perfectly—the death of a passenger from that flight."
His voice dropped.
"Every detail."
"The cause. The sequence. Even the environment."
"And then…"
"It happened."
Lucien's fingers tapped lightly against the table.
Once.
Twice.
A rhythm forming.
"You verified it?"
"Yes."
Carsten swallowed.
"I hired a private investigator."
"The man died exactly as she described."
A pause.
Then—
"It didn't stop there."
"Another one."
"And another."
"Each death… predicted in advance."
Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Order?"
Carsten nodded immediately, as if waiting for that question.
"Yes."
"I checked the passenger list."
"The deaths follow the seating arrangement on the plane."
"From front to back."
His voice trembled faintly now.
"There are only two people left before it reaches her."
"And then…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Lucien already understood.
This wasn't random.
This wasn't chaotic.
This was—
Systematic.
Carsten took a deep breath before continuing.
"I couldn't take the risk."
"So I arranged a safe house."
"In a private psychiatric facility."
"No sharp objects. No hazards. No external risks."
"Everything controlled."
He clenched his fists.
"And yet… she's still terrified."
"She says it doesn't matter."
"Because it will find a way."
Lucien closed his eyes briefly.
Not out of exhaustion.
But clarity.
When he opened them again—
The answer was already there.
"Do you want her freed from it?" he asked.
Carsten immediately nodded.
"Yes."
"No matter the cost."
Lucien didn't respond right away.
Because this wasn't a normal haunting.
Not even close.
This wasn't something like Mary Shaw.
Not like Freddy.
Those were entities.
Beings with intent.
With emotion.
With… flaws.
But this—
Lucien tapped the table again.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"…This isn't a ghost," he murmured.
Carsten froze slightly.
"What do you mean?"
Lucien didn't answer directly.
Instead—
Carsten's phone rang.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Breaking the stillness.
He fumbled to answer it.
"…Hello?"
A few seconds later—
His face turned pale.
The color drained completely.
"…I understand."
He hung up slowly.
Then looked at Lucien.
Voice shaking.
"Another one is dead."
"The second last."
"…She's next."
Silence filled the room again.
But this time—
It was heavier.
Lucien didn't panic.
Didn't rush.
Instead, he reached into a drawer beside him.
And took out two talismans.
Simple.
But meticulously drawn.
"This isn't a promise," he said, placing them on the table.
Carsten stared at them.
"These are protective talismans."
"They won't stop everything."
"But they might interfere."
Carsten didn't hesitate this time.
He grabbed them like they were lifelines.
"Thank you… thank you!"
Lucien continued calmly.
"Give them to her."
"And watch carefully."
"If they work—"
"We proceed."
"If they don't…"
He didn't finish.
Because the implication was obvious.
Carsten nodded rapidly.
"I understand!"
"Your number?"
Lucien paused briefly.
Then remembered the phone Annie had given him.
He pulled it out, checked it once.
Active.
Ready.
He exchanged contact details with Carsten without further words.
Within minutes—
The man was gone.
Rushing toward whatever time he had left.
—
The shop returned to silence.
But Lucien didn't move.
Didn't reach for a book.
Didn't resume drawing.
He simply sat there.
Thinking.
"Final Destination…" he murmured under his breath.
Final Destination
In his past life, it had been just that.
A film.
A concept.
A cleverly constructed illusion of inevitability.
But here—
It wasn't fiction.
It was functioning.
And that changed everything.
Lucien leaned back slightly.
Eyes half-closed.
Reconstructing the logic.
A disaster.
A survivor group.
An interruption of fate.
Then—
Correction.
Systematic elimination.
No randomness.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
"…Like code," he whispered.
That was the unsettling part.
Not the deaths.
Not even the inevitability.
But the precision.
The order.
The adjustment when something interfered.
Almost like—
A program recalculating outcomes.
Lucien's fingers tapped again.
Faster now.
If it were truly a "death god," it wouldn't need such rigid sequencing.
It wouldn't need order.
It would simply… decide.
But this?
This followed rules.
Which meant—
It could be disrupted.
"Not omnipotent…" Lucien muttered.
"Just… absolute within its parameters."
That was a completely different problem.
And a completely different opportunity.
His gaze drifted toward the talisman papers still scattered across the table.
If the talismans worked—
Even slightly—
That meant interference was possible.
And if interference was possible—
Then the "system" could be forced to adapt.
And if it adapted—
It could be studied.
Exploited.
Broken.
Lucien's lips curved faintly.
Not with confidence.
But with interest.
"Let's see…"
"Are you fate?"
"Or just a very persistent machine?"
Outside, the night deepened.
Somewhere far away—
Another life had already ended.
And somewhere else—
A girl sat in a sealed room.
Waiting.
For something she knew was coming.
And for the first time—
There might be someone willing to challenge it.