The notification came exactly as Lucien expected.
No delay.
No ambiguity.
Cold. Direct. Inevitable.
[Interference confirmed.]
[Target added to sequence.]
[Priority: Elevated.]
Lucien Blackwood didn't react outwardly.
He simply leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers loosely wrapped around the warm ceramic of his coffee cup, as if nothing had changed.
But internally—
He understood everything.
Death had acknowledged him.
Not as an obstacle.
Not as an anomaly.
But as a participant.
A target.
And perhaps… something even more troublesome.
Across from him, Scarlett was no longer speaking. Her attention had drifted toward the road, her gaze locked onto a passing truck as if it were a predator that might suddenly lunge at her.
Only after it disappeared into the distance did her shoulders relax—slightly.
Lucien noticed.
Of course he did.
In her premonition, that truck had been the final executioner.
And logically—
If she had died that way, then anyone near her… would not have survived either.
Lucien's eyes narrowed faintly.
Interesting.
So that was his original role.
Not a savior.
Not a variable.
Just collateral.
A background casualty in a larger design.
A disposable piece.
He almost laughed.
"Balance between life and death," huh…
What a convenient excuse for something that clearly didn't care who it erased.
The waiter approached quietly, clearing the table and replacing the spilled drinks with two fresh cups, identical to before.
Normalcy reasserted itself once again.
Scarlett took a slow sip this time, as if grounding herself in the warmth.
Then she looked at him.
"Lucien… are you thinking about what comes next?"
Her tone had changed.
Less doubt.
More trust.
Good.
Lucien nodded once.
"Yes."
And then he said nothing more.
Scarlett didn't push.
That alone told him she had learned something important in the last few minutes—
Trust didn't mean understanding everything.
Silence settled between them for a while.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… heavy with thought.
Finally, Lucien set his cup down.
"You don't need to go back to that hospital."
Scarlett blinked.
"That… safe room?"
"Yes."
She hesitated.
"I thought I needed to stay somewhere with minimal risk."
"You did," Lucien replied calmly. "Before."
A small pause.
"Now the situation has changed."
Scarlett leaned forward slightly.
"So I should go somewhere safer?"
Lucien shook his head.
"No."
That answer clearly wasn't what she expected.
"Then what should I do?"
"Live normally."
She stared at him.
"…What?"
"You can go out. Work. Attend auditions. Shop. Walk around the city." His tone remained steady. "Just avoid unnecessary close contact with people for extended periods."
Scarlett frowned.
"That sounds… too simple."
"It is simple."
"And travel?"
Lucien paused for a moment before answering.
"Limit it."
"How much?"
"Don't leave California."
Scarlett blinked again.
That range was so wide it almost sounded careless.
"…Can you tell me why?"
Lucien looked at her for a second.
Then—
"No."
Not cold.
Not dismissive.
Just firm.
Scarlett didn't like that answer—but she didn't argue either.
Because deep down, she could feel it.
He wasn't hiding something for manipulation.
He was withholding something… because it mattered.
Lucien, meanwhile, had already moved on in his thoughts.
The logic was becoming clearer.
Every "incident" required construction.
Probability manipulation.
Chain alignment.
And now—
Confirmation.
Disruption caused loss.
Which meant one thing:
Whatever Death was… it wasn't infinite.
It consumed something.
Effort.
Energy.
Resources.
Call it whatever you want—the result was the same.
It could be exhausted.
Lucien's fingers tapped lightly against the table.
So the real strategy wasn't just survival.
It was attrition.
Force it to spend.
Force it to fail.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until—
It couldn't continue.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Now that… was a game worth playing.
A ringtone broke the moment.
Scarlett glanced at her phone, then answered.
"Hello?"
Lucien didn't listen directly, but her expression shifted quickly—confusion, hesitation, then reluctant acceptance.
"…I'm outside right now."
"…What about Dad?"
"…Alright. I'll come back."
She hung up.
"My mother," she explained. "She wants me home. She… wants to discuss everything."
Lucien raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Now?"
"Yes."
She hesitated.
"There's also… a film crew invitation. She thinks I should consider it."
Lucien said nothing.
Scarlett looked at him again.
"…You said I could live normally."
"I did."
She inhaled slowly.
"Then… can you come with me?"
There it was.
Not demand.
Not expectation.
Just… request.
Lucien didn't answer immediately.
And those few seconds stretched longer than Scarlett would have liked.
Finally—
"Miss Johnson," he said calmly, "I'm not your bodyguard."
Her expression dimmed slightly.
"And I'm not someone who can be called at any time," he continued. "Being seen with you brings attention. Attention brings trouble."
Silence.
Scarlett's hands tightened slightly.
"…So that's a no?"
Lucien tilted his head slightly.
"It's not impossible."
Hope flickered.
Then—
"It just costs more."
Scarlett froze.
For a second—
Then she almost laughed.
Of course.
That made sense.
Too much sense.
"You're unbelievable," she muttered.
"Efficient," Lucien corrected.
—
In the end, she agreed.
Of course she did.
Money was the least of her concerns right now.
They drove together.
Or rather—
Scarlett drove.
Lucien had zero intention of taking the wheel.
"Reduce unnecessary contact," he said casually as he leaned back in the passenger seat. "The more people around you, the more variables it can use."
Scarlett shot him a look.
"So now even my driver is a risk?"
"Yes."
"…Great."
Despite the sarcasm, she followed every rule perfectly.
Red light—stop.
Green light—go.
No rushing.
No risks.
The drive was smooth.
Quiet.
Almost deceptively normal.
Until they arrived.
Scarlett parked in front of her house.
Lucien stepped out first, leaning casually against the car door.
"You go in."
She didn't move immediately.
"…You're not coming?"
He shook his head.
"No need."
"What if something happens?"
"It won't," he said calmly. "Not immediately."
A pause.
"And if it does?"
Lucien glanced at her.
Then at the faint outline of the talisman beneath her clothing.
"You have insurance."
Scarlett exhaled.
Not fully reassured.
But enough.
She stepped out of the car.
Walked toward the house.
And disappeared inside.
Lucien stayed where he was.
Still.
Quiet.
Waiting.
A few seconds passed.
Then—
Movement.
Two figures approached from the distance.
Lucien's eyes shifted slightly.
One was a middle-aged woman—elegant, controlled, clearly someone used to authority.
The other—
A man in clergy robes.
Bible in hand.
Lucien's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary.
Then—
A faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Because now—
It wasn't just Death entering the board.
Other players… were starting to show up too.