Cameraman Never Dies

"I'm his wife, not some... some acquaintance!"

Lucifer nodded slowly, his fingers tapping the armrest of his chair. "You make a compelling point. Communication is the backbone of any partnership, after all. It's strange, isn't it? A man as meticulous as your husband should know that keeping you in the dark would only breed resentment."

Isadora's eyes lit up, the spark of validation fanning her anger. "Exactly! That's what I've been saying! But no, he just dumps me in a hotel room with a stranger and says, 'Stay put, darling, it's for your safety.'" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and her pacing resumed with renewed fervor.

Lucifer tilted his head, observing her with an almost curious expression. "And yet," he said softly, "perhaps he feels this is the only way to keep you safe. A shapeshifter is no ordinary threat, after all. Imagine if it took on your form and targeted him... or worse, if it targeted you."

She paused, frowning, her anger briefly giving way to uncertainty. "You think he's really that worried about me?"@@novelbin@@

Lucifer leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "It's possible. He could be doing all this out of love, out of fear of losing you. But..." He hesitated, as if reluctant to voice the thought.

"But what?" she pressed, her voice sharp.

"But what if," he said slowly, "he's simply using this as an excuse to keep you at arm's length? To focus on his own goals without having to worry about you meddling in them?"

Her breath hitched, and she turned away, her hands gripping the back of a chair. "I've thought about that," she admitted. "But I keep telling myself it's not true. He wouldn't..."

"Of course not," Lucifer interjected smoothly, standing and taking a few measured steps toward her. "Your husband's loyalty is beyond question. But even the most loyal of men can falter under pressure, can make decisions that seem cold or distant. That doesn't mean his intentions aren't pure."

Isadora's grip on the chair tightened. "Then why does it feel like he's pushing me away? Like I'm just... in the way?"

Lucifer sighed, the sound heavy with faux regret. "Because maybe— just maybe— he believes you're safer out of his way. It's a flawed logic, but not an uncommon one among men in his position. They think they're protecting you when, in reality, they're only alienating you."

Her laugh was bitter. "Well, it's working. I feel plenty alienated."

Lucifer placed a hand over his heart, his tone taking on a gentler quality. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Lady Rivet. Truly, I am. You deserve better, and perhaps your husband would see that if he weren't so consumed by his work."

She glanced at him, her expression caught between anger and sadness. "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit here like a prisoner while he plays hero?"

Lucifer stepped back, resuming his relaxed posture. "You wait. You trust. When he returns, ask him everything that's on your mind. Demand answers if you must. He owes you that much."

"And what if he doesn't come back?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer hesitated just long enough to make the question hang heavy in the air. Then, he shook his head with an air of quiet confidence. "He will. A man like your husband always comes back... and if he does not, he just lost all the respect I have for him even though I have not much to speak of."

He turned away, adjusting his coat, his unseen smirk hidden behind the mask. "You'll have all the answers you seek in two days, Lady Rivet. I'm sure of it. And I will be sleeping in the next room, feel free to trouble me if you need anything."

Lucifer opened the door "Oh and,"

"And?"

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"I was only tasked with protecting you, not entertaining you... but you seemed quite lonely." He smiled slightly and left.

The room fell silent as Isadora mulled over his words, her emotions were a tangled web of doubt, anger, and hope. She looked at the clouds floating freely out in the sky, loneliness was starting to eat at her heart, no it wasn't loneliness, it felt more like... Fear!

The fear of betrayal

———

Seraphis was enthusiastically slurping down a bowl of noodles, a famous specialty from the Eastern continent. This was her first time trying them, and honestly, it felt like a personal chef had been hiding in her taste buds, preparing for this very moment.

Judge had whipped them up for her after swapping out Guzbin pork for the far superior Worrak beef. (Apparently, Judge had some kind of vendetta against Guzbin pigs. Don't ask.)

Just as she tipped her bowl to sip the last drops of the savory broth, the door to the kitchen flew open with all the subtlety of a bull in a teashop. Judge stumbled in, looking like he'd just fought off a mob of angry creditors— or worse, spent three days locked in a cubicle writing quarterly reports. His vibe screamed "death by PowerPoint", or in this case, something more dramatic: the haunting expression of a Japanese anime artist on the brink of karoshi.

"Wow," Seraphis paused mid-slurp, eyeing him over the rim of her bowl. She jabbed a noodle in his general direction for emphasis. "You look like someone dragged you out of a 14-hour shift at the local coal factory. Congrats on surviving."

Judge, too tired to summon a proper comeback, muttered with a wave of his hand, "I'll take that as a compliment. Much appreciated." He trudged over to the stove, lifted the lid of a pot with all the energy of a deflated balloon, and was immediately hit with the aromatic steam of beef broth, which seemed to mock his current misery by smelling too good.

Seraphis, unfazed, went back to her noodles. "So," she asked between bites, "when are you heading off to your next round of monk seclusion? Gonna meditate yourself into another noodle recipe?"

Judge grabbed a clean bowl and started ladling out the broth, giving her a side-eye so sharp it could dice onions. "It's called work, not seclusion. And for your information, we've got someplace else to be." He shoved the bowl of steaming noodles onto the counter with the flair of someone who definitely wasn't paid enough for this.

"Someplace else, huh?" Seraphis smirked, twirling her chopsticks like a villain in a spaghetti western. "Let me guess— another mystical library with extra stairs, or is it the kind of 'someplace else' where we might actually survive this time?"

Judge groaned, pouring himself a cup of tea like it was his only tether to sanity. "You'll find out soon enough."