Lucinda stared at Clark's number plastered on her phone screen. At least it was there. If anything happened, she could just text him—
"Oh. Wait. Why Clark?" she muttered to herself. "I should be texting Lex."
She nodded, as if that settled the matter, and slipped the phone back into her pocket.
It was already five in the afternoon. The day had stretched long and quiet, and with nothing pressing to occupy her, Lucinda decided to wander through the sprawling grounds of Lex's mansion. The place was vast enough that it almost encouraged exploration, paths curving away like they were daring her to get lost.
What struck her as strange was the silence.
Molly and Jess were off doing their own thing somewhere inside, but there were no guards in sight. Normally, there was always someone posted somewhere—by the gates, along the paths, near the main house. Darius had gone with Lex to Scotland, along with two other guards, but that still left at least seventeen more stationed on the property.
And yet… nothing.
The unease lingered as she walked farther back, toward the edge of the estate, until the land opened up and revealed the water feature tucked behind the mansion. Calling it a lake felt generous, but "pond" didn't quite do it justice either. It was a massive, carefully designed fish pond, stretching wide and calm, framed by smooth stone edges and gentle slopes of manicured grass.
The water was impossibly clear, reflecting the fading gold of the afternoon sky like polished glass. Beneath the surface, koi of every color glided lazily—deep crimson, pearl white, gold flecked with black—moving in slow, graceful patterns as if choreographed. Smooth river stones lined the bottom, visible through the water, arranged with deliberate precision. A small wooden bridge arched over one end of the pond, its dark lacquer pristine, not a splinter or crack in sight.
Lily pads floated near the edges, their broad leaves unblemished, some bearing pale blossoms just beginning to close for the evening. Subtle underwater lights were already on, casting a soft glow that made the fish shimmer as they passed through it. Even the surrounding shrubs and bonsai-like trees looked curated to perfection, trimmed just enough to appear natural without ever slipping into wildness.
It was quiet. Serene. Almost reverent.
Too well taken care of.
Lucinda slowed her steps, her gaze sweeping the area once more, the absence of people suddenly louder than any sound.
"If I could take a picture of this and post it on my social media," she muttered with a soft laugh, "I'd absolutely leech off the fame."
She giggled, twirling once in place, arms slightly out as she let the cool air brush against her skin—until a silhouette at the far end of the pond caught her eye.
Lucinda stopped mid-spin.
Across the water stood a man.
She stared, her amusement fading as she focused on him. Something about his posture felt… wrong. He looked familiar, uncomfortably so, but she couldn't place where she'd seen him before. He stood rigid, arms wrapped tightly around his own body, as if trying to keep himself together.
From this distance, his features were blurred, but then she noticed the way he trembled.
Her stomach dropped.
Lucinda squinted at the figure ahead, her brain finally deciding to clock back in.
"Varsity jacket," she murmured, eyes narrowing as the details slid into focus one by one. The familiar colors. The unmistakable high-school cut. The kind of jacket that screamed Smallville pride and teenage poor decisions in equal measure.
Her gaze drifted lower. "Bluish skin…" Her breath hitched. Her throat bobbed hard. No. Absolutely not. A very specific memory surfaced uninvited—something about a kid, a lake, and enough green glow to violate several environmental laws. "It can't be… that kid who drowned in the kryptonite-infested lake?"
The man kept walking toward her, slowly, and definitely tweaking if that's the word.
Menacingly enough that Lucinda's fight-or-flight response didn't even bother debating. She was not, under any circumstances, going to be the first casualty in a horror episode. She was built different. She had genre awareness.
So she ran. Of course.
Lucinda spun on her heel and sprinted back toward the mansion with the grace of someone fleeing both danger and narrative inevitability. Unfortunately, in her blind panic, she collided full-force into a guard she was fairly certain had not existed yesterday.
They both stumbled inside but Lucinda was quick to turn around and lock the door.
"Whoa—what's the rush, Lucy?" the guard said easily as if they were close.
"S-Someone's outside," she blurted, grabbing his sleeve. "Tell the others to lock the door and—"
"Hey, hey. Calm down." He steadied her by the arms, solid and annoyingly unbothered. "Who's outside?"
Lucinda stared at him, incredulous. "Do I look like I know?" she snapped, chest still heaving. "If I knew him, I'd invite him in, offer coffee, and ask what his tragic backstory is."
She twisted just enough to glance over her shoulder, half-expecting bluish skin and varsity confidence to materialize in the doorway. Nothing yet. Which, somehow, made it worse.
"There was a guy," she went on, words tumbling over each other. "Varsity jacket. Wrong vibes. Very 'I definitely do not belong on this property' energy."
The guard frowned, finally taking her seriously. "You sure?"
Lucinda nodded sharply. "I'm many things—dramatic, paranoid, chronically overprepared—but I am not wrong."
Lucinda knew that feeling.
The one where something deep in her brain started blaring emergency sirens like a malfunctioning fire alarm that no one could shut off. This was bad. The kind that came with ominous background music and a very real chance of someone getting thrown through a wall.
And of course—of course—Lex was not even in the country. Very good timing.
The guard nodded briskly and lifted his walkie-talkie, already murmuring into it as he moved down the hallway. Lucinda stayed rooted to the spot, staring after him like he might suddenly evaporate if she blinked too hard.
Only then did she realize her hand had drifted into her pocket. Her fingers curled around the phone.
"This is… a very valid reason to text Lex, right?" she muttered to herself, already pulling it out. Trespasser. Bluish skin. Possible meteor nonsense. This was practically a formal invitation to panic-text her billionaire business partner.
She had just opened the message screen when someone called her. "Lucy?!"
Lucinda nearly launched the phone across the room.
Jess had appeared out of nowhere, hair rumpled, eyes still foggy with sleep, but concern unmistakably present in her voice. She stopped in front of Lucinda, blinking. "What's going on? One of the new guards said there was a—" she lowered her voice, "—a thief?"
Lucinda grimaced. "Not a thief. Just… a trespasser. And he looks unwell. Like, very unwell." She hesitated, then added, "You should go back to your room. Lock the door. Tell Molly to do the same."
Jess frowned. "What about you?"
"I'll be fine," Lucinda said quickly, waving her off. "I just need to… check on something." That was a lie. She absolutely did not know what she was checking on.
Before Jess could argue, Lucinda turned on her heel and hurried toward the other wing.
"Miss Bryce."
Lucinda skidded to a stop. Edgar—one of the guards she actually recognized—stepped out from the east wing, adjusting the holster at his waist.
"What was the commotion all about?" he asked.
"There's a dangerous man outside," Lucinda said immediately, fingers still hovering over her phone like it might sprout answers if she stared hard enough.
Edgar sighed, already tired. "We'll chase him off. No need to alarm everyone," he lowered his voice. "You don't want to cause unnecessary worry in the mansion. Mr. Luthor wouldn't like that."
"Lex isn't that sensitive," Lucinda muttered.
Edgar stiffened. He stepped closer and gently hushed her, his eyes flicking around the hallway. "Not that Luthor," he whispered. "The other Luthor." His gaze sharpened. "And keep yourself away from Dylan's eyes. Don't do anything that might… interest Lionel."
That landed. Hard. "Is he working with Lio—" Lucinda didn't finish the word when Edgar straightened, professional mask sliding back into place.
"Go to your room, Miss Bryce. We'll handle it." And just like that, he walked away.
"Dylan?" Lucinda muttered to herself. "Did that name even exist in Smallville?" She didn't like how that name now came with an unspoken warning.
Still, she did as she was told. She went back to her room, shut the door, and finally typed out a message to Lex—brief, careful, not at all panicked despite her internal screaming.
Half an hour passed. Still No reply.
Lucinda paced. She stared at the door. She stared at the phone. She stared at the ceiling like answers might be etched into the plaster.
Then a knock broke the silence. "Miss Bryce," Edgar said from the other side.
Lucinda opened the door.
"We haven't seen the man you mentioned," Edgar reported.
Standing beside Edgar was Dylan.
Around her age. Asian—maybe Japanese. Calm. Disturbingly calm. His posture was relaxed, shoulders loose, hands easy at his sides, like nothing in the world had ever startled him. That alone set off something sharp and unpleasant in Lucinda's gut.
His expression was neutral, observant—too observant. The kind of unreadable that didn't mean empty, but rather carefully locked.
Objectively speaking, he was handsome. Annoyingly so. Tousled hair, sharp jaw, that effortless look that screamed I wake up like this and inconvenience people. If Lucinda squinted, he looked vaguely like Kento Yamazaki had wandered onto the wrong set.
She did not like him.
"But I found this," Dylan said calmly, reaching into his pocket.
Lucinda's breath hitched before her brain even caught up when he pulled out a necklace.
No. No, no, no. Lucinda swallowed.bThe chain was thin. Familiar. And dangling from it is a Kryptonite. Her throat went dry.
"Are you familiar with this?" Dylan asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied her reaction.
Lucinda's brows drew together as she forced herself to breathe. Slowly. Normally. Casually. Like she wasn't internally screaming.
"Yes," she said, licking her lips. "I was at Clark Kent's farm yesterday." She cleared her throat. "I met his friend, Lana Lang. She was wearing a necklace just like that."
Because of course it was Lana's. Of course it was. Why wouldn't the universe throw that at her today? Did something happen to Lana?!
Dylan's brows twitched—just barely. "Lana Lang," he murmured, as if filing the name away somewhere important. "Well," he continued smoothly, "I'll be heading to the Kents later. I can return it to Clark."
Lucinda's mouth moved before her common sense could tackle it to the ground. "Can I come?"
Edgar's glare could have melted steel and it made Lucinda shiver.
Dylan, however, smiled. It was small. Polite. And somehow made her skin crawl.
"Mr. Luthor wouldn't like that, Lucy," Dylan said lightly. "He'd prefer you safe here inside."
Lucinda's lips pressed together. She had absolutely nothing to counter that with, because unfortunately, he was right—and she hated that.
Without another word, Dylan slipped Lana's necklace back into his pocket, turned on his heel, and walked away down the hall like he hadn't just dropped a narrative landmine on her life.
The moment he disappeared from view, Edgar rounded on her.
"Really, Miss Bryce?" he scoffed. "He was sent here by Lionel to spy on you. Do you have a death wish or are you just collecting them as a hobby?"
Lucinda rolled her eyes. "You're being paranoid, Ed."
She paused, then added quickly, "But… stay alert. I have a feeling that man is still around."
Edgar laughed. "Look who's paranoid now."
And with that, he walked off, leaving Lucinda standing there, staring down the hallway Dylan had vanished into.
Lucinda exhaled and turned back toward the table where she had left her phone. She needed to warn Clark—about Dylan, about the kryptonite. If there was one thing Clark absolutely could not afford, it was being anywhere near that stuff, especially if his strength was already unstable.
Her fingers flew over the screen.
One of Lex's guard might visit you later. He has Lana's necklace. I don't know why. Is Lana okay? Can you check on her?
The moment she pressed send, a sudden chill crawled up her spine.
Lucinda froze. By instinct, she lifted her head and looked toward the hallway she'd left open—and her eyes widened.
The man in the varsity jacket was standing there.
The hallway lights burned bright behind him, throwing his figure into sharp focus. His skin had gone unnaturally pale, as if the cold had settled into his bones. Frost clung to his eyelashes, tiny crystals glistening with every shallow breath he took. Even his hair was dusted with ice, stiff and rimed, like he'd stepped out of a freezer rather than walked down a corridor.
Suddenly, the man smiled. "So," he murmured, his voice thin and brittle, "the warmth… it's really coming from you."
The words were quiet, almost curious—just loud enough for Lucinda to hear. Lucinda swallowed, grimacing. "Oh, of course."