The next day the Kansas sun beat down on the long gravel drive leading to the Luthor mansion, turning the air above the asphalt into shimmering waves of heat. Sage walked beside Clark, hands shoved in the pockets of his fitted jeans, boots kicking up small puffs of dust with every step. He had no idea why Clark had asked him to tag along, but here he was, keys to the charcoal-gray truck jingling in Clark's hand as they approached the imposing front doors.
The mansion rose like something out of a magazine, all sharp modern lines and glass that reflected the flat Kansas sky. Sage glanced around the sweeping foyer once they were inside, taking in the marble floors, the abstract art on the walls, the faint scent of leather and expensive wood polish. It felt cold, calculated, like the whole place had been designed to remind you exactly who owned it.
Lex Luthor was waiting in the living room, standing by a wall of windows that looked out over the manicured grounds. He turned when they entered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The bald billionaire looked every bit the part in a crisp black shirt and slacks, but his eyes were sharp, curious.
"Clark," Lex said, voice smooth and welcoming. "And Sage. I didn't expect both of you. Come in, please. Can I get you anything? Water? Something stronger?"
Sage gave a small shrug, still scanning the room—the sleek fireplace, the low leather sofas, the faint hum of central air that made the whole place feel like a different world from the dusty farms outside. "I'm good, thanks. Just here for moral support, I guess."
Clark shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable in the opulent space. He held out the truck keys, the metal glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows. "Lex… I can't keep it. The truck. It's too much. My dad won't let me accept it."
Lex's gaze flicked to the keys, then back to Clark's face. He didn't look surprised, only resigned, like he had already guessed the reason. "This is because of Jonathan, isn't it? He doesn't like me very much."
Clark exhaled, the words coming out in a rush. "It's not you, exactly. It's… what your father has done to this town. The way Lionel buys up land, shuts down factories, turns people's lives upside down. My dad's seen it happen. He thinks the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree. That you might turn out the same way."
Lex gave a short, humorless laugh and crossed to the bar cart, pouring himself a glass of water even though he didn't drink it. He set the glass down untouched. "Jonathan's worried I'm just like my father. That makes sense. Most people in Smallville feel the same." He looked directly at Clark. "Do you think I'm a bad person, Clark?"
Clark hesitated, the weight of everything he had learned in the last twenty-four hours pressing down on him—being an alien, the ship in the cellar, the secrets his parents had kept. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I… I don't know what to think right now. I should probably go."
He turned toward the door, but Lex's voice stopped him.
"Wait." Lex stepped closer, his tone quieter now, almost vulnerable. "Before you leave, I have to ask you something. Do you believe a man can fly?"
Clark froze, turning back slowly. Sage, still standing a few feet away near a tall bookshelf lined with leather-bound volumes, raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, watching the exchange.
Lex continued, eyes distant as if seeing the moment again. "After the accident on the bridge… when the car went into the river… my heart stopped for a few seconds. I had a vision. I was flying over Smallville. The fields, the town, everything spread out below me like a map. It felt real, Clark. More real than anything I've ever felt." He met Clark's eyes again. "I don't want anything to stand in the way of our friendship. Not my father's reputation, not your dad's suspicions, nothing. I owe you my life. Both of you."
Sage finally spoke up, his voice calm and measured as he leaned against the edge of a grand piano, fingers tracing the polished wood. "We pulled you out because anyone would have. Clark's a strong swimmer. I just… helped where I could. Nothing more to it than that."
Lex studied Sage for a long moment, the same sharp curiosity in his eyes that had been there since the riverbank. "You both got me out of a sinking car at the bottom of the Elbow River. I felt the impact, I know what I saw right before the tires blew. Yet neither of you has a scratch. How exactly did you manage that? I've been replaying it in my head for two days."
Sage shrugged lightly, keeping his expression neutral while his mind turned over the half-truth. "Adrenaline does funny things. Clark got to you first, dragged you up. I just made sure we all made it to the bank. Simple as that."
Clark shifted uncomfortably, clearly wanting to end the conversation before it went deeper. "Look, Lex… I appreciate the truck. I really do. But I can't keep it. My dad's made up his mind."
Lex nodded slowly, accepting the keys when Clark placed them on the coffee table. "I understand. Tell Jonathan I respect his decision. But this doesn't change anything between us, Clark. I still want to be friends. No strings, no favors owed. Just… two guys who survived something most people wouldn't."
Clark gave a small nod, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Sage pushed off the piano, glancing around the room one last time—the expensive art, the view of the grounds, the quiet power that seemed to hum in every corner. "We should get going. School tomorrow, and I've got enough drama waiting for me already."
As they turned to leave, Lex's voice followed them to the door, soft but certain. "Whatever you two are hiding… I'm not here to expose it. I just want to understand it. And I want you to know you can trust me."
Clark paused in the doorway, meeting Lex's eyes one final time. "We'll see, Lex. We'll see."
They stepped out into the bright Kansas afternoon, the heavy front doors closing behind them with a soft, final click. Sage walked beside Clark down the long drive, the truck keys no longer in either of their hands, the weight of unspoken truths hanging between them like the heat rising off the pavement.
Meanwhile, across town at the edge of the old rail yard, yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze around Frank's Auto Shop. Pete and Chloe stood at the edge of the growing crowd, notebooks out, eyes scanning the scene. A third former football player had been found inside, slumped on the concrete floor in a coma, skin still faintly singed with electrical burns.
Chloe's gaze sharpened as she spotted a figure lingering at the back of the onlookers. The boy was pale, almost glowing under the afternoon sun, dressed in clothes that looked like they belonged to another decade. He hadn't moved, just stared at the shop with eyes that seemed too bright, too empty.
"Pete," Chloe whispered, nudging him. "That guy. Have you ever seen him at school? He looks… off."
Pete squinted, then shook his head. "Never. Not once. And he's staring like he knows exactly what happened in there."
Chloe raised her camera, snapped a quick picture, and tucked it away. "We need to run this through the Torch archives. Something's not right."
They slipped away from the crowd and headed straight for the Smallville Torch office at school. The small room smelled of old paper and fresh ink, walls covered in Chloe's Wall of Weird. Clark and Sage arrived a few minutes later, still dusty from the walk back from the Luthor place, and the four of them crowded around the light table.
Chloe flipped through the 1989 yearbook until she found the page. There he was—Jeremy Woods, smiling in a faded team photo, labeled as a freshman.
"Jeremy Woods," Chloe said, tapping the picture. "He was the original Scarecrow. Twelve years ago the football team tied him to a cross in Riley Field during a storm. Lightning hit. He's been in a coma ever since. No aging, no change—doctors said it was some kind of electrolyte imbalance from the shock."
Pete leaned in closer. "And now he's out? Walking around like nothing happened?"
Clark frowned, arms crossed. "That's impossible. People don't just wake up after twelve years in a coma and start… what, electrocuting people for revenge?"
Sage stood a little apart, staring at the yearbook photo. In his head the memory flashed clear: the backyard picnic twelve years ago, the sky splitting open with falling rocks, Grandmother Pandora's pink Mana flaring as she lifted the house and the family clear of the impact. He remembered Aunt Region splitting open the meteorite that had landed nearby, the green core inside pulsing, his own blue Mana flaring wildly in response, strange and unsettled. He kept his face neutral, but inside he thought, It probably is possible. That green rock did something to Jeremy the same way it reacts to Clark. Pandora saved us that day, but not everyone got that kind of protection.
Chloe flipped open a folder on the Wall of Weird, spreading out clippings from the meteor shower onward. "Look at these. Strange burns, unexplained comas, freak electrical storms—every one tied to the day those rocks fell. Jeremy was the first victim. Now he's making the team pay. One by one."
Clark shook his head again, but his voice lacked conviction. "It still sounds crazy."
Sage finally spoke, quiet but certain. "Crazy or not, we need to find him before anyone else ends up like Tony Carozza. Whatever's happening, it started with that meteor shower. And it's not stopping on its own."
The four of them stared at the yearbook photo, the silence in the Torch office heavy with the weight of Smallville's secrets. Outside, the late-afternoon bell rang, but none of them moved. The Scarecrow was awake, and the game had just begun.