The day after the chaos at the Luthor mansion felt artificially still. The morning sun hit the golden fields of Smallville with a clarity that felt like a mockery of the secrets buried beneath the soil.
Jeremy found Chloe exactly where he expected: huddled over a corner table at The Beanery, three empty espresso shots flanking her laptop. The glow of the screen reflected in her eyes, which were rimmed with the tell-tale redness of a deep-dive obsession.
"You look like you're about to stage a one-woman coup, Chloe," Jeremy said, sliding into the booth opposite her. He set a fresh blueberry muffin on the table—a peace offering for the interrogation he knew was coming.
Chloe didn't look up immediately. Her fingers flew across the keys. "The Palmers, Jeremy. They've lived on the Luthor estate for decades. Loyal, quiet, practically part of the furniture. Then Anna goes 'invisible'—literally—attacks Lex, and now the hospital is claiming she has 'acute dissociative fugue'? They're saying she can't even remember her own name, let alone how she turned into a human ghost."
She finally looked up, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "It's a total blackout. A memory wipe. It doesn't make sense, even for the Wall of Weird."
Jeremy didn't flinch. He took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the Mimicry of a concerned, slightly overwhelmed teenager settle over his features. "Maybe it makes sense if you're looking at the wrong Luthor."
Chloe froze, her hand hovering over the mouse. "What do you mean?"
"I was at the hospital late last night checking on Lex," Jeremy lied, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial hum. "I saw a couple of guys in charcoal suits—Metropolis plates on their car. They weren't talking to the doctors about Anna's health. They were talking about 'cleanup' and a 'Project 117' at the old fertilizer plant on the North side."
He saw the hook sink in. Chloe's pupils dilated. She loved a corporate cover-up even more than a freak-of-the-week.
"Project 117?" she whispered, already opening a new search tab. "I haven't seen that header in any of the Torch archives."
"Exactly," Jeremy said with a grim nod. "If I were a betting man, I'd say Lex is the victim here, but his father is the one holding the eraser. Lionel doesn't like loose ends, and he definitely doesn't like his experiments attacking his heir. If you keep digging into Anna, you're just hitting a brick wall built by LuthorCorp lawyers. But that old plant? That's where the real paper trail starts."
It was a beautiful diversion. There was no Project 117—Jeremy had simply mashed together a few redacted headers he'd glimpsed on Lionel's private terminal during the Level 3 crisis. It would keep Chloe busy for weeks, chasing ghost signals in a condemned warehouse while Anna Palmer was quietly moved to a facility where she could no longer testify.
"Jeremy, you're a lifesaver," Chloe said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "If this connects back to Lionel's R&D in Metropolis, this isn't just a local story. This is the big one."
"Just be careful, Chloe," Jeremy said, his voice laced with a protective warmth that felt entirely real. "Don't let the Luthors see you coming. They don't like it when people look behind the curtain."
As Chloe gathered her things and sprinted toward the door, her mind already miles away in a digital labyrinth, Jeremy's expression shifted. The warmth vanished, replaced by the cold, calculated stillness of a predator who had just cleared his scent from the trail.
…
With Chloe occupied, Jeremy headed back to his own sanctuary—the Junkyard was his safe haven from prying eyes. He laid out the three Refined Shards he had liberated from Level 3.
They pulsed with a synchronized, emerald light, sensing his presence.
He didn't want to just be a library of stolen gifts anymore. He wanted to be a Generator. Using the high-purity minerals and the technical schematics he'd absorbed from Lionel's files, he began to construct a harness—a focal point to bridge the gap between the Static, the Ice, and the Insect powers.
He placed his hands on the shards. For the first time, he didn't just feel the power; he felt the Control.
"No more accidents," Jeremy whispered, the blue sparks of his static dancing across the green surface of the rocks. "No more noise. Just the signal."