The room was quiet. Not like a peaceful place, but like a scene after a battle. The air still carried traces of electrical tension, magical presence, the shattering of something that should never have been touched.
On the floor, Lana's body remained curled up. The eyes that opened now belonged only to her. Exhaustion had replaced terror. Her breathing was weak, but steady. Her fingers trembled, her shoulders moved in small spasms. Her mind had returned… but was on the edge of collapsing from sheer exhaustion.
Clark watched her in silence. His eyes showed no relief, no guilt. Only certainty. Certainty that the most dangerous part was over.
He closed his eyes briefly. The mental touch spread like an invisible web across the girl's mind. Careful. Without aggression. Only observing. He searched every point, every corner, every trace. No residue. No mark. No psychic anchor left behind.
Isobel had been removed.
Clark's hand rested on the top of Lana's head with the gentleness of someone closing a mission. Energy flowed through the mental circuits with Martian precision. A gentle, almost imperceptible command infiltrated the most recent synapses. The memories of the last hour were identified, isolated, compressed.
And then, erased.
Not destroyed. Just removed from the surface. Sealed away like a dream that vanishes the moment your eyes open.
Lana let out a short sigh and relaxed. Her body surrendered to rest naturally, without resistance. Clark arranged her on the bed with a quick, efficient movement. He covered her up to the shoulders, leaving the room in silence once more.
Only then did he rise.
The damage around was still visible. Impact marks on the wall. Shards of plaster and wood. Dust scattered on the floor. Scratches on furniture, traces of energy on the fabrics. Everything revealed what had happened there — even if no one could understand it.
Clark looked around calmly.
And, without warning, disappeared.
The room was swept by an almost imperceptible rush of wind. The Speed Force activated with absolute fluidity. In less than a second, his body crossed the space multiple times, cleaning every surface, removing every sign. The fragments were collected, the objects repositioned, the walls restored with micro-adjustments. No noise. No delay.
Outside, the world was still in uproar.
But inside, Lana's room had returned to normal.
Clark stopped in the center, evaluating his work with a technical eye. No trace remained. No detail out of place. It was as if nothing had happened.
He looked at Lana again, lying there, breathing calmly. The peaceful expression of someone who would not remember the pain. Nor the threat.
Clark adjusted the collar of his jacket and muttered to himself:
"Cleaner than last time."
'Not that it'll stop someone from inventing a new version of what happened.'
The sound came faint, muffled by the walls, but unmistakable.
WEEU WEEU WEEU WEEU.
Patrol sirens. Not one, but two. Then another approaching from a different direction.
Clark looked at the window, unmoving.
'Of course. One scream. One act. That's all it takes.'
"Son of a bitch."
The word came out dry, not meant to be said aloud. But it was. And without regret.
He turned, silent. His body crossed the room like a shadow, but never touched the floor. Intangibility activated smoothly, like breathing. A choice made without effort.
'We spend our lives trying not to draw attention. Then a dramatic witch and a cracked wall make the headlines.'
Clark stopped at the side wall. He heard footsteps outside the Talon. More voices. People recording. Pointing. Inventing.
'Thirty more seconds and the police will break in.'
He breathed deeply. A sharp sensation ran down his spine, reflex of a molecular shift. His entire body shimmered with invisible light — and then slipped through the wall like mist through bars.
Nothing touched him.
Not light. Not wind. Not dust.
Outside, no one saw him.
The street was packed. People holding phones, officers clearing space, one deputy pounding on the front door hard.
"Lana Lang! Smallville Sheriff! Open this door now!"
Clark was already on the building's side when the second shout came.
"We got a report of assault! We'll break in if no one answers!"
More voices. More guesses. More noise.
'The whole town must be up by now. And my truck parked right out front like an idiot.'
He walked in the building's shadow, invisible, leaving no trace. Each step was a calculation. Each movement, a cut in presence. He knew how to disappear.
Better than anyone.
At the back corner, he saw the side alley. He didn't need the truck. Not now. He could return later.
The important thing was leaving.
And no one could see him.
Clark moved away calmly, picking up speed just enough that, to common eyes, there was no movement at all. A presence that didn't exist. A shadow that couldn't be proven.
And as always… a ghost no one could ever blame.
The sound of sirens grew more distant with each step.
Lana woke with her heart racing.
The first thing she felt was cold skin, as if she had slept in wet clothes. Then came the weight in her head. A dull, throbbing pressure deep inside her skull. The kind of pain that doesn't come from nightmares, but from something too real to be a dream.
She blinked several times, trying to understand where she was.
The ceiling was the same.
The room, too.
But something was… strange. Out of place. As if the whole space was too quiet. Too clean. Too normal.
'What day is it…?'
She didn't have time to answer herself. The knock on the door came strong, dry, authoritative.
BAM BAM BAM
"Lana Lang! This is the Smallville Sheriff!"
"Open the door immediately or we'll have to force entry!"
She froze on instinct.
'What?'
It took her a few seconds to realize it was indeed her door. Her room. Her name being called. And an authority figure outside.
Her body reacted before her mind. She threw her feet to the floor, staggered up, reached for the handle still dazed. The room seemed to spin in short circles.
"Wait, I'm coming."
Her voice came out hoarse, broken.
She unlocked the door with trembling fingers. She opened it with effort, and the hallway light rushed in suddenly, along with the smell of the street and the sound of at least four people speaking at once.
Two deputies stood there. One older, holding a clipboard. The other with his hand already near his belt.
"Miss Lang?"
"That's me…"
"Someone called saying you were being assaulted in here."
She took a moment to reply. Just blinked. Felt her legs unsteady, cold sweat still down her back. She tried to pull at any memory. Anything. But her mind felt like a soaked blank sheet.
"I… I think it's a mistake. I'm fine."
The younger deputy looked over her shoulder. The room, perfectly arranged, showed no sign of struggle.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. I… I was sleeping and… I don't know. Maybe someone misheard something."
The older one frowned. He'd handled cases like this before. People lying. People afraid. But here… something was different. She didn't look scared. She looked… lost.
He nodded for his partner to step back a little.
"Can we come in just to confirm?"
Lana nodded faintly. Stepped aside. They entered.
The inspection was quick.
No marks. No body. No mess. Nothing.
Outside, the sound of the curious still lingered.
"Did they leave?"
"Is everything okay?"
"Was it her?"
Lana heard familiar voices. The football team. A classmate's mother. Even the pharmacist.
And that hurt more than any physical impact.
She looked back at the deputies.
"Sorry for the trouble. I… honestly don't know what happened."
The older one tilted his head slightly. There was nothing left to pursue. No evidence, no proof, no reason to push further.
"If you remember anything, let us know."
"Of course."
They left, and the door was shut again. No fuss. No rush.
Lana leaned against it and let her body slide down until she was sitting on the floor.
Her head hurt. Her heart raced for reasons she couldn't name. But something inside her… screamed. Like an echo from far away. A void beginning to fill.
And even without knowing why, she cried.
Not from sadness. Not from relief.
But from a longing she couldn't explain. As if she had lost something she never even knew she had.
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