Later that evening, Lana left with Lex in his black car, the engine purring like it had a superiority complex. Lucinda could do nothing but perch on the window seat, her chin resting on her hand as she watched the taillights shrink into the distance—smaller, smaller, and then completely gone, like her emotional stability.
She remained there.
Still.
Silent.
Brooding.
If statues could sulk, this would be it.
"You're jealous," Molly suddenly said, appearing on her left like a judgmental ghost.
"God, Molly, no—"
"Yes, you're definitely jealous," Jess cut in, materializing on her right with the confidence of someone who had come fully prepared to ruin Lucinda's evening.
Lucinda straightened immediately, scandalized. "I am not jealous."
She crossed her arms. Which unfortunately only made her look more jealous.
Lucinda turned to them, ready to defend her dignity, but Molly raised a hand between them like a lawyer about to present devastating evidence.
"You have been hanging out with Mr. Lex for the past days," Molly began calmly, "and I always see you looking at him with sparkles in your eyes, Lucy."
Lucinda blinked. "Sparkles?"
"Yes," Jess nodded. "Sparkles. Like a Disney character seeing a prince for the first time."
"Meh. I don't watch Disney. I watch anime," Lucinda said, raising a finger like she had just delivered a legally binding correction.
Molly and Jess blinked, slowly. Very synchronized, it's scary.
"A-Anime?" they echoed in unison.
"Yes. Anime," Lucinda repeated, lowering her hand with the calm superiority of someone who had survived multiple fictional apocalypses emotionally. "In action genre. Sci-fi. Paranormal. Existential suffering. Character development. Emotional damage. The essentials."
They continued staring. Lucinda sighed, realizing she would have to educate them.
"Disney taught me to rely on men," she explained gravely. "Anime taught me to rely on myself, my trauma, and occasionally the power of friendship."
Molly leaned closer, almost looming. "The power of… what?"
"It's very reliable," Lucinda said seriously. "Second only to unresolved emotional pain."
Jess tilted her head. "So… you're saying you're not jealous."
"Correct," Lucinda said confidently. "That's what I'm sayi—"
She stopped mid-sentence when she heard it—footsteps. Not loud. Not urgent. Just quiet enough to exist without permission.
Her body stiffened. Without looking at them, she raised a hand, silently ordering Molly and Jess to stop. Both froze immediately, their earlier teasing dissolving into confusion.
Lucinda's eyes shifted to the thin strip of shadow beneath the door. It moved. Barely. But it moved.
"Molly," Lucinda whispered, her voice lower now, stripped of its usual humor, "I thought Lex told Eduardo and the others to guard on the hallway not in front of my door?"
Molly nodded slowly. "He did. He even told them to stay in the garden when you sleep so no one would disturb you."
Lucinda swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The shadow didn't pass. It didn't retreat. It remained there, unmoving, as if whoever stood outside had no intention of leaving.
Jess frowned. "Maybe it's one of them checking on you?"
Lucinda shook her head faintly, her gaze never leaving the door. "They would've knocked."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Even the air felt tense, like it was holding its breath with them.
Lucinda stared at the door, her pulse beginning to quicken, a quiet dread curling in her stomach.
The door exploded inward.
It didn't open. It didn't creak. It shattered—wood splintering apart with a deafening crack as the force from the other side tore it from its hinges. The sound was violent, wrong, filling the room with a storm of debris and dust.
Lucinda dropped instantly, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. Instinct forced her down, arms covering her head as shards of wood and metal screamed through the air above her.
Behind her, something heavy struck flesh.
Molly collapsed without a sound.
A large piece of broken wood had hit the side of her head, the impact knocking her unconscious before she even understood what was happening. Her body crumpled to the floor, limp and unmoving.
Jess wasn't as fortunate. She gasped—a wet, broken sound. Lucinda's head snapped toward her just in time to see it.
A wooden shard had pierced through Jess's abdomen. Not clean. Not merciful. It had torn through fabric, flesh, and exited the other side, pinning her in place for a fraction of a second before she staggered backward, her hands instinctively flying to the wound.
Her mouth opened in silent shock. Blood began to spread.
"Jess—" Lucinda's voice died in her throat.
The dust was still settling. The air thick with the smell of splintered wood and something metallic. And then the footsteps rushed in.
Not cautious. Not hesitant. Fast. Purposeful.
Lucinda barely had time to breathe before a hand seized her arm and yanked her upright.
Her body twisted in surprise, but another arm locked around her from behind, pinning her in place. The grip was ironclad, crushing the air from her lungs.
"W—wait—"
She didn't even finish the word.
Something sharp pierced the side of her neck. A needle.
Lucinda gasped, her fingers instantly flying to her neck, but the liquid had already been forced into her bloodstream. Her body arched once—one last, desperate act of resistance—before the strength abandoned her completely. Her legs gave out, her vision collapsing inward as the world dimmed, and then she went still, the darkness finally taking her.
It only felt like a split second before Lucinda came back to herself—if this could even be called coming back. A harsh, blinding light pierced through her eyelids, forcing them shut again on instinct. She winced, her face tightening as her senses struggled to catch up with her body.
Slowly, unsteadily, her eyes fluttered open.
The first thing she felt was the pain.
Her arms were stretched above her, shoulders screaming under a weight that didn't make sense until her vision cleared enough to understand why. Cold metal bit into her wrists. Chains. Thick. Unforgiving. Suspended.
Lucinda inhaled sharply, the movement sending a tremor through her entire frame.
Her feet dangled just barely above the floor—close enough that her toes could brush the surface if she strained, but not enough to give her balance.
Her head throbbed violently, the memory rushing back in fragments. The door breaking. Molly falling. Jess screaming. The needle.
Her stomach twisted. "Molly… Jess…" she rasped, her voice dry and fragile, barely recognizable as her own.
No one answered. It was quiet in a way that felt much more threatening than her current situation.
Lucinda swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe through the panic clawing its way up her throat. Panic wouldn't help. She knows that as much as any character in this series.
She shifted slightly, testing the chains. They didn't budge. The metal answered only with a soft, hollow clink, the sound echoing just enough to remind her how little control she had.
Faces began to surface in her mind, one after another, each carrying motive, opportunity, and the kind of power that could make someone disappear without consequence.
Lionel. His name settled heavier than the rest.
Her jaw tightened. He had made his curiosity about her very clear. He hadn't been subtle about wanting answers he never even asked directly. This—this felt like him.
Her fingers curled weakly against the restraints.
It couldn't be Elizabeth. Elizabeth had given her time until tomorrow. This didn't match her methods.
Lucinda exhaled slowly, her pulse beginning to steady as dread settled into something colder. Something sharper.
"It had to be Lionel," she muttered, already mentally preparing her speech—the glare, the betrayal, the dramatic emotional damage. She even practiced looking slightly disappointed but not surprised. Very important distinction.
That was when the door behind her creaked open. Then footsteps followed.
Lucinda lifted her chin, ready to face the Luthor with the hair but then what she saw was a woman with Lionel's hairstyle.
Lucinda blinked. The woman is around her twenties. Completely unfamiliar. Standing there like she belonged, which was honestly offensive.
Lucinda stared at her, her brain immediately flipping through every mental archive she had of Episode Hourglass. Main cast. Supporting cast. Extras. Background civilians. Random pedestrians with emotional significance.
Nothing. She blinked again, squinting harder, as if her memory just needed better Wi-Fi.
This woman had never had screentime. She didn't even look like she qualified for screentime. She looked like the kind of person who stood behind actual important people holding clipboards and nodding occasionally, not the kind who kidnapped protagonists and delivered ominous monologues in poorly ventilated rooms.
But then the woman pulled out a white folder and began reading from it like she was about to present quarterly sales instead of justify felony-level behavior, and that was when Lucinda caught a glimpse of the logo stamped neatly at the top.
LuthorCorp.
Lucinda gasped dramatically, because if you were going to be kidnapped, you might as well commit to the theatrics. "LuthorCorp," she said. "It is Lionel—"
"No, it's not," the woman cut her off flatly, her eyes drifting back to Lucinda with the emotional investment of someone correcting a spelling error. "I'm just telling you now as a compensation. Dead men don't tell tales anyway."
Lucinda blinked. "Wow, thanks," she grimaced. "That makes me feel so much better. Truly comforting. And since it couldn't be Lex," she continued, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, "then either someone powerful enough to rival the Luthors broke in and stole my lab results, which is honestly impressive and mildly flattering, or it's a certain doctor whose hobbies include unauthorized injections and emotional instability. Hypothetically named Dr. Miller."
The woman paused.
Lucinda straightened slightly despite the chains, feeling the microscopic victory bloom in her chest. "Oh," she added helpfully. "Did that hit too close to home?"
The woman closed the folder with a soft snap. "Ahh," she said calmly. "The way you talk… they were right. It truly does seem as though you've known things like this would happen."
Lucinda winced as the chain shifted again and bit into her wrists, and she winced. "Yes, well. It's incredibly predictable for someone linked to a Luthor," she groaned, "I did not, however, plan for the chains. That part was extremely inconsiderate."
"I've checked your laboratory results," the woman continued, ignoring her entirely. "Everything seems normal aside from one thing—"
She paused again, clearly enjoying the dramatic timing far more than necessary, before reaching into her pocket and pulling something out. A small, jagged crystal caught the light between her fingers, dull and lifeless, yet presented like it deserved its own close-up shot.
"—aside from the fact," the woman finished smoothly, "that you can neutralize meteorites."
Lucinda opened her mouth to argue—because of course she was going to argue—but the door creaked open again and this time it wasn't a single pair of ominous footsteps. It was several. Many. Enough to suggest this had turned into some sort of unsettling group activity. Multiple figures filed in and encircled her, three women standing in front while four men positioned themselves behind her, all roughly around Clark's age and all staring at her like she had just been placed at the center of a buffet table.
"W-What the hell is this—" Lucinda gasped, her voice climbing an octave as she twisted in the chains, trying to count heads without hyperventilating.
"These," the woman said calmly, gesturing as if introducing contestants on a game show, "are the people everyone refers to as meteor freaks in Smallville. They've gathered here tonight for healing."
Lucinda blinked at the group. The group blinked back.
"Y-You could've just asked me for help, you know!" she burst out, immediately starting to dangle and swing in protest like an extremely stressed wind chime. "I am very approachable! I respond well to polite emails! You did not need to chain me to the ceiling like decorative lighting! What do you need? Blood? I have blood! I can donate! I will even label the vials!"
No one laughed.
Not a single twitch.
They just kept staring.
Lucinda slowly stopped swinging.
"We already tried earlier," the woman said, checking her nails as if discussing a failed baking attempt. "Before you woke up. It didn't work. So now we've decided to try… something else."
Lucinda went very still. "S-Something else?" she repeated carefully, her voice shrinking. "Define something else. Use small words. Preferably non-threatening ones."
The woman's lips curved upward. "Your flesh."
Lucinda froze for a full second. "…You people need therapy," she said weakly.
***
"I've only been gone for five minutes and this already happened?!" Lex's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and unrestrained, the fragile composure he normally wore now fractured beyond repair.
The room looked like it had been caught in the middle of a storm and lost. The door hung broken from its hinges, splintered wood scattered across the floor like fallen bones.
Furniture had been overturned, sheets dragged halfway off the bed, and the curtains trembled slightly from the cold air drifting in through the shattered window. But it was the blood that held his gaze hostage—dark, unmistakable stains smeared across the floor, trailing just enough to tell a story he refused to finish in his mind.
Paramedics had already taken Jess and Molly outside. Their absence made the room feel even more hollow, even more violated. Guards flooded the space, their radios crackling, their boots heavy against the tile. Police officers spoke in low, urgent tones, but to Lex, their voices blurred into useless noise.
His jaw tightened. This had happened under his protection.
Outside the doorway, Lana stood frozen, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to keep from coming apart. Her face had lost its color entirely, her eyes fixed on the blood like she couldn't unsee it no matter how hard she tried.
"T-This is all my fault," she whispered.
The words were soft, fragile—but Lex heard them clearly.
He turned immediately and stepped toward her, his expression softening despite the fury still burning behind his eyes. He placed a steady hand on her shoulder, grounding, firm, certain.
"This is not your fault, Lana," he said quietly. "You needed help. I chose to go with you."
She looked up at him then, her eyes glassy, searching his face for blame and finding none.
"I've already called Clark," Lex continued. "He'll be here soon. He'll take you home." He paused, studying Lana's expression as if trying to measure how much more she could endure. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you tonight," he added quietly. "I need to find Lucy fast."
Not long after, investigators flooded the hallway, their questions sharp and relentless. Lex gently ushered Lana into his office, closing the doors so the authorities could comb through the wreckage without her having to witness every detail. She sat on the couch near the fireplace, hands clasped tightly together, staring into nothing.
The doors opened again.
Clark stepped inside, still in his familiar blue jacket with a red shirt underneath, his expression tense and alert. "Lex, I heard what happened," he said, but his eyes immediately shifted to Lana. He crossed the room and stood beside her, protective without thinking. Then he looked back at Lex. "Any lead on where Lucy might've been taken?"
Lex didn't answer right away. He reached for a stapled set of documents resting on the center table—papers Edgar had handed him earlier—and held them out. "We found this."
Clark took them, flipping through the printed photos. His brows knit together. "Bite marks?"
"There have been at least ten reported cases," Lex explained, stepping beside him. "Abductions. Every victim had been exposed to meteor rock and developed accelerated healing abilities. Whoever is behind this targets them specifically. They drain their victims' blood… consume them." His voice hardened. "It appears the effect is only temporary. Which means they hunt regularly. Possibly once a month."
Clark swallowed, the weight of it settling in his chest. "Wait… so you're saying Lucy can heal people?"
He knew Lucinda was different. He knew she affected him in ways no one else could—his strength weakened in her presence, his senses dulled, as though kryptonite had taken human form. But healing? That was new.
Lex studied him for a long moment, his expression guarded, his thoughts moving behind his eyes faster than he would ever admit. Then he shook his head slowly.
"Lucy's ability is… different," he said. His voice was controlled, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. "I can't explain it to you just yet." His jaw flexed faintly. "But she's very special."
Clark's lips pressed into a thin line. He closed the papers with deliberate care, his fingers lingering on the edge as if resisting the urge to demand more. "Let me know if anything comes up," he said. "I'll come back after I drive Lana home."
Lex shook his head immediately. "You don't need to." His tone remained calm, but there was a firmness to it now. A boundary. "Lucy is under my care. She is my responsibility."
Clark didn't back down. His eyes sharpened slightly. "Lucy is my friend, Lex."
The space between them grew tight, heavy with something neither of them named. It wasn't anger. Not exactly.
Lana felt it instantly. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers curling faintly at her sides as she glanced between them. Neither man raised his voice, but the silence between their words said enough.
"I'll help you find her," Clark said finally, his voice steady with quiet resolve.
Lex didn't answer.
Clark turned instead to Lana, his expression softening as he helped her to her feet. His hand rested gently at her back, guiding her toward the door.
Lex remained where he was, unmoving, watching them leave. When the door finally closed, the room fell still.
And only then did the composure on his face thin, revealing the urgency beneath it. Responsibility was the word he had given.
But it wasn't entirely the truth.