The silence of the Luthor mansion was never peaceful; it was the heavy, pressurized quiet of a tomb. Lex stood in the center of the sprawling study, the floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the lightning of a passing Kansas storm. In his hand, he swirled a glass of amber liquid, his eyes fixed on the grainy, thermal printouts he had recovered from the wreckage of Level 3.
He didn't turn when the heavy oak doors swung open. He didn't have to. The air in the room simply became colder, weighed down by the arrival of a man who carried his own gravity.
"Lex," Lionel Luthor said, his voice a gravelly purr that moved like silk over broken glass. "I heard the tour ended with more... excitement than the brochures promised."
Lex turned slowly, his face a mask of practiced, aristocratic indifference. "Excitement is one word for it, Dad. 'Industrial negligence' is another. I spent the afternoon dusting away meteor fragments from my clothes while forty teenagers watched their lives flash before their eyes."
Lionel walked to the sideboard, pouring himself a drink with steady, rhythmic precision. "Earl Jenkins was a variable we couldn't control. A tragic byproduct of the pursuit of knowledge. You of all people should understand that progress requires a certain... overhead."
"Overhead?" Lex's voice cracked like a whip. He slammed a folder onto the mahogany desk. "I found the sub-basement, Dad. I found the 'Level 3' that you swore didn't exist. I saw the vats. I saw the refined dust. You weren't researching fertilizer. You were looking for a weapon."
Lionel turned, his eyes seemingly staring right through Lex. "I was looking for the future, Lex. The 1989 event brought more than just rocks and tragedy. It brought a fundamental shift in the laws of physics. I simply had the courage to try and harness it."
"By turning men into vibrating corpses?" Lex stepped closer, his shadow stretching long across the floor. "You failed. The data shows it. The human body can't hold the charge. It erodes the cellular wall until there's nothing left but static. You spent millions to prove that we are biologically insufficient."
Lionel offered a thin, ghost of a smile. "And yet, you're still obsessed with this town. You spend your days chasing ghost stories and watching the Kent boy as if he were a prophet. Don't preach to me about obsession, Lex. We are the same. The only difference is that I look for the power in the stone, while you look for it in the people."
"I look for the truth," Lex hissed. "You look for a battery."
"The world is a battery, Lex. And it is running dry." Lionel walked toward the door, pausing just at the threshold. "If you're so disgusted by my 'Level 3,' then by all means, shut it down. Bury the vats. Burn the files. But remember this: once you close that door, you'll never know why you survived that bridge accident. You'll never know why the boy from 1989—Jeremy Creek—didn't age a day in twelve years."
Lex froze. The mention of Jeremy was a precision strike.
"The rocks are the key, Lex," Lionel whispered. "I may have failed to find the right lock, but that doesn't mean the lock doesn't exist. Be careful who you trust in this little town of yours. Some miracles are just tragedies waiting for a second act."
The doors closed with a final, heavy thud. Lex stood alone in the dark, the reflection of the lightning flashing across his pale, frustrated face.
He looked down at the desk. Among the papers was a photograph taken by a security camera during the Level 3 crisis. It showed Jeremy Creek standing over Earl Jenkins, his hand on the man's neck. In the low light and the green haze of the room, Jeremy's eyes didn't look human. They looked like twin emeralds, glowing with a hunger that Lionel Luthor would have spent his entire fortune to possess.
Lex picked up the phone.
"Get me everything we have on Jeremy Creek's medical records since his 'recovery,'" Lex commanded. "And I want a 24-hour watch on the Kent farm. If Jeremy goes near Clark again, I want to know exactly what happens to the air between them."
The game had changed. Lex wasn't just investigating the rocks anymore. He was investigating the boys who had mastered them.