The tension at the Luthor mansion didn't dissipate after the dinner; it curdled. Lex was now a man obsessed, his surveillance teams tailing Clark's blue truck and lurking near the edges of the Creek property.
Jeremy felt the change in the air—the shift from curiosity to active hunting. But while Lex was looking for monsters, a literal ghost was moving through his halls.
…
It started with small things: a glass of juice sliding across a mahogany table, a door clicking shut in an empty hallway, the faint scent of roses where none grew. To the staff, it was a haunting. To a man like Lex Luthor, it was a security breach.
Lex sat in his study, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He was staring at a motion-sensor log that claimed the room was empty, even as the heavy curtains behind him rustled in a non-existent breeze.
"I know you're here," Lex whispered to the empty air. "My father sent you, didn't he? A gift for the son who found his basement?"
A letter opener on the desk rose into the air, hovering inches from Lex's throat. The air seemed to ripple, a shimmering transparency fueled by a specialized meteor mutation—a girl named Anna Palmer, chemically cloaked and seeking a Luthor-sized ransom.
Clark Kent didn't knock. He had been dropping by to plead with Lex to pull the surveillance teams, but his Super-Hearing caught the frantic skip of Lex's heart from the driveway. He burst through the double doors just as the blade pressed against Lex's skin.
"Lex, look out!"
Anna swung the heavy letter opener with a blunt, desperate force. Before Clark could bridge the gap, the hilt of the weapon caught Lex squarely on the temple. With a muffled groan, Lex's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor, his head hitting the edge of the mahogany desk with a sickening thud.
He was out cold.
Clark didn't waste a second. With Lex unconscious, he didn't have to hold back. Clark was fast, but he was fighting a ghost. Every time he swung, his fists met empty space. Anna moved with a fluid, high-speed vibration that left Clark swinging at shadows.
"Show yourself!" Clark roared. He stood in the center of the room, his eyes darting frantically.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, tuning out the alarms and the wind. He focused on the sound. The scuff of a designer shoe on the Persian rug. The ragged, shallow breathing of someone pushing their body to the limit.
He saw a heavy crystal vase on a pedestal. Without a word, Clark grabbed it and shattered it against the floor. A cloud of fine, sparkling dust and water vapor exploded into the air.
The "Shimmer" was instantly compromised. The dust coated the invisible figure, revealing a silhouette of shimmering grey powder.
"Found you," Clark muttered.
He moved with a blur of redirected force, catching the silhouette by the shoulders and pinning her against the stone fireplace. The impact was heavy enough to knock the breath out of her. As her heart rate spiked and her adrenaline crashed, the chemical serum in her blood failed. Anna Palmer flickered back into reality—pale, sweating, and terrified.
…
From the high balcony outside the study window, Jeremy watched the scene through the glass. He saw Clark tie Anna's hands with a curtain cord before rushing to check Lex's pulse.
Jeremy reached into his pocket and felt the Refined Shard. It was cool to the touch, a silent observer of the unfolding drama. Clark had been lucky tonight—the very man hunting him had been sidelined by his own assailant.
Jeremy didn't intervene. He didn't reveal himself. He simply watched as Clark called 911 on Lex's desk phone, his voice steady but his eyes filled with a lingering, hollow fear.
You dodged a bullet, Clark, Jeremy thought. But Lex won't stay unconscious forever.
Jeremy turned away, melting into the shadows of the mansion's roofline. Clark had handled the situation, and for now, his secret was safe. But the chemical "Shimmer" Anna had used... that was something new.