House of El: Reforged

Kent Farm — Kitchen, Minutes Later

The kitchen smelled like riverwater, burnt toast, and impending teenage doom.

Hadrian stood just inside the door, soaked to the bone, arms crossed over his broad chest, radiating the kind of "don't talk to me unless you're bringing food or therapy" energy that only a Kent in wet flannel could truly master. His emerald eyes flicked to each person in the room like he was waiting for someone to start a fight just so he could win it.

Zatanna paced a tight circle near the table, her black boots clicking against the worn floorboards, strands of damp raven hair clinging to her cheeks. Silver-blue magic flared and fizzled around her fingers like sarcastic punctuation to every unspoken thought.

Neville leaned back against the fridge like he was in a detergent commercial titled Why Is My Life Like This? His pale green eyes were unreadable, which for Neville meant he was somewhere between 'I'm going to scream' and 'I'm going to bury this emotion under ten layers of sarcasm.'

Clark stood near the counter, arms crossed in that subtle Superman Dad way that somehow made him look like he belonged on both a tractor and a GQ cover. He looked from kid to kid like he was about to enter the final boss level of parenting.

Lilly, red hair in a slightly frizzy bun and sleeves pushed up to her elbows, stepped forward with the kind of gentle-but-iron resolve only a mother of three magically-enhanced, chaos-attracting teenagers could possess.

"Hadrian," she said, voice soft but carrying enough steel to cut glass, "we do want to hear what happened out there."

Hadrian exhaled through his nose like a dragon who'd just been told to meditate.

"We were walking. Arguing about… I don't even remember. Z was being extra. Neville was being Neville. And then outta nowhere—bam! Porsche goes full Need for Speed, flips off the bridge like it was auditioning for Fast & Furious: Smallville Drift."

Clark frowned. "A Porsche?"

Zatanna's magic snapped. "Carmine red. Convertible. The kind of car that exists solely to scream, 'My dad owns three senators and a yacht named Regret.'"

Neville rolled his eyes. "Kid was unconscious. Lucky we got there when we did, or he'd be fish food."

Hadrian jerked his head in agreement. "Window was jammed. I had to punch it open. Pretty sure I've got glass in my soul now."

"And the driver?" Clark asked.

There was a pause. A beat. A ripple in the room like someone just walked over a buried wire.

"Alexander Joseph Luthor Jr.," Hadrian said, each syllable coated in vinegar.

Martha's teacup clinked against her saucer like it was protesting.

Kara—still perched on the edge of the couch like she wasn't quite sure if she was staying or running—stiffened. Just slightly. But Hadrian noticed.

"Luthor?" Lilly asked, already shifting into Mom Is About to Handle This mode.

"Yep," Zatanna said, popping the 'p.' "And he looked like he'd just come from a fashion shoot titled 'Drowning Rich Kid Chic.'"

Clark ran a hand down his face. "Lex's son. Here. In Smallville."

"Because apparently, the universe thought this week wasn't stressful enough," Hadrian muttered. "Also, he was smug. Like, Oh, thanks for saving me, peasant, smug."

Kara winced. "I feel like… my timing's really bad right now."

Neville arched an eyebrow. "No offense, Kryptonian auntie, but yeah. You kind of walked in during the emotional equivalent of a hailstorm."

Lilly opened her mouth, but Hadrian cut in with a raised hand.

"He's not wrong. One day we're dodging jocks and a rogue Maya, the next we're pulling a Luthor out of a river and discovering our 'cousin' is actually from space. I'm just waiting for a dragon to show up and ask to crash on the couch."

Clark, unfazed, gave Kara a calm nod. "She's staying with us. And she's starting at Smallville High. Tomorrow."

Three simultaneous reactions followed:

"What." – Hadrian.

"No." – Zatanna.

"You've got to be kidding me." – Neville.

"She's fifteen," Clark added, trying to keep the dad calm while the teenage storm brewed. "She needs normalcy. Friends. Support."

Zatanna crossed her arms. "She has powers, Uncle Clark. Like Kryptonian powers. That's not exactly subtle."

"I can totally be subtle," Kara offered helpfully. "Kelex ran me through a crash course. High school basics: cliques, sarcasm, algebra trauma. I'm… roughly 40% prepared."

Hadrian gave her a long look. "You ever had a math quiz on an empty stomach while your best friend is fighting a poltergeist in the locker room?"

Kara blinked. "Not… specifically."

"Then you're at 12%, tops."

Lilly stepped in. "Hadrian. Neville. Zatanna. You all had trouble with your powers as well. We found a way. We will again."

Neville gestured vaguely at Kara. "Yeah, but she could vaporize the principal with a sneeze."

"Only if provoked," Kara said brightly.

"Comforting," Neville deadpanned.

Hadrian groaned, dragging a hand through his wet, messy hair. "You punch through steel or just charm people into forgetting you're an alien?"

"Yes," Kara said without missing a beat.

He blinked. "Oh great. It's like looking into a mirror with better hair."

Kara tilted her head. "Is that a compliment?"

"No," Hadrian said flatly. "It's a red flag."

Clark clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Tomorrow. School. The four of you. Together. Think of it as an extended group project. One that may or may not involve stopping your new classmate from laser-eyeing the vending machine."

Martha looked up from her knitting, smiling faintly. "This house hasn't been boring since the day we took in Clark. Why start now?"

Zatanna groaned. "I miss boring. Boring was underrated."

Kara grinned. "I can learn boring! I downloaded three TED Talks about it."

Neville stared at her. "That's not how that works."

And just like that, the kitchen settled—not into peace, but into the kind of chaos they all secretly thrived in. Sarcasm, secrets, and simmering tension included.

Smallville wasn't ready.

But then again… neither were they.

—

The kitchen, already teetering between sitcom chaos and CW drama, fell into momentary peace. The toaster was smoking quietly, and Hadrian, still scowling, was halfway through peeling off his flannel shirt when Lilly, glancing at the microwave clock, paled.

"Oh no," she whispered.

Every head turned. Even Martha paused mid-knitting, and Kelex paused mid-spreadsheet.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes. "That tone means we're about to regret existing. What did you forget, Mom?"

Lilly winced, pushing a red curl behind her ear. "Okay. So. While we were busy—and in my defense, it's been an insane day—I might've forgotten to mention your Aunt Diana is dropping by."

Clark raised a brow, his posture all GQ farmer-of-the-year. "Today? I thought she said 'soon.'"

"She did. I just… didn't realize 'soon' meant in an hour."

Silence. Then:

"Wait—Wonder Woman?" Zatanna blinked, her mascara slightly smudged and magic twitching at her fingertips. "Like the actual Wonder Woman?"

"Yes," Lilly said, voice tight. "But she's not coming alone."

Neville groaned and let his head thunk against the fridge. "Of course not. Let me guess. Surprise new family member? Ancient enemy? Horse that talks?"

Lilly took a breath. "Her sister. Donna. She's your age."

Hadrian froze mid-shirt removal, now standing in soaked jeans and a half-open plaid shirt like a very grumpy cologne ad. "We have another guest? Was Olympus running a Black Friday deal on family drama?"

"Not technically a guest," Lilly said, stepping back as Hadrian's aura of teen doom grew. "Diana trained her. Donna's grown up on Themyscira. Diana thought it was time she saw Man's World. She talked to Bruce—"

"Of course she did," Hadrian muttered. "Batman's probably got a spreadsheet labeled 'Incoming Emotional Damage.'"

"Bruce got her enrolled at Smallville High. And she's staying here."

Neville made a strangled noise. "This house is becoming the Ellis Island of superpowered teenage angst."

Kara brightened. "Another girl! Yay! We can form a club. Do Earth things. Like… yearbook!"

Zatanna looked deeply offended. "We are not making a yearbook."

Hadrian jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. "This place was supposed to be quiet. Cows. Barn. Me occasionally brooding dramatically in fields."

Clark smiled faintly. "I don't remember peace being part of the promise."

"We had a vibe!" Hadrian ranted. "A ratio! This house is turning into a magical sorority with bonus aliens."

Neville folded his arms. "We're one Celtic redhead away from triggering a prophecy."

Zatanna sighed. "Please stop giving the universe ideas."

"Wait," Kara said. "How many people live here now?"

"Too many," Hadrian and Neville said together. Then glared at each other.

"Stop stealing my material," Neville grumbled.

Clark, ever the peacemaker, raised a hand. "We'll make it work. We always do."

"This isn't 'make it work' territory. This is 'install a second bathroom before I hex someone' territory," Zatanna snapped.

"Donna's strong," Lilly tried, hands on her hips. "Compassionate. Just. Think Hadrian with better posture."

"Rude," Hadrian muttered. "Also inaccurate. My posture is genetically enhanced."

A knock rattled the front door.

Everyone froze.

Martha stood, serene as ever. "I'll get it. Try not to scare your new housemate before dessert."

Neville muttered, "Ten bucks says she could bench-press the tractor."

"If she touches my weight bench, I'm punching her into next week," Hadrian warned.

"You mean politely sparring," Clark corrected.

"No, I mean open combat. Gladiator-style."

Zatanna popped her knuckles. "I'm bringing popcorn."

Martha opened the door.

Two silhouettes. One divine, radiant, a walking myth in red and gold: Diana. Regal, graceful, with that calm that made the entire room sit up straighter. And next to her—

Donna. Combat boots. Black leather jacket. Midnight braid over one shoulder. Eyes sharp as obsidian.

She stepped into the farmhouse light like a challenge incarnate.

Her gaze swept the room. Evaluating. Measuring. She stopped on Hadrian.

And smirked.

"Let me guess," she said, voice smooth with steel beneath. "You're the grumpy one."

Hadrian crossed his arms, glaring. "Let me guess. You're the Amazon who thinks sarcasm counts as cardio."

Donna arched a brow. "Only if I win."

"Gods help us," Zatanna muttered. "There's two of him."

Kara clapped her hands. "I love her already."

Roslyn, leaning in from the hallway, stage-whispered, "Does this mean I don't have to be the scariest girl in school anymore?"

Neville looked at the ceiling. "Why did I reincarnate into this timeline."

Martha just chuckled. "I'll put on more tea."

And just like that, Smallville's newest chaos agent entered the kitchen—and the war for the shower schedule officially began.

—

The air still crackled with the leftover static of surprise and ancient goddess-level entrance energy. Diana, all effortless grace and ageless steel, reached into her satchel and produced a folder that could maim a lesser mortal with sheer bureaucracy. She passed it to Lilly with the serene deadliness of someone who regularly carried the weight of the world—literally.

"Her enrollment paperwork," she said calmly. "Complete with academic records, vaccinations, and an origin story so thorough Bruce made me proofread it twice."

Lilly accepted the folder with the wide-eyed disbelief of a woman who had definitely forgotten to make more cookies. "This says she's Donna Troy. Cousin to archaeologist Diana Prince. Born in Boston, lived abroad, recently returned to the U.S. for education and 'cultural immersion.'"

Hadrian, dripping sarcasm and rainwater from earlier, snorted. "He wrote her a Disney+ pilot. Did he throw in a tragic flashback montage and a pet sidekick?"

Donna, black leather jacket still glistening slightly from the rain, shrugged one shoulder. "I liked the mango allergy. Adds intrigue."

Neville, pale green eyes flat, deadpanned, "Yes. Nothing screams 'relatable teen' like faked fruit allergies and being able to throw a tank."

Diana reached into her bag again and retrieved another folder. This one still smelled like toner and hubris. "And this is for Kara. Bruce expedited the paperwork after your call."

Lilly blinked. "That was three hours ago."

"Barry assisted," Diana said with the faintest smile.

Zatanna stared, mascara still slightly smudged from this morning's lightning spell mishap. "You had The Flash superspeed-hack the government? For high school enrollment?"

"It was efficient," Diana replied.

Kara bounced up on the balls of her feet, practically glowing. "So I'm Kara Kent now? Like officially?"

"Distant cousin. Recently orphaned. Tragic but well-adjusted," Lilly said, flipping through the documents. "Birth certificate, ID, social security number, dental records, school transcripts—is that a TikTok account?"

Hadrian flung an arm in the air. "Of course it is. Batman probably has a folder labeled 'Influencer Identities' ready to go."

Kara beamed. "Did he make me a Spotify playlist too?"

"If it's all Taylor Swift and sad indie bands, I'm leaving," Neville muttered.

Zatanna skimmed the top of the file. "Oh look, a farm accident. In Kansas. Subtle."

"Did he give me a dog?" Kara asked, eyes big as literal stars.

"If the thing's named Krypto, I'm building a treehouse and moving out," Hadrian growled.

"Every emotionally-damaged teenager on Earth has a dog," Kara pointed out solemnly.

Martha, who had remained unbothered in her warm cardigan and unshakable calm, sipped her tea. "We'll find you a dog, honey."

Hadrian dropped into a chair like it had ruined his life. "Recap: Bruce Wayne, a billionaire ninja with abandonment issues, forged multiple lives, hacked federal agencies with his ADHD speedster, and is casually assigning Amazons to my farmhouse. Am I missing anything?"

"Technically," Diana said, tilting her head, "it's not forgery if it's accepted at the federal level."

Clark, smiling in a way that could melt glaciers, patted Hadrian's shoulder. "You should see what he did with my adoption file."

Zatanna raised a perfectly manicured hand. "Housing question: who's sleeping where?"

All heads swiveled to Martha.

Martha didn't miss a beat. "Hadrian and Neville, west room. Kara and Zatanna, attic suite. Roslyn's still in the den until the guest wing's ceiling is repaired. Donna gets the east room by the pantry. We're rotating showers on a timer. No super-speed, teleportation, or magical shortcuts in the bathroom."

"No teleportation?" Zatanna groaned. "You cruel woman."

"You'll live," Martha said serenely.

Donna looked mildly intrigued. "Do you have a forge?"

There was a pause.

Martha smiled. "You'll love the barn."

Hadrian groaned. "I just wanted one week. One. With cows, the occasional dramatic field-brooding, and zero magical demigoddess invasions."

Clark grinned. "There was no such promise."

Kelex beeped from his corner. "Reminder: Magical core recalibration due at 5:45 PM. Shall I pencil it in between existential crisis and dinner?"

Hadrian didn't lift his head. "Make it a double."

Neville glanced at Donna. "So, just checking, can you actually bench a tractor?"

Donna popped her knuckles. "With one arm. Why?"

Neville looked down at his protein bars. "No reason. Definitely not hiding snacks now."

Kara held up her phone. "Group photo!"

Hadrian blinked. "No. No group photos. That's how cults start."

She already had the phone up. "Say dysfunctional!"

"Don't you dare—"

Snap.

Zatanna leaned in. "This is your fault."

Hadrian glared at her. "Everything is."

Roslyn, poking her head in, looked smug. "So does this mean I don't have to be the scariest girl in school anymore?"

Donna crossed her arms. "Let's see who can make the football team cry first."

Neville muttered, "I reincarnated for this."

Martha poured herself another cup of tea. "Now that we're all a family..."

Hadrian groaned. "Please stop saying that."

"...who wants to help with dinner?"

Utter silence.

Even Donna looked like she'd rather wrestle a hydra.

And just like that, the kitchen descended into its most ancient and dangerous battlefield: the fight over who had to peel the potatoes.

—

Luthor Manor — Late Afternoon

The black limo rolled smoothly to a stop beneath the wrought-iron gates, the gleam on its surface like a challenge tossed at the manicured lawn and ancient oaks. The sun, bruised and lazy, spilled gold and violet across the gravel driveway, long shadows curling like smoke.

The door popped open, and Alexander Joseph Luthor Junior stepped out—bandaged head wrapped like a makeshift crown of idiocy. His jaw was tight, but there was that familiar smirk twitching like he was trying to convince himself it wasn't a disaster. The chauffeur gave a wary glance at the crushed remnants of the Porsche left behind, as if expecting it to explode any second.

Inside the manor, footsteps echoed—sharp, purposeful.

"Alex."

That voice—equal parts judgment and exasperation—cut through the quiet like a knife.

Alex turned, finding his sister waiting in the grand hall. Lena Luthor, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, hair perpetually rebellious like it refused to obey the damn law of gravity.

"Wow. What did you do this time?" she asked, stepping forward like she was auditioning to be the world's most disappointed sibling.

Alex shrugged, pulling off the bandage just enough to reveal a sheepish grin. "Let's just say the river won this round."

Lena arched a brow. "Again? Seriously? You're like a walking insurance nightmare."

He rubbed the side of his head, wincing. "Fine. It was mostly my fault. I was multitasking—talking on the phone while driving. Don't ask."

Lena snorted, shaking her head. "Don't worry, I won't. That sounds like a textbook way to make your mother lose all her remaining hair."

Alex smirked. "Right? But hey, it was a heated conversation. I was trying to explain to one of my many paramours why Ibiza is off the table."

"Oh please," Lena rolled her eyes so hard you could hear it, "Because ignoring the road to manage your dating life is always a winning strategy."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Lesson learned. At least I didn't go in alone. Hadrian and Neville Kent—farm boys with a heart of gold—saved my sorry ass."

Lena's curiosity got the better of her. "Farm boys? The Kents?"

Alex's grin turned a notch more genuine. "Yep. Twin sons of Clark Kent and Lilly Lane."

Her eyes widened like someone just dropped a spoiler for the finale. "Wait—that Clark Kent? The Daily Planet guy? The Superman legend?"

"Same one." Alex nodded. "Clark and Lilly co-own the Smallville Ledger now. Pulitzer Prize winner, your personal hero because she once punched Dad on live TV."

Lena's glare softened into a smirk. "Yeah. That was a highlight."

Alex leaned in, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Apparently, they and their cousin, Zatanna Zatara, all go to Smallville High. You'll be rubbing elbows with them starting tomorrow."

Lena's arms dropped, interest piqued despite herself. "Zatara? Like the magician Giovanni Zatara's daughter?"

"Yeah. She's his kid. Lilly and her mom are close." Alex shrugged. "Sounds like quite the crew. Should make school… entertaining."

A thick silence fell between them, heavy with all the things siblings don't say aloud.

"So," Lena finally broke it, folding her arms again with a sly smile, "You're really here to play farmhand for a while? Dad's big plan for you?"

Alex's smirk curled wider, sharp as ever. "Yeah, apparently running an empire means getting my hands dirty in the dirt. Dad's version of 'growth experience.'"

Lena laughed, low and genuine. "Sounds like a plot to humiliate you. I'm here if you need a partner in crime."

He shot her a sideways glance, amused. "Don't make me regret coming back already."

She quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Try me."

Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting the manor in an amber glow. Somewhere not far off, those farm boys—Hadrian and Neville—were already gearing up to turn Smallville upside down.

—

Kent Farm — Barn / Late Night

The barn smelled like a weird mix of hay, engine grease, and faint sparks of magic—a scent that somehow felt like home. Hadrian and Neville moved side by side, effortlessly stacking the last of the heavy crates of Hales of bay, their Kryptonian strength making the labor look like child's play. Greenish wisps of magic flickered around Neville's hands, binding the crates in place with a faint shimmer.

Perched high on a wooden beam, Hedwig II, the regal snowy white owl with piercing eyes that could cut glass, preened like the undisputed queen of the roost. Nearby, Owliver, a sleek black-banded owl with a constant sassy tilt to his head, watched the proceedings below with what could only be described as full-on judgment.

Hadrian grunted, lifting a crate like it weighed nothing and stacking it with a precise thud. "You'd think with all this super strength I'd be less sore. Nope. Just a walking green-eyed bruise factory."

Neville smirked, flexing pale green eyes toward the rafters. "You're whining about muscle soreness? Please. I bench-pressed three farm tractors today, and my soul's officially ninety-six percent done."

Hadrian shot him a sideways glare. "That's what you say every day. But the soul's still hanging in there somewhere, right?"

"Barely," Neville said dryly. "Also, why is Hedwig staring at me like I'm the side dish on some weird owl buffet?"

The snowy owl blinked slowly, then let out a soft, pointed hoot that sounded suspiciously like a sarcastic critique.

"Yeah, yeah," Hadrian muttered, pushing damp hair back from his face. "We're all a little freak show. Me, you, and our feathered overlords."

Just then, the heavy barn doors creaked open, slicing a sliver of moonlight through the darkness. Four figures slipped inside.

Zatanna, all sharp edges and sly grins, led the pack. Her Olivia Rodrigo eyes flickered mischievously as she surveyed the scene. "Nighttime farm tour. You're welcome."

Roslyn trailed behind, small and nervous, her 13-year-old frame dwarfed by the others. "Seriously? Right now?"

Donna followed, every inch the confident Amazon with Camila Mendes's smirk like she owned the place already. And Kara bounced in last, Milly Alcock's bright grin lighting up the gloom.

Hadrian's jaw clenched instantly. "Great. The farm just turned into a damn zoo exhibit."

Neville raised a brow, amused. "You're charming as always."

Donna crossed her arms, eyes twinkling with challenge. "You could say that again, farm boy."

Hadrian folded his arms, emerald eyes flashing like twin emerald knives. "At least I'm not the one who looks like she's plotting to start a revolution in the haystack."

Donna shrugged, unbothered. "Better than brooding like you do. Seriously, you're the poster child for 'Too cool for feelings.'"

Zatanna took a step forward, wagging a finger like the world's sassiest schoolteacher. "Ah, yes, the classic bickering phase. Gentlemen, ladies, this is called teenage attraction. Messy, awkward, and painfully obvious, even if you try to hide it behind grunts and sarcasm."

Neville snorted, half laughing. "I was hoping that phase skipped me."

Roslyn leaned in, whispering wide-eyed, "Are they gonna fight or date?"

Hadrian glared but stayed silent, like it was a sacred rule not to respond. Donna tilted her head, voice smooth as silk. "You gonna say something, or just stand there looking like you swallowed a lemon?"

Hadrian's voice dropped low, deadpan. "Keep talking, and you'll meet the 'gladiator style' part of my threat."

Donna laughed, unapologetic and fearless. "I'll take that as a yes."

Kara, trying desperately to dodge the verbal fireworks, jumped in. "So... what exactly is the 'Fortress of Solitude' version of a barn?"

Neville grinned, eyes crinkling. "Mostly hay, magic, sweat, and the occasional epic staring contest with owls."

Hedwig II blinked solemnly, regal as ever, while Owliver ruffled his feathers with obvious offense—as if being called an "occasional participant" was a personal insult.

Zatanna grinned, fingers twinkling with a small spark of magic. "You'll all need a place like this. Trust me."

Hadrian muttered, "Yeah, a place to hide from the chaos you all bring."

Donna's smirk softened just a little, a glint of something like fondness flickering through her eyes. "Don't pretend you don't like it."

Hadrian's emerald eyes flicked to hers, grudging, reluctant, but honest. "I'm still trying to figure out if I hate you or just want to beat you at everything."

Donna raised an eyebrow, challenge accepted clear as day. "Bring it on."

Neville chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, this farm just became a battlefield. Again."

Roslyn giggled nervously, clutching her notebook. "I'm just here to take notes."

Zatanna winked at her, warm and conspiratorial. "Good plan, kid. We're all a mess. But this mess is family."

Hadrian sighed deeply, running a hand through his damp hair, emerald eyes flashing with quiet exhaustion and a touch of something softer. "Yeah, family. The word I use to hide the fact that I'm one sarcastic quip away from losing it."

The owls hooted softly, a royal decree of approval — Hedwig II the queen, Owliver the sassy king — presiding over the chaotic little kingdom.

—

Luthor Manor — Later That Night

Dinner at the Luthor estate had always been more ritual than nourishment—less about food, more about performance. The kind of dinner where even the silence was curated, where the walls listened, and the shadows judged.

The room was a cavern of cold elegance: black marble floors gleamed like oil, a chandelier hung overhead like a cage of diamonds, and a fire crackled in the oversized hearth as if it resented being forced to warm a room like this.

Alex sat at one end of the long mahogany table, legs stretched out like he was trying to own the space through posture alone. He wore a crisp white shirt with the top three buttons undone, tie discarded somewhere en route to the wine decanter. A bandage still clung to his temple, but he'd styled his hair around it, like even his injuries had to look good.

Lena entered without ceremony, the door creaking slightly behind her as if announcing the arrival of moral clarity itself. She didn't spare her brother a glance as she crossed to her seat and pulled it out with mechanical grace.

"You're late," Alex said without looking up, swirling his wine like it held secrets instead of tannins.

"You started without me," she replied, settling in across the long expanse of polished wood between them. "That cancels it out."

"It wasn't a protest pour," he said, raising his glass. "Just… hydration. You know, after the trauma of almost dying in a river and all."

Lena reached for the bottle in the center and poured herself half a glass. "You flipped a Porsche into a cornfield while yelling at your girlfriend about vacation plans. That's not trauma. That's karma."

Alex winced theatrically. "Ex-girlfriend. She said Ibiza was cliché. I said she was emotionally unavailable. The rest is physics and poor infrastructure."

"You could've died."

He smirked. "Then Dad really would've had to acknowledge me. Tragic."

Lena sipped slowly, eyes on him over the rim of her glass. "How's the concussion?"

"Persistent," he said. "Like guilt. Or our family name."

"That bad, huh?"

He set the glass down with a soft clink. "The doctor says I'm fine. The bruises say otherwise. And the Porsche…" He shrugged. "Let's just say we'll be burying her next to the Aston."

"Jesus, Alex. How many cars have you totaled this year?"

"Define 'totaled,'" he said. "If you mean emotionally, then at least four. If you mean physically—two, maybe three. One of them caught fire, but I blame the squirrel."

Lena rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. "Dad must be thrilled."

"Oh, positively vibrating with paternal pride," he drawled. "Which explains why I'm being sentenced to run the 'agricultural division.'"

"You? In charge of crops?" She raised a skeptical brow. "You once asked if soybeans were a type of legume or a social construct."

"They're both," he said with a shrug. "Also, I Googled it. Did you know soil is alive? Like, technically teeming with billions of microbes. Disgusting. I'm never touching grass again."

"That explains a lot."

A moment of silence stretched between them—tense, but familiar. Like siblings in a standoff, both waiting to see who blinked first.

"So," Alex said after a beat. "Big day tomorrow. You excited?"

Lena poked at her roasted carrots. "Not particularly."

"C'mon. First day at Smallville High? New friends. New enemies. Cafeteria politics. Teenage hormones. It's a CW pilot waiting to happen."

She shot him a look. "I'm not there to play Mean Girls: Farm Edition."

"Shame. You'd make a great Regina George."

"And you'd make a terrible Gretchen Wieners."

He clutched his chest. "That hurts."

"Not enough, apparently."

He chuckled softly and took another sip. "Seriously though. You nervous?"

"No," she said. "I've survived being a Luthor. High school can't be worse."

Alex tilted his head. "You say that now."

"Why?" she asked. "Are Hadrian and Neville Kent going to sacrifice me to a corn god or something?"

He grinned. "No, but from what I've gathered Hadrian's got that deadpan thing going. Very dry. Very clever. He could match you beat for beat. It's honestly terrifying."

"And Neville?"

"Sweetheart," Alex said. "Absolute cinnamon roll. Until you get in his way. Then he turns into a freight train made of judgment."

Lena considered that. "Sounds like my kind of crowd."

"Obviously. You're pathologically drawn to idealists with a tragic backstory."

"And you're pathologically drawn to women who think 'therapy' is a brand of champagne."

"Touché."

They ate in relative silence after that—just forks against porcelain, the occasional sip of wine, and the unspoken acknowledgment that the house felt emptier than usual.

No Lex. No Contessa.

But their shadows were in the room, seated beside them like ghosts.

Lena pushed her plate aside. "So. Are you going to do it differently this time?"

Alex looked up, expression unreadable. "Do what?"

"Run the division. Be a Luthor. Live your life."

He let out a breath, slow and heavy. "God, you say that like it's a multiple-choice question."

"It's not," she said. "It's an essay."

"I was never good at essays."

"No," she agreed. "You were good at charm. And cutting corners. And convincing teachers to change your grade out of pity or confusion."

"I prefer the term 'strategic persuasion.'"

"Do you want to prove him wrong?" Lena asked suddenly. "Or just prove you can be worse?"

Alex didn't answer right away. He stared into his wine like it might offer a vision of his future.

"I think I just want to stop feeling like I'm a cautionary tale in someone else's success story," he said finally.

Lena's expression softened. Just a little.

"You're not him," she said.

"No," Alex murmured. "But I'm not you either."

"Good," she replied. "We don't need another me. The world can barely handle one."

He smiled. This time, it almost reached his eyes.

She stood, gathering her plate. "I've got school forms to fill out."

Alex raised his glass. "Don't get drunk and print them on Dad's stock certificates."

"That was one time."

He grinned. "It was glorious."

She started to leave, then paused at the doorway.

"Hey, Alex?"

He glanced over. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad you didn't die in that crash."

He blinked. "That… might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late. It's already inflating like a Tesla stock bubble."

"Night, asshole."

"Night, rebel princess."

And then she was gone. Just the soft click of the door and the quiet rustle of her absence.

Alex stayed at the table a while longer, sipping slowly, staring into the fire as it spat and flickered. Somewhere in the manor, the security system blinked red. Silent. Watching. Just like the man in the painting.

But for the moment, at least, he was alone. And that was almost a comfort.

---

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