AN : Enjoy readers, here is the aftermath of the last chapter, lots of excitement this time around, stay tuned for more.

Chapter 15: Aftermath

The wind roared like a living beast, swirling around them with a terrifying intensity. Clark gripped the door of the truck with every ounce of strength he had, bracing himself against the relentless pull of the tornado. He could feel the metal frame trembling, the entire vehicle beginning to shift as the ground beneath it gave way.

"Lana!" Clark shouted, his voice barely audible over the deafening howl. But before he could reach for her, the truck was wrenched violently upward.

Clark's heart lurched as he watched in horror, the sight of the truck being yanked into the swirling vortex searing itself into his mind. Lana's terrified scream echoed through the chaos, then vanished as the storm swallowed her whole. For a split second, everything seemed to move in slow motion.

"No!" Clark cried out, his voice drowned by the storm. Without a second thought, he pushed off the ground, his feet digging into the dirt for leverage. The wind tore at him, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

The truck was already dozens of feet in the air, spinning wildly as it was sucked higher into the tornado's core. Clark's vision sharpened, his eyes locking onto the truck's twisted frame. He took a deep breath, the storm's fury battering against him, and then—

He launched himself into the sky.

For a split second, Clark felt weightless, his body propelled upward with a force that defied gravity. The wind screamed around him, trying to tear him apart, but he pushed forward, cutting through the storm with a single-minded determination. The world blurred, the ground falling away as he soared higher, faster—closer to the truck that held everything he cared about.

The truck spun violently in the storm's grip, tossed around like a leaf in a hurricane. Clark gritted his teeth, his muscles burning as he strained against the wind. He could see Lana through the shattered windshield, her body slumped against the dashboard, dazed and motionless.

"Hold on, Lana," Clark whispered, his voice lost to the storm. I'm coming.

With a final, powerful burst of speed, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of the truck's frame. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the biting pain as the wind tore at him, and forced himself closer. His hand found purchase on the twisted metal, and he gripped it tightly, using every ounce of strength he had to pull himself toward the cab.

He swung himself around, his legs kicking out as he slammed against the side of the truck. The impact jarred him, pain shooting through his shoulder, but he held on. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up, using his free hand to rip the door open with a single, powerful yank.

"Lana!" he shouted, his voice fierce.

Lana's eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused. She blinked at him, confusion clouding her gaze. "C-Clark?" she murmured, her voice weak and trembling.

Clark didn't waste a second. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest. The wind shrieked around them, the truck spinning faster as the tornado's grip tightened. But Clark was there now, his body a solid barrier between Lana and the chaos outside.

"I've got you!" he shouted, his voice fierce and determined. He pressed her head against his chest, shielding her completely as he curled his body around hers. "Just hold on!"

The truck jolted violently, the metal groaning under the pressure. Clark braced himself, his muscles straining as he fought to keep them steady. The wind was a living thing, tearing at them from all sides, trying to rip them apart. But Clark held on, his arms a protective cage around Lana.

"Clark…" Lana whispered, her voice barely audible. She buried her face against his chest, her fingers clutching weakly at his jacket. "What's… happening?"

"Don't worry," Clark murmured, his voice low and steady. He could feel the storm raging around them, the immense power of the tornado threatening to crush them. But he pushed back, using every ounce of his strength to keep the walls of the truck from caving in. "You're safe. I won't let go."

Then, with a sudden, bone-jarring lurch, the tornado flung the truck outward.

The world seemed to explode around them. The truck spun wildly, metal screeching as it was hurled through the air. Clark tightened his hold on Lana, curling himself around her as they were thrown, his body absorbing the brunt of the impact. The force of the wind pressed down on them, threatening to tear the truck apart.

They plummeted through the air, the ground rushing up to meet them. Clark gritted his teeth, bracing himself as the truck crashed into the earth with a thunderous impact. The metal frame crumpled around them, glass shattering and debris flying in all directions.

Pain shot through Clark's back, the force of the landing reverberating through his entire body. But he didn't let go. He kept his arms locked around Lana, his body shielding her from the worst of the impact. The truck skidded across the ground, the twisted metal shrieking as it finally came to a shuddering stop.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Clark remained still, his body trembling with the aftermath of the fight. His ears rang, and his vision blurred slightly, but all he could think about was Lana. Slowly, he loosened his hold, peering down at her with wide, worried eyes.

"Lana?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Are you okay?"

Lana blinked up at him, her face pale and dazed. She stared at him, her gaze unfocused, and for a moment, Clark's heart clenched with fear. But then she nodded slowly, her fingers still clutching his jacket.

"I… I think so," she murmured, her voice shaky. "Clark, what… what just happened?"

Clark exhaled, relief flooding through him. He carefully helped her sit up, his hands gentle as he guided her. The truck was a wreck—the windshield shattered, the roof caved in, and the doors twisted beyond recognition. But Lana was safe.

"You… you were outside the truck," Lana murmured, her brow furrowing. "And then… you were here. And… we were… flying."

Clark's chest tightened. She was dazed, but the confusion in her eyes was unmistakable. She had seen him—seen too much. "Lana, I—"

"How did you…?" Lana trailed off, shaking her head slowly. She looked around at the wrecked truck, then back at Clark. "What… what are you?"

Clark's heart pounded, fear and panic swirling inside him. He forced a tight smile, his gaze darting around as he struggled to find the right words. What do I say? How do I explain this?

"Lana, we need to get back to the ranch," he said quickly, his voice firm. "My family… they could be hurt. We have to go."

Lana blinked at him, still dazed. She shook her head slowly, confusion and disbelief warring in her eyes. "But—"

"We have to go, now," Clark insisted. He took her hand gently, helping her climb out of the wrecked truck. His heart ached at the look of bewilderment on her face, but he couldn't stop. There was no time to explain—not now. "Please, Lana."

After a moment, Lana nodded numbly, allowing him to guide her away from the wreckage. She glanced back at the ruined truck, her brow furrowed in confusion, but didn't say anything more.

Clark exhaled slowly, relief mingling with dread. He had saved her—but at what cost?

As they made their way across the ravaged field, Clark's thoughts raced. What does she remember? Does she know? He had to get back to the ranch. He had to make sure his family was safe.

But as they hurried through the darkness, Clark couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse.

The cave was filled with an oppressive stillness, the air thick with the lingering scent of dust and fear. John Dutton stood at the entrance, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the sliver of moonlight that managed to pierce through the narrow opening. The shadows clung to the walls, casting dark, shifting shapes across the stone as if the very cave itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what he would do.

Roger Nixon lay sprawled on the ground, his back pressed against the rough stone wall. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his glasses askew and one lens shattered. Despite the pain etched across his face, Nixon still managed a tight, almost defiant smirk. Even with nowhere left to run, even trapped in the dark heart of the storm-torn cave, the man looked at John as if he had already won.

"You think—" Nixon coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "You think this is going to end well for you, John?"

John didn't respond. He stood there, looming over Nixon, his face expressionless. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Outside, the wind had died down, leaving only the soft rumble of distant thunder and the faint drip of water echoing through the cave. But inside, the tension was palpable, a coiled wire ready to snap.

Nixon's eyes darted around, searching the shadows for an escape that didn't exist. When he found none, he let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "I've got it all, you know," he wheezed. "Everything. The footage, the notes, the interviews. You get rid of me, and it won't matter. People will still find out what your boy is."

John's gaze didn't waver. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat heavy and deliberate. He took a slow, measured breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. He had been in situations like this before—facing down men who threatened his land, his family, his way of life. Men who had crossed lines and forced him to make choices he hadn't wanted to make.

But this was different. This was personal.

"You think you're smart," John said quietly, his voice low and steady. There was no anger in his tone, no rage—just a cold, hard certainty. "But you don't understand what you've done."

Nixon's smirk faltered slightly, but he forced himself to hold John's gaze. "I understand perfectly," he retorted, his voice shaky but defiant. "I've uncovered the biggest story of the century. And you—what are you, huh? Just a rancher trying to play hero? You're out of your depth, Dutton."

John took a step forward, the sound of his boots scraping against the stone floor unnaturally loud in the confined space. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows deepening. Nixon flinched, his smirk disappearing as he pressed himself back against the wall.

"I'm not a hero," John said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. He crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with Nixon. The reporter swallowed hard, his gaze flickering nervously to the entrance, as if expecting someone—anyone—to burst in and save him.

"I'm a father," John continued, his tone steady and even. "And I'll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe. Whatever it takes."

Nixon blinked, his expression wavering. For the first time, genuine fear crept into his eyes. He glanced around the cave again, his breaths quickening as he realized just how alone they were. Just how far out of his depth he truly was.

"Y-you can't just kill me," Nixon stammered, his voice shaking. "I—I've got insurance. I've got people who know—"

"Insurance doesn't mean a damn thing to me," John interrupted, his gaze hard. He straightened slowly, his eyes never leaving Nixon's. "Because the people you told? They're next. You made a mistake, Nixon. You came after my family. And there's nothing I won't do to make sure you never get another chance."

Nixon's face went pale, his bravado crumbling. "John—wait, I—"

John didn't wait. He took a step back, his eyes scanning the ground until he found what he was looking for—a large, jagged stone, half-buried in the dirt. Slowly, deliberately, he crouched down and lifted it, his muscles straining slightly under the weight. The rock was heavy, rough and uneven, its surface pitted with age. It felt solid in his hands, a tangible reminder of the brutal reality of what he was about to do.

For a moment, John hesitated, his gaze flickering to Nixon's terrified face. His heart pounded, each beat echoing through the silence. Is this what it's come to? A part of him recoiled at the thought, the line he was about to cross. But then he thought of Clark—his son, his responsibility. He thought of Evelyn and Lee, of everything they had sacrificed to build a life here.

Nixon wasn't just a threat. He was a danger to everything John loved. And John would do whatever was necessary to keep his family safe.

"You want to know what I am?" John murmured, his voice low and steady. He took a step forward, the stone heavy in his hands. "I'm a protector. That's what I am."

Nixon's eyes widened, his breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. "John—please—"

But John didn't stop. He raised the stone high, his arms trembling slightly with the effort. Nixon scrambled back, his hands coming up in a pathetic attempt to ward off the inevitable.

"No—no, wait—"

The stone came down with a sickening crunch, the impact reverberating through John's arms. Nixon's body jerked, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as the life drained from his eyes. John felt the shock of the blow run through him, the force of it jarring his bones.

For a moment, everything was still. The cave was silent, the shadows unmoving. Slowly, John straightened, the stone slipping from his fingers and thudding softly to the ground beside Nixon's lifeless form.

He stared down at the body, his chest heaving. His heart pounded, his mind racing. He felt a strange sense of detachment, as if he were watching himself from a distance, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a physical force.

But there was no regret. No hesitation.

Nixon had made his choice. He had come after the Duttons, and now he was gone. Just like all the others.

Taking a deep breath, John stepped back, his gaze never leaving Nixon's still form. He wiped his hands on his jeans, the gritty texture of the stone's residue clinging to his skin. He knew what came next. He would have to clean up, get rid of the evidence. Make it look like an accident, like Nixon had been caught in the storm. It wouldn't be the first time he'd taken care of a problem this way.

With one last glance at the man who had threatened his son, John turned and strode out of the cave, his heart hardening with each step. There would be no turning back. He had made his decision. Another body would find its way to the train station.

The aftermath of the tornado had left the Dutton Ranch in shambles. The sun was beginning to set behind the jagged peaks of the mountains, casting long shadows across the broken landscape. The sky, painted in bruised hues of deep purple and fiery orange, seemed to mirror the turmoil and unease gripping the ranch.

The devastation was everywhere—fences torn down, trees uprooted, and parts of the barn roof scattered across the field like discarded toys. The remnants of the storm lingered in the air, a bitter, metallic scent mixed with the earthy smell of wet soil. But none of that mattered right now.

John Dutton was missing.

Evelyn stood at the front porch, her face drawn and pale, her eyes scanning the darkening horizon for any sign of her husband. She clutched the railing tightly, her knuckles white as she tried to steady herself against the rising tide of fear. Every few moments, she would take a deep, shaky breath, as if willing herself to stay calm, to keep it together for the sake of her children. But the fear was there, gnawing at her, sharp and relentless.

"Where is he?" Beth muttered angrily, pacing back and forth in front of the house. Her blonde hair was wild, whipped into a tangled mess by the wind, and her eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and worry. She clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as if the pain could somehow distract her from the knot of dread tightening in her chest. "He should have been back by now. What the hell is taking so long?"

"Calm down, Beth," Lee said quietly, though his own voice was tight with tension. He stood a few feet away, his hands on his hips, his gaze focused intently on the fields beyond the barn. His usually calm, steady demeanor was fraying at the edges, the strain visible in the hard lines of his face. "We'll find him. He probably took shelter somewhere when the storm hit. You know how Dad is."

Beth shot him a glare, her eyes flashing. "Don't tell me to calm down, Lee. He's out there, and we're just standing here doing nothing."

"We're not doing nothing," Jamie interjected, his voice strained. He was leaning against the porch rail, his dark eyes scanning the horizon as well. His usual sharp, composed expression was replaced with something rawer—something almost vulnerable. "The hands are combing the east fields. Rip's leading a group toward the south pasture. They'll find him."

"Then why aren't we out there with them?" Beth snapped, her frustration boiling over. "We should be looking for him, not waiting around like helpless children."

"Because someone has to stay here," Kayce said sharply. He stepped forward, his gaze steady but intense. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched as he tried to keep his own worry under control. "If he shows up, someone needs to be here to meet him. We can't all go running off in different directions."

"That's bullshit, and you know it!" Beth shot back, her voice rising. "He's our father, Kayce. We should be out there—"

"Enough," Evelyn interrupted softly, her voice cutting through the argument like a blade. All four of her children turned to look at her, their faces drawn with worry and anger. Evelyn's gaze was calm, but there was a fierce determination burning behind her eyes. "We're going to find him. But we have to be smart about it."

She straightened, taking a deep breath. "Kayce, Jamie, I want you to take the north and west fields. Lee, head toward the ridge and see if he might have gone to higher ground. Beth—"

"I'm coming with you," Beth interrupted, her voice firm.

Evelyn hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Fine. We'll cover the area near the creek. If the storm swept him that way, he could be caught in the debris."

The family moved quickly, their worry pushing them into action. Evelyn's words were calm, but there was a sense of urgency, a need to do something—anything—that propelled them forward. The fear in the air was palpable, hanging heavy around them like the lingering mist of the storm.

As the siblings scattered, Evelyn paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on the empty, wrecked landscape. The ranch had always felt safe—a place of strength and stability, a home built on generations of resilience and pride. But tonight, it felt fragile. Vulnerable. And the man who held it all together was missing.

She swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears. Get it together, Evelyn. You have to be strong for them. For him.

"Let's go," she murmured, turning to Beth. The two women moved quickly, their boots crunching over broken branches and torn fencing as they made their way toward the creek. The silence between them was thick, but it was an unspoken agreement—a shared resolve. They would find John. They had to.

Rip Wheeler led his group of ranch hands through the battered south pasture, his gaze sharp as he scanned the wreckage. The landscape was unrecognizable—trees were snapped in half, the earth torn up and scattered. It looked like a war zone, the scars of the tornado carved deep into the land.

"Spread out," Rip barked, his voice carrying over the wind. The men nodded grimly, fanning out across the field. Each step felt heavy, the weight of what they might find pressing down on them. Rip's heart pounded in his chest, his usually calm demeanor slipping as the fear gnawed at him.

John had faced danger before—hell, he'd faced men with guns and walked away without flinching. But this… this was different. Nature didn't play by the same rules. And if John had been caught out in the open when the tornado hit—

Rip shook his head, shoving the thought away. Don't think like that. He's fine. He has to be.

"Anything?" he called out as they moved forward, pushing through the wreckage. The men shook their heads silently, their expressions grim.

The wind had picked up again, a low, mournful howl sweeping through the broken landscape. Rip clenched his jaw, his gaze sweeping over the shattered remnants of the barn roof, the pieces of machinery scattered like forgotten toys. Everything was chaos, a mess of broken wood and twisted metal.

"Keep looking," he ordered, his voice low and hard. But even as the words left his mouth, a flicker of doubt crept in. What if they didn't find him? What if—

The sound of an engine roaring up the driveway caught his attention, and Rip turned sharply, his heart leaping into his throat. A truck skidded to a stop in front of the house, the headlights cutting through the growing darkness.

"Clark!" Rip shouted, recognizing the figure climbing out of the driver's seat. Clark's face was pale, his hair disheveled, and there was a frantic energy in his movements as he rushed around the truck to help Lana out.

"What the hell happened?" Rip demanded, his voice rough with worry. "Where's John?"

"We don't know," Clark panted, his gaze darting around wildly. "We got caught in the storm. The truck—Lana's truck was thrown into the air. We—" He swallowed hard, his expression tightening. "We need to find him."

Rip's gaze shifted to Lana, who was leaning heavily against Clark, her face pale and drawn. She looked shaken, her eyes wide and dazed. But there was no time to ask questions. No time to waste.

"Get in," Rip growled, jerking his head toward one of the other trucks. "We're not done yet."

Clark nodded quickly, guiding Lana into the cab. He cast one last glance back at the darkened fields, his heart pounding with fear. His family was out there, scattered and searching in the dark.

"Hang on, Dad," he whispered under his breath. "We're coming."

Evelyn Dutton's pulse raced as she tore across the yard, her gaze locked on the barn's dark silhouette. The air was thick with the lingering smell of rain and churned earth, and the wind had picked up again, rustling the scattered debris. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she sprinted after Beth, who was already halfway to the barn, her figure barely visible in the twilight.

"Beth, stop!" Evelyn shouted, but Beth didn't even pause. She pushed herself harder, her boots kicking up dirt as she sped toward the gaping barn doors, her blond hair whipping wildly around her face.

When Evelyn finally reached the barn, she stumbled to a halt, her heart pounding in her chest. The heavy doors hung at odd angles, one half off its hinges, the other splintered and cracked. Large chunks of the roof were missing, and the entire structure seemed to list to one side, as if it were barely holding itself together. The devastation made Evelyn's heart clench. The barn was supposed to be a place of strength and protection—a fortress for their secrets.

But now it looked vulnerable. Violated.

"Mom, look at this!" Beth called, her voice sharp and breathless. She was crouched near the far corner of the barn, her fingers brushing against a pile of shattered boards and broken metal. Evelyn's gut tightened as she hurried over, her eyes widening in shock.

The damage was worse up close. The entire section of the wall around the trapdoor was shattered, the wooden beams splintered and twisted. Shards of metal jutted out at odd angles, and the trapdoor itself—usually so well-hidden beneath layers of dirt and hay—was completely exposed, the latch hanging limply from a bent hinge.

"Beth, what—?" Evelyn's voice faltered as she took in the destruction. Her gaze darted around the darkened barn, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. Did someone do this? But how? When?

"I thought I saw someone out here," Beth murmured, her brow furrowed as she examined the debris. "But… Mom, look at this." She gestured at the scattered boards, her fingers trembling slightly. "It's all broken. Like something hit it from the inside."

Evelyn's breath caught in her throat. The pieces clicked together in her mind—Beth's sighting, the damage, the open trapdoor—and a wave of icy dread flooded through her.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "No, that's not possible."

"It has to be," Beth insisted, her voice rising with a mixture of fear and anger. She pointed at the twisted latch and shattered beams. "Someone must have found it. They broke in, tore everything apart, and took the ship."

Evelyn's heart lurched painfully. The ship. The one thing they had fought so hard to keep hidden. The only piece of tangible proof of who Clark really was. If someone had found it, if they had taken it—

"We don't know that," Evelyn said sharply, but her voice wavered. Her gaze swept over the wreckage again, taking in every broken piece, every splintered board. There was something chaotic about the destruction—something that didn't quite fit with the idea of a deliberate break-in. The damage was too scattered, too uneven.

But if it wasn't a break-in…

"What else could it be?" Beth demanded, her face pale. "The storm? The tornado?" She shook her head fiercely. "No, Mom, think about it. The trapdoor was hidden. Buried. There's no way a storm could have exposed it like this."

Evelyn bit her lip, her thoughts whirling. The storm had been violent—trees uprooted, fences torn apart. It had left the ranch in chaos. But the cellar had been fortified, the trapdoor reinforced and locked. Could the storm have done this? Could it have torn open the trapdoor and—?

No. It was too much of a coincidence. There had to be more to it.

"Someone knew," Beth murmured, more to herself than to Evelyn. Her gaze was dark, her expression fierce. "Someone knew what we were hiding, and they took it. They took the ship."

Evelyn's chest tightened, a cold knot of fear settling deep in her gut. If Beth was right—if someone had found the ship and taken it—then everything they had worked so hard to protect was in jeopardy. Clark's secret. His safety. Everything.

"We need to tell the others," Evelyn said abruptly, her voice shaking. She stumbled back from the wreckage, her gaze still locked on the empty cellar. "We need to—"

"Go!" Beth urged, already turning on her heel. Evelyn followed, her legs trembling as they raced back toward the house. The night air seemed colder now, the shadows longer, darker. Every step felt heavy, weighed down by the horrifying realization of what this meant. If the ship was gone, then whoever took it knew about Clark. They knew what he was.

They burst into the house, their boots skidding on the hardwood floor as they stumbled into the living room. Lee, Jamie, and Kayce looked up sharply, their faces etched with worry and confusion.

"Mom?" Lee asked, his voice tight with concern. He stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "What's going on?"

Evelyn opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her chest heaved, panic clawing at her throat. She looked at Beth, silently begging her daughter to speak.

"The ship," Beth said hoarsely, her voice raw with fear and anger. "It's gone. Someone took it."

Silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating. Jamie's eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Kayce stiffened, his gaze darting from Evelyn to Beth, disbelief and confusion warring in his eyes.

"What?" Lee breathed, his face paling. "What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean someone tore the damn barn apart and took it," Beth snapped, her voice cracking. She raked a hand through her hair, her movements jerky and frantic. "It's not there. It's gone."

Jamie swore softly under his breath, his hands clenching into fists. "But… how? Who the hell would know about it?"

"We don't know," Evelyn whispered, finally finding her voice. She shook her head slowly, her heart aching with fear and uncertainty. "But they found it. They took it. And now—"

"And now Clark is in danger," Kayce finished grimly, his face hardening. He turned sharply, his jaw clenched. "We have to find out who did this. We have to—"

"Find Dad," Lee interrupted, his expression fierce. "We have to find him. He needs to know."

Evelyn nodded, her gaze still distant, lost in the nightmare unfolding around them. "We need to find your father," she murmured. "Before it's too late."

Miles away, in a field drenched in moonlight, the mangled wreck of the Dutton ship lay half-buried in the soft earth. The sleek, alien metal gleamed faintly under the pale light, its surface still glowing softly from the storm's violent touch. Pieces of the ship's frame were twisted and torn, evidence of the immense force that had hurled it from the cellar and sent it tumbling through the air.

The field was empty, silent except for the soft whisper of the wind as it rustled through the tall grass. The ship's faint glow pulsed rhythmically, a beacon of otherworldly light in the darkness.

Then, headlights appeared in the distance, cutting through the gloom. A beat-up truck rattled down the dirt road, its tires kicking up dust as it slowed to a stop at the edge of the field. The driver's side door creaked open, and Pete Ross stepped out, his expression wary.

He squinted into the darkness, his gaze drawn to the strange glow in the distance. For a moment, he hesitated, his heart pounding with a strange mix of curiosity and unease. Then, cautiously, he took a step forward, his eyes widening as the glowing object came into focus.

"What the hell…?" Pete whispered, his voice barely audible.

The ship sat silently in the middle of the field, its metal skin gleaming under the moonlight. Pete took another step, then froze, his breath catching in his throat.

The glowing light brightened for a split second, a soft hum filling the air.

And then the light faded, leaving the field—and Pete—bathed in darkness once more.

The living room of the Dutton house was a whirlwind of frantic energy. Lee, Jamie, Kayce, Beth, and Evelyn paced back and forth, their voices a tangled mix of fear and anger. Shadows danced along the walls, the dim lighting doing little to ease the tension that crackled through the air.

"What do you mean, 'someone took it'? How would they even find it?" Jamie demanded, his voice sharp and panicked.

"I don't know, Jamie!" Beth snapped back, her face flushed with frustration. "But it's gone. And if they have it, then they know."

"Everyone, calm down," Evelyn ordered, her voice tense. But even she was trembling, her face pale as she tried to keep her composure. "We need to focus. We need to find John. We need—"

A sudden sound outside the house made them all freeze. The screen door creaked, a soft, almost imperceptible noise that sent a jolt of shock through them. Every head turned toward the front entrance, their hearts leaping into their throats.

For a split second, no one moved.

Then the door swung open slowly, creaking on its old hinges. A tall, broad-shouldered figure filled the doorway, silhouetted against the faint glow of the porch light. The sight of him—familiar, yet terrifyingly altered—sent a wave of stunned silence crashing over the room.

"Dad!" Lee breathed, his voice hoarse.

John Dutton stepped inside, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. He was covered in dirt and grime, his clothes torn and caked with mud. Blood smeared his forehead, trickling down the side of his face in dark, crimson rivulets. His usually sharp, commanding presence was muted, his shoulders hunched, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something far darker.

"John," Evelyn whispered, taking a step forward. Her hands were shaking, her gaze locked on his bruised and battered form. "Oh, my God…"

But John didn't respond. He stood there in the doorway, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his eyes sweeping over each of his children in turn. There was a heaviness in his gaze, a haunted look that sent a shiver of dread through everyone in the room.

"Dad, what—?" Kayce started, but his voice faltered as John's gaze finally landed on him.

"I'm fine," John muttered, his voice rough and hollow. He wiped a hand across his brow, smearing the blood even further. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if every step cost him something. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Evelyn said fiercely, her face pale. She moved toward him, reaching out to touch his arm. "You're hurt. What happened? Where were you?"

John glanced down at her, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze shifting back to his sons.

"It's over," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that sent a chill through the room. "Nixon… won't be a problem anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Jamie stiffened, his eyes widening in shock. "You mean—did you…?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, Jamie," John interrupted sharply. His gaze was cold, unyielding. "All you need to know is that he's gone. He won't be coming back."

Beth's mouth fell open, her eyes narrowing. "You killed him?" she whispered, disbelief and a strange, twisted pride mingling in her expression.

John didn't reply. He just stood there, the shadows clinging to him like a shroud. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. And then Evelyn stepped forward, her face tight with barely controlled fear.

"John, we have a bigger problem," she said softly. Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to keep going. "The ship. The cellar. It's… it's gone."

John's head snapped up, his eyes widening. "What?"

"It's gone," Evelyn repeated, her voice breaking. "The cellar is empty. The trapdoor was broken open. We don't know if it was the storm or—"

"Or someone took it," Beth interjected, her tone harsh. "Either way, it's gone, Dad. Everything we were protecting—everything we were hiding—it's gone."

John staggered back a step, his face drained of color. "No," he whispered, his voice strangled. "No, that's not possible."

"Come see for yourself," Lee said quietly, his face set in grim lines. He stepped forward, his gaze steady. "We need to figure out what happened. And fast."

For a moment, John didn't move. He stared at his family, his expression torn between fury and despair. Then, with a low, pained growl, he pushed past them, his boots thudding heavily against the floor as he stormed toward the front door.

The family followed in tense silence, their hearts pounding. The night air was sharp and cold as they stepped outside, the wind tugging at their clothes. John moved quickly, his steps uneven but determined, his gaze fixed on the barn looming in the distance.

Evelyn hurried to keep up, her chest tightening with each step. She had never seen him like this—so raw, so broken. Whatever had happened out there with Nixon, it had shaken John to his core. And now, with the ship missing…

"Here," Beth said sharply as they reached the barn. She gestured toward the wreckage, her expression fierce. "This is where it was. Look."

John dropped to his knees beside the shattered trapdoor, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch the broken wood. The padlock lay in the dirt beside him, twisted and useless. The cellar gaped open like a wound, dark and empty.

"No," John whispered again, his voice hoarse. He leaned forward, peering down into the darkness. There was nothing there. Just empty space.

The ship—Clark's ship, the one thing that had tied everything together—was gone.

A cold, hollow rage welled up inside him, mixing with the exhaustion and pain. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to breathe. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to keep it safe.

"What do we do?" Lee asked quietly, his voice filled with an urgency that mirrored the fear twisting in John's gut.

John stared down into the empty cellar, his chest heaving. For the first time in a long while, he didn't have an answer.

"We find it," he said finally, his voice low and hard. "We get it back. And we make sure no one ever learns what it really is."

The determination in his voice sent a shiver through the family. Without another word, John stood, his gaze burning with a renewed intensity.

Whoever had taken the ship—if someone had taken it—would pay. He would tear apart every corner of Smallville, every inch of this county, until he had it back.

And God help anyone who stood in his way.

The truck rumbled to a stop at the edge of the tree line, its headlights casting long, eerie shadows across the dense forest. The towering pines loomed like dark sentinels, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Clark stared out at the tangled mass of trees, his heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination.

"Here?" Rip asked gruffly, his gaze flicking to Clark's pale, tense face. "You're sure you want to be dropped off here? This part of the ranch is a mess right now. Half of it's blocked off by fallen trees."

"I'm sure," Clark replied quickly, already reaching for the door handle. "I need to cover more ground on foot. Dad could have tried to take shelter out here."

Rip grunted, his expression skeptical. "If he did, we'd have seen some sign of him by now."

"Just… let me look," Clark insisted, his voice tight. He forced a shaky smile, glancing back at Lana, who was watching him with wide, worried eyes. "I'll be fine. You stay with Rip."

"Clark…" Lana murmured, leaning forward slightly. Her gaze was filled with confusion and fear. "Are you sure? What if—?"

"I'll find him," Clark interrupted gently. He tried to keep his tone calm, reassuring, but there was a hard edge to it—a desperate urgency that he couldn't quite hide. "I have to find him."

Before she could respond, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air. The forest loomed before him, dark and impenetrable. Clark took a deep breath, his senses sharpening, the familiar rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. He had to focus. He had to use everything he had if he was going to find his father.

"Stay with Lana," he said firmly, turning back to Rip. "If I'm not back in an hour, call me."

Rip nodded slowly, his gaze shrewd. "Don't do anything stupid, Clark."

Clark managed a tight smile. "No promises."

And then he turned, slipping into the shadows of the trees. The forest swallowed him up, the thick underbrush and towering pines closing in around him. For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of leaves underfoot and the distant murmur of the wind.

Clark paused, his heart hammering. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring that Rip and Lana were still by the truck. They stood at the edge of the tree line, their silhouettes stark against the headlights. Rip was saying something, his hand on Lana's shoulder, but she wasn't listening. Her gaze was fixed on Clark, a worried frown etched across her face.

"I'll be back," Clark whispered softly, more to himself than to them.

Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he took off.

The world blurred around him as he sprinted deeper into the forest, his feet barely touching the ground. Trees whipped past in a dark, tangled blur, branches and underbrush parting before him as he moved faster, faster. The wind tore at his clothes, whipping his hair back, but Clark didn't slow down.

I have to find him. The thought pounded in his mind, driving him forward. The images of the tornado flashed through his thoughts—the chaos, the roaring wind, the sight of the truck being torn away with Lana inside. And then… nothing. He hadn't seen where his father had gone. He hadn't been able to protect him.

The guilt clawed at his chest, sharp and relentless. If something happens to him… if I lose him…

Clark forced the thought away, his gaze scanning the darkened forest. His senses were on high alert, every sound, every flicker of movement sharpening in his mind. He focused, listening for anything out of the ordinary—the crunch of footsteps, the rustle of clothing, the sound of breathing.

But there was nothing. Just the whisper of the wind through the trees and the distant call of a night bird. The forest seemed vast and endless, stretching out in every direction like a dark, tangled maze.

Clark slowed to a stop, his chest heaving. He turned in a slow circle, his gaze sweeping over the dense underbrush. "Dad?" he called softly, his voice barely more than a breath. "Dad, are you out here?"

The only answer was silence.

He clenched his fists, frustration and fear tightening in his chest. Where are you?

Then, faintly, he heard it—the low, distant sound of voices.

Clark's head snapped up, his heart leaping. He cocked his head, straining to hear. There—through the trees, somewhere to his right. The voices were faint, muffled by the thick foliage, but he could make out the tone—urgent, worried.

His pulse quickened. Was it his father? Was it the search party?

Without another thought, Clark took off again, his body a blur as he raced through the forest. Branches whipped at his face, but he ignored the sting, his focus narrowing to the sound of the voices. He pushed harder, the world around him blurring as he closed the distance in seconds.

He burst through the trees into a small clearing—and skidded to a halt, his breath catching in his throat.

It wasn't his father. It wasn't the search party.

It was the empty, open field behind the ranch house.

Clark stood there, his chest heaving, his heart pounding wildly. He had been running in circles, chasing shadows. The realization hit him like a blow, and for a moment, he felt the ground tilt beneath his feet.

"Dad," he whispered, his voice choked. He glanced around, the despair tightening in his chest. Where was he? What if he was hurt? What if—

"Clark!"

The shout made him jerk, his head snapping up. Lee was standing at the back door of the house, his face pale and drawn. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Clark, relief and something like fear flickering across his features.

"Clark, get in here!" Lee called urgently, gesturing sharply. "Now!"

Clark didn't hesitate. He sprinted across the open field, his heart racing. Please, please, let him be okay…

He burst into the house, skidding to a stop just inside the living room. The sight that greeted him made his heart lurch.

John was sitting in the old armchair by the fireplace, his head bowed, his face hidden in shadow. Blood smeared his forehead, dried in dark, ugly streaks across his face and clothes. His hands were clenched tightly around the armrests, his knuckles white.

"Dad!" Clark gasped, stumbling forward. "Oh my God, are you—?"

"I'm fine," John muttered, his voice rough and raw. He lifted his head slowly, his gaze locking onto Clark's. There was a deep, unyielding pain in his eyes—something dark and haunted. "I'm fine, Clark."

But he didn't look fine. He looked like he had been through hell.

"What happened?" Clark breathed, his heart aching at the sight of his father's battered face. He turned sharply to Evelyn, his eyes wide and frantic. "What—?"

"The ship," Evelyn whispered, her voice tight with fear. She took a step forward, her gaze flicking between Clark and John. "The ship is gone, Clark. The cellar—it's empty."

Clark froze, his heart plummeting. "What?" he whispered. "No… no, that's not possible."

"We think someone took it," Beth said sharply, her expression fierce. She crossed her arms, her gaze blazing. "And if they have it, then they know. They know what it is."

Clark's mind spun, the words hitting him like a physical blow. The ship. His ship. The one link to his past, to where he came from. And now it was gone. Taken.

"But…" He turned back to his father, his eyes wide and desperate. "What do we do?"

John stared at him for a long moment, his gaze dark and unreadable. Then, slowly, he straightened, his shoulders stiffening.

"We find it," he said quietly, his voice cold and hard. "And we make sure no one else ever finds out what it really is."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Rip stepped inside, his face grim. Lana hovered behind him, her eyes wide and filled with confusion.

"Did you find him?" Rip asked, his gaze flicking between the Duttons. His voice was rough, wary. "Is he okay?"

John nodded slowly, his gaze still locked on Clark. "I'm fine," he murmured. "But we've got a bigger problem now."

Lana glanced at Clark, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What's going on?" she asked softly. "What's missing?"

Clark swallowed hard, his heart racing. He shot a quick, desperate look at his father, but John's expression didn't change.

"Nothing," Clark said quickly, forcing a tight smile. "It's… it's just a family matter."

Lana frowned, but before she could respond, John stood, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the room.

"Everyone needs to get some rest," he said quietly, his voice firm. "We'll figure this out in the morning."

But as they all moved to leave, Clark couldn't shake the cold, hollow dread settling in his chest.

The ship was gone.

And everything was about to change.

The Dutton family was gathered in the living room, the weight of the night's revelations hanging heavy in the air. The soft, crackling fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled over them. Outside, the darkness pressed against the windows, deep and unrelenting, like a predator lurking just beyond the edge of the light.

John stood by the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the flames as they flickered and danced. The room felt too small, too claustrophobic. His children—his wife—were all looking to him for answers, but he didn't have any. Not this time. The ship was gone, the one thing they had kept hidden for so many years, and all he could think was: How did we let this happen?

Evelyn sat in the armchair beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her gaze was distant, lost in some dark place as she struggled to wrap her mind around the enormity of what had happened. She had always known there were risks—had always known that hiding Clark's secret meant living with the constant fear of discovery. But this… this was worse than anything she had imagined.

"We have to figure out who did this," Beth said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was strained, but not with anger. There was a tight, panicked edge to it—something vulnerable and afraid. "Someone found it. Someone took it. And if they know about the ship, then they—"

"Then they know about Clark," Jamie finished grimly, his face pale. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze darting anxiously around the room. "But who? Who would even know to look for it?"

"That's what we need to figure out," John murmured softly, almost to himself. He stared into the fire, his expression hardening. The flames cast long, flickering shadows across his face, making him look older, wearier. Who could have found it? How did we miss the signs?

Beth shook her head, frustration and fear warring in her gaze. "It doesn't make sense. The cellar was hidden. It's been locked and sealed for years. How could someone just—?"

"Maybe it was the storm," Kayce offered quietly, his voice low. He stood near the window, his broad shoulders tense as he stared out into the darkness. His jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed with worry. "Maybe the tornado tore it open, and… I don't know. Maybe someone found it by accident."

"An accident?" Beth echoed incredulously. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Kayce, this isn't like finding an old tractor buried in the ground. It's a spaceship. Who just stumbles onto something like that and decides to take it?"

Kayce looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm just trying to make sense of it," he murmured. There was a haunted look in his eyes, a kind of desperate uncertainty that twisted Evelyn's heart. Kayce had always been the protector, the one who wanted to keep everyone safe. But right now, he looked lost—helpless.

Evelyn reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "We'll figure it out, Kayce," she whispered, trying to sound reassuring. But even as she said it, a cold dread curled in her stomach. Who could have done this? And what did it mean for Clark?

Her gaze flickered to the window, where the shadowy outline of the barn was just visible against the night sky. The barn—the cellar—had been their safeguard. Their hiding place. And now it was empty, exposed. Vulnerable.

"What if it's someone from town?" Jamie asked suddenly, his voice trembling. He looked around at his family, his expression tight with fear. "What if… what if someone's been watching us?"

Beth flinched, her face paling. "Watching us?" she whispered. The thought made her stomach twist painfully. "But… who would do that?"

"Anyone," Jamie replied, his voice rising slightly. He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. "Think about it—Lionel Luthor's been trying to get his hands on the ranch for years. Lex is always sniffing around, always asking questions. Maybe they found out about the ship. Maybe they've been planning this."

"Or maybe it's not the Luthors," Lee murmured quietly. He was standing near the far wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes dark with suspicion. "Maybe it's someone we haven't even considered. Someone outside of Smallville."

John looked up sharply, his gaze locking onto his eldest son. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

Lee hesitated, his jaw tightening. "I'm saying… this feels too coordinated. Too deliberate. If someone found the ship, then they've been watching us for a long time. They waited until we were vulnerable, until we were distracted by the storm." He glanced around at his family, his expression hard. "This isn't just about land or power, Dad. This is about Clark."

A heavy silence settled over the room, the truth of his words sinking in. If someone had taken the ship, then it meant they knew. They knew about Clark—about what he was. And that meant…

"They're coming for him," Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling. She looked at John, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Oh my God, John… if they know…"

John's chest tightened painfully. He looked at his wife, at the raw panic etched across her face, and felt something twist deep inside him. I failed them. I should have been here. I should have protected him.

"We'll keep him safe," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "I swear, Evelyn. We'll keep him safe."

"But how?" Jamie demanded, his voice breaking. He gestured helplessly, his face tight with fear. "We don't even know who we're up against. How can we protect him if we don't know—"

"We protect him like we always have," Lee interrupted firmly. His gaze was steady, unflinching. "We circle the wagons. We close ranks. And we don't let anyone close enough to get a shot at him."

Jamie swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "And if they come anyway?" he whispered.

"Then we handle it," John said softly. He looked around at his family, his expression fierce. "We'll figure this out. But until we do, we don't let our guard down."

Beth nodded slowly, her face still pale but her gaze determined. Kayce shifted uneasily, his arms wrapped around his chest as if trying to ward off the chill in the air. And Evelyn… Evelyn just stared at the fire, her mind spinning with a hundred terrifying possibilities.

What if they know? What if they come for him? What if—

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe," Lee murmured quietly, his gaze locked on the flames. "Whoever did this… they won't get a second chance."

John nodded slowly, his jaw clenched. He took a deep, steadying breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "We'll protect him," he said again, his voice firm. "No matter what."

They fell into silence again, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Outside, the wind howled softly, rattling the windows. The darkness seemed to press in around them, thick and unrelenting.

Whoever had taken the ship… whoever knew about Clark…

They were coming. And the Duttons would be ready.

The storm had hit the facility like a hammer, shattering windows and tearing apart the reinforced fences that surrounded the compound. Alarms blared through the hallways, their shrill, piercing wail cutting through the chaotic symphony of wind and rain battering the building. The lights flickered erratically, casting everything in a strobe-like glow of harsh white and suffocating darkness.

Alicia Baker pressed herself against the cold, unyielding wall of her cell, her heart pounding violently in her chest. She could hear the shouts of guards and the frantic footfalls of fleeing personnel echoing down the corridor outside. The heavy iron door in front of her shuddered as the entire facility seemed to groan under the force of the storm. For a moment, everything was chaos—a swirling, screaming mass of sound and motion.

And then, with a deafening crash, the power failed.

The lights went out, plunging the entire facility into darkness. The alarms sputtered and died, the mechanical whine fading into an eerie, oppressive silence. Alicia stood frozen in place, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. This is it. The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning, electrifying her veins with a sudden, fierce hope.

This is my chance.

For weeks—months—she had been trapped here, isolated and alone, locked away like some dangerous animal. Amanda Waller's people had kept her confined, sedated, and monitored around the clock. They called it "protective custody," but Alicia knew the truth. She was a prisoner. A weapon they didn't understand. A problem they were trying to contain.

But now, with the storm tearing the facility apart, everything was falling apart. And if she was going to escape, it had to be now.

Taking a deep breath, Alicia closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. She could feel the familiar, tingling sensation spreading through her limbs, the faint hum of power just beneath her skin. It had been so long since she'd been able to use it—so long since she'd felt truly free.

"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. She tightened her fists, the cool metal of the suppression cuffs digging painfully into her wrists. "Please work. Please…"

There was a flash of green light, sharp and blinding in the darkness. For a split second, Alicia felt her body blur, felt the world around her shift and stretch. And then—freedom.

She stumbled forward, blinking rapidly as the world snapped back into focus. She was outside her cell, the heavy iron door standing ajar behind her. The cuffs on her wrists—designed to inhibit her powers—lay broken and twisted on the ground, the metal still glowing faintly from the burst of energy.

"I did it," she breathed, a wild, desperate smile tugging at her lips. "I did it!"

But she didn't have time to celebrate. She could hear voices in the distance, the frantic shouts of guards as they scrambled to restore order. Taking a deep breath, Alicia straightened, forcing herself to move. Her legs felt shaky, weak from weeks of confinement, but she pushed through the pain, her gaze locked on the end of the hallway.

Get out. Get out now.

She broke into a run, her heart racing as she sprinted down the darkened corridor. The facility was a maze of twisted metal and reinforced walls, designed to keep people like her inside. But now, the storm had torn it open. Debris littered the ground, chunks of concrete and shattered glass crunching underfoot as she ran. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and ozone, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

Alicia turned a corner sharply, skidding to a halt as she nearly collided with a fallen beam blocking the path. Panic surged through her, hot and overwhelming, but she forced herself to stay calm. She glanced around wildly, her gaze darting from one darkened corner to the next. Think, Alicia. Think.

Then she saw it—a small, narrow gap between the twisted metal and the cracked wall. It was barely wide enough to squeeze through, but it was a way out. Gritting her teeth, Alicia dropped to her hands and knees, her fingers scrabbling against the rough concrete as she crawled through the narrow opening. The sharp edges of the metal scraped against her skin, but she ignored the pain, her only thought on reaching the other side.

When she finally emerged, gasping and covered in grime, she found herself in a side corridor. The ceiling here had partially collapsed, leaving only a small path clear amid the rubble. But beyond it, she could see the faint glow of moonlight spilling in from the shattered remains of a security door.

Freedom.

Alicia staggered to her feet, her chest heaving. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she pushed herself forward, her gaze locked on the faint light. The wind howled through the broken doorway, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and freedom.

Just a few more steps.

The cold night air hit her like a slap to the face as she stumbled out of the facility and into the open field beyond. The sky above was still churning with storm clouds, flashes of lightning illuminating the broken landscape. The ground was slick with mud, the remains of the facility scattered across the field in jagged heaps.

But Alicia didn't care. She was outside. She was free.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring up at the sky, the wind whipping her hair around her face. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline flooding her veins, but there was something else, too—something raw and painful, tightening in her chest.

Clark.

The thought hit her with the force of a tidal wave, washing over her, filling every inch of her being. She had to find him. She had to warn him. Whatever Amanda Waller was planning—whatever they had locked her away for—it was connected to Clark. She knew it. She could feel it deep in her bones.

"Clark," she whispered, her voice choked. Tears stung her eyes, hot and stinging as she staggered forward. Her legs trembled, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. "I have to find him. I have to…"

But where was he? What if he was hurt? What if they had already gotten to him?

"No," she whispered fiercely, shaking her head. She clenched her fists, her jaw tightening with determination. "I'll find you, Clark. I'll keep you safe. I promise."

With a deep, shuddering breath, Alicia turned sharply, her gaze locking onto the distant lights of Smallville glowing faintly through the darkness. It wasn't far. She could make it. She would make it.

Ignoring the pain, ignoring the exhaustion that threatened to drag her down, Alicia broke into a run, her heart pounding with a single, desperate hope.

I'm coming, Clark.

End of Chapter 15

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