AN : Longest Chapter to Date, Loved writing this section, it was a blast, enjoy this chapter and please leave a review and let me know what you think!

Chapter 16: Secrets Unveiled

The night was dark and still, the remnants of the storm lingering in the cool, damp air. Pete Ross's boots sank into the soft, muddy ground as he trudged through the field, a flashlight gripped tightly in one hand. The beam of light cut through the darkness, casting long, wavering shadows across the landscape. Everywhere he looked, the land was torn up and scattered with debris—broken branches, uprooted shrubs, and deep gouges in the earth where the tornado had carved its chaotic path.

But it wasn't the storm's destruction that had caught his attention.

It was the strange, flickering glow in the distance.

"What the…?" Pete muttered under his breath, squinting through the darkness. He moved cautiously, his heart pounding with a strange mix of fear and excitement. The light wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before—a soft, pulsating green that seemed to shimmer just at the edge of his vision. Every few seconds, it would pulse brighter, casting eerie shadows across the torn-up field.

Pete swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the flashlight. What could that be?

He moved closer, each step slow and deliberate. The ground was uneven, slick with mud, and he nearly slipped more than once, but he didn't let himself stop. The closer he got, the stronger the light seemed to grow, until it filled his vision, strange and almost hypnotic.

And then, finally, he saw it.

The object was massive, half-buried in the earth at a sharp angle. Even in the dim light, Pete could see that it was unlike anything he'd ever laid eyes on. The metal—if it was metal—was smooth and curved, reflecting the faint moonlight in a dull, silvery gleam. Parts of it were twisted and bent, the surface marred with deep scratches and jagged cracks, but even damaged, it looked… impossible.

"Holy—" Pete breathed, his voice catching in his throat. He took another step forward, his eyes wide with shock. The object's surface glimmered faintly, tiny veins of green light spider-webbing through the metal. The patterns seemed to shift and move, like liquid trapped beneath glass, glowing softly with an almost organic pulse.

Slowly, hesitantly, Pete reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from the strange metal. The air around it felt charged, buzzing faintly against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest, and then—

His fingertips brushed against the surface.

A jolt shot through him, sharp and electric, making him jerk his hand back instinctively. "Jesus!" he gasped, shaking his hand as if to dispel the sensation. The metal felt cool, almost icy, and smooth—unnaturally smooth, like polished stone.

"What are you?" Pete whispered, his gaze locked on the strange, shimmering surface. He crouched down, leaning closer to inspect the intricate patterns etched into the metal. Up close, the ship—because it had to be a ship—looked even more alien, more impossible. The curves and angles were like nothing Pete had ever seen before, completely unlike the straight lines and sharp edges of human-made machines.

But this… this was something else entirely. Something otherworldly.

Pete's mind spun with a thousand questions, each one more unbelievable than the last. Is this a UFO? An actual alien spaceship? What the hell is it doing here, in Smallville? And… are there more of them?

The thought sent a chill down his spine. He glanced around nervously, half-expecting to see another ship hovering silently above him, hidden in the shadows of the night sky. But there was nothing—just the dark, empty field and the faint whisper of the wind rustling through the broken branches.

"Okay, okay, think," Pete muttered, his voice trembling slightly. He stood up slowly, his gaze never leaving the twisted, gleaming frame of the ship. "You just found a spaceship. A spaceship. What are you supposed to do now?"

His mind raced, a whirlwind of excitement, fear, and disbelief. Should he call someone? The police? The military? But what if they took it away—locked it up somewhere and buried the truth? Pete could almost see it now: the ship being loaded onto a massive truck, driven away in the dead of night, never to be seen again.

"No," he murmured fiercely, shaking his head. "I can't let them just take it. I found it. I did."

But what did that mean? What was he supposed to do with an alien spaceship? Hide it? How? It was huge—easily bigger than his dad's truck—and it looked like it weighed a ton. There was no way he could move it on his own, not without—

The sound of an engine in the distance made him freeze. Pete's heart leapt into his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears as he whipped around, eyes wide. The faint glow of headlights appeared on the horizon, growing steadily brighter as the vehicle drew closer.

"Crap," Pete breathed, panic flooding through him. Someone was coming. He didn't know who, but the last thing he needed was for someone else to see this. He had to do something—cover it, hide it—anything to keep it safe.

"Okay, okay, okay," he whispered frantically, his gaze darting around the darkened field. His dad's truck was parked a few yards away, the flatbed empty. There was a tarp in the back—big enough to cover at least part of the ship. Maybe if he—

But even as the thought formed, Pete knew it wouldn't work. The ship was too big, too bright. There was no way he could hide it in time.

The headlights grew closer, the engine's growl louder. Pete's heart raced, his thoughts a chaotic blur. He glanced back at the ship, then at the approaching vehicle, desperation clawing at his chest.

"I can't let them see it," he muttered, his voice tight with fear. "I can't."

With a deep, shuddering breath, Pete made his decision. He turned sharply, sprinting back toward the truck. His boots slid in the mud, but he didn't slow down. He wrenched open the door, his hands shaking as he grabbed his phone from the dashboard.

He took a deep breath, his gaze darting back to the strange, pulsing glow of the ship.

"I'm not letting them take you," he whispered fiercely, his jaw clenched. "I'll figure something out. Just… just hang on."

And then, before he could second-guess himself, he took off, disappearing into the darkness just as the other vehicle crested the hill.

Pete's truck roared up the dirt road, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust as he sped toward the Dutton Ranch. The headlights cut through the early morning gloom, casting long shadows across the open fields. Pete's hands were clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white, his heart still pounding wildly in his chest.

He couldn't believe it. He'd found a spaceship. An actual, honest-to-God alien spaceship. And now… now he had to show someone. Had to make sense of it all.

"Clark's gotta see this," he muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and nervous energy. He glanced at the passenger seat, where his phone rested beside a hastily scribbled note detailing the coordinates of the field. Every instinct told him to keep this quiet, to make sure no one else got their hands on it. But Clark—Clark was his best friend. If anyone would believe him, it would be Clark.

The Ranch came into view, the familiar red barn and white farmhouse standing silent against the pale dawn light. Pete pulled up sharply, gravel crunching beneath the tires as he skidded to a stop in front of the house. He jumped out of the truck, barely taking a moment to turn off the engine before sprinting up the porch steps.

"Clark!" he shouted, pounding on the door with the side of his fist. "Clark, you need to see this!"

There was a muffled thud inside, followed by hurried footsteps. The door swung open, and Clark appeared, his hair tousled, wearing a loose plaid shirt and jeans. He blinked blearily at Pete, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Pete? What—?"

"I need to show you something," Pete interrupted, his voice urgent. He grabbed Clark's arm, tugging him down the steps. "Come on, man, you're not gonna believe this!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Clark protested, stumbling slightly as he tried to keep up. "What's going on? What happened?"

"You'll see," Pete said breathlessly, his eyes shining with excitement. "Just—just get in the truck. I swear, this is gonna blow your mind."

Clark hesitated, his stomach twisting uneasily. Something was off—Pete was too worked up, too intense. He'd never seen his friend like this, not even when they'd been caught sneaking out past curfew in high school. A cold dread settled in Clark's chest as he studied Pete's wild expression. What did he find?

"Pete, wait," Clark said, planting his feet. "Just tell me—"

"No way," Pete insisted, shaking his head fiercely. He practically dragged Clark toward the truck, his grip tight and unrelenting. "You have to see it for yourself."

Clark swallowed hard, his mind racing. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the familiar rush of anxiety tightening his throat. He didn't know what Pete had stumbled onto, but if it was making him act like this… it couldn't be good.

"Okay," Clark said finally, forcing a weak smile. "Okay, I'll go. Just… calm down, okay?"

But Pete didn't calm down. He practically shoved Clark into the passenger seat before scrambling around to the driver's side. The truck roared to life, and they took off down the road, the tires spitting gravel as Pete floored the gas pedal.

They drove in tense silence, the only sound the roar of the engine and the distant hum of insects waking in the early dawn. Clark kept sneaking glances at Pete, his nerves on edge. Pete's jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed intently on the road ahead, but there was a gleam in his gaze—a strange, manic excitement that made Clark's skin prickle.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Pete slowed the truck and turned onto a narrow dirt path. The fields stretched out on either side, empty and shadowed in the dim morning light. Clark's unease deepened as they bumped along the rutted trail, the truck's headlights casting eerie shadows across the land.

"Where are we?" Clark asked, his voice tight.

"Just up ahead," Pete muttered distractedly. He leaned forward, peering through the windshield. "Come on… come on…"

And then he slammed on the brakes.

The truck skidded to a stop, and Pete was out of the cab in a flash, his boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. "Clark, look," he called over his shoulder, his voice breathless. "Look at this!"

Heart pounding, Clark climbed out of the truck, his gaze sweeping across the darkened field. For a moment, he saw nothing—just the same familiar stretch of empty land. But then—

A soft, greenish glow caught his eye.

Clark froze, his breath catching in his throat. The light was faint, just a dim, pulsing shimmer near the base of a low hill. It cast strange, shifting shadows across the field, turning the grass a sickly shade of green. And there, half-buried in the earth, was a massive, twisted shape—sleek and curved, with an otherworldly sheen that made it look like something out of a dream.

Or a nightmare.

"What… what is that?" Clark whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Pete turned to him, his face alight with excitement. "It's a spaceship, Clark! An actual, freaking spaceship! Can you believe this?"

Clark's mouth went dry. He stared at the battered frame of the ship, his heart thundering in his chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the ground was shifting beneath his feet.

"You—you found this?" he managed, his voice hoarse.

"Yes!" Pete's grin widened. "I was driving home after checking out the storm damage, and I saw this weird light out in the field. I thought it was just, I dunno, a downed power line or something. But then I got closer, and… and this was just here!"

Clark swallowed hard, his mind spinning. He forced himself to take a step forward, his eyes locked on the ship. It looked even worse up close—dented and scratched, with huge gashes torn into the metal. A thin, wispy smoke curled up from one of the cracks, the faint scent of burnt ozone stinging his nose.

"It's… it's incredible," Pete breathed, his voice filled with awe. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the surface. "I mean, can you imagine? An actual alien spaceship. Right here, in Smallville. This is… this is huge, Clark. This could change everything."

Clark forced a nod, his throat tight. "Yeah. Yeah, it's… it's something, all right."

"Something?" Pete turned to him, his eyes wide. "Clark, it's more than just something. This is—it's proof. Proof that we're not alone. Proof that… that aliens are real. Do you understand what this means?"

Clark swallowed hard, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Yeah, Pete, I get it. But… what are you gonna do?"

Pete blinked, his grin faltering slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… are you going to tell anyone?" Clark asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible. "The police? The—" He hesitated, his heart pounding. "The government?"

Pete's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze turning thoughtful. "I… I don't know. I haven't really thought that far ahead. I just… I had to show you."

Relief washed over Clark, almost making his knees weak. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to smile. "Thanks, Pete. For trusting me."

"Of course, man," Pete said softly. His gaze drifted back to the ship, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "I mean… what do I do? Just… leave it here?"

Clark hesitated, his mind racing. "Maybe… maybe just wait. See if anyone comes looking for it."

"Yeah," Pete murmured, nodding slowly. "Yeah, maybe…"

But as they stood there, staring at the twisted, alien shape, Clark couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

The Dutton Ranch was quiet as Pete stormed out of the barn, his jaw clenched tight and his fists balled at his sides. His face was flushed with anger, his breath coming in quick, sharp bursts. Clark followed close behind, his heart pounding, panic swirling in his chest.

"Pete, just—just slow down, okay?" Clark pleaded, his voice strained. "We need to think about this. If you try to move the ship—"

"I don't want to hear it, Clark!" Pete snapped, spinning around to face him. His eyes blazed with a mix of fury and betrayal. "You don't get it. This is the find of a lifetime! My find! And you're just going to bury it? Hide it away like it doesn't matter?"

"It's not that simple," Clark insisted, stepping closer. His hands were shaking slightly, fear and desperation twisting in his gut. "You don't understand. If people find out—"

"What?" Pete interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If people find out, then what? We're gonna have reporters swarming Smallville? The government poking around? Fine, let them! Let them see it! Let them know!"

"No!" Clark shouted, his voice cracking. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "You can't tell anyone, Pete. You can't just—"

"Why not, Clark?" Pete demanded, his voice rising. He gestured wildly toward the barn, where the tarp-covered shape of the ship loomed in the shadows. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tell the whole world about this. One good reason why it should stay hidden."

Clark swallowed hard, his throat tight. Because it's mine. Because it's part of who I am. Because if you expose it, you expose me

"Because it's dangerous," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "We don't know what it could do, Pete. What if—"

"No, Clark," Pete interrupted harshly. He stepped closer, his gaze fierce. "You're not listening. You're the one who's scared. You're the one who wants to hide. But I'm done hiding. I'm done letting things slip by. I found it, and I'm going to do something with it."

Before Clark could respond, Pete turned sharply on his heel and stormed toward his truck. "Pete, wait—!" Clark called desperately, but Pete ignored him. He yanked open the driver's side door, climbed in, and slammed it shut with a force that made the entire cab rattle.

"Pete, stop!" Clark shouted, rushing forward, but Pete was already starting the engine. The truck roared to life, and Clark's heart leapt into his throat. He felt frozen, torn between a hundred different fears. If Pete took the ship, if he drove away with it, then—

No. He couldn't let that happen.

"Pete, don't do this!" Clark pleaded, slamming his hands against the side of the truck. "Please, just—just think about it for a second!"

But Pete wasn't listening. He threw the truck into gear, his jaw set, and floored the gas pedal. The tires squealed against the gravel, the whole vehicle lurching forward as Pete gunned the engine.

For a split second, Clark hesitated, his heart pounding wildly. What should I do? What if I hurt him? What if—

Then, with a burst of speed, he took off, blurring past the truck in a flash of motion. Pete's eyes widened in shock as Clark appeared in front of the truck—one second there was nothing, and the next, Clark was right there, standing directly in its path.

"Holy—!" Pete slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding and sending up a spray of gravel. The truck jerked to a stop just inches from Clark, the headlights blazing in his face.

Clark stood there, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists. He could feel the heat of the engine against his skin, the acrid smell of burnt rubber filling the air. Pete was staring at him through the windshield, his mouth open, his expression a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

"What the hell, Clark?!" Pete shouted, throwing the truck into park and jumping out of the cab. "Are you out of your mind? I could have—"

"I had to stop you," Clark said quietly. His voice sounded strange, even to his own ears—calm, almost resigned. "You can't take the ship, Pete."

Pete's eyes narrowed, confusion warring with anger. "What are you talking about? Why are you doing this?"

Clark swallowed hard, his heart pounding. This is it. There's no turning back now.

"Because," he whispered, taking a deep breath. "Because it's… it's mine, Pete."

Pete froze, his expression going blank with shock. "What?" he breathed, his voice trembling slightly. "What are you saying?"

Clark looked up slowly, meeting Pete's gaze head-on. "The ship. It's… it's mine. It came here with me when I was a baby."

For a moment, Pete just stared at him, his face pale, his eyes wide. He looked like he'd been punched, like the world had shifted beneath his feet and he couldn't quite get his balance.

"You—you're joking," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "This is a joke, right? You're… Clark, you're not serious."

Clark took a deep breath, his chest tight. "I'm not joking, Pete. That ship… it's mine. I was… I wasn't born here. I came here. From somewhere else."

Pete stumbled back a step, his hands coming up to clutch at his hair. "No," he muttered, his voice shaking. "No, that's—that's crazy, Clark. That's—"

"It's the truth," Clark said softly. "I'm… I'm not like everyone else, Pete. I'm different."

"Different?" Pete choked out, his eyes wide with shock. "What do you mean, different? You're—you're Clark. You're just… you're just you!"

Clark shook his head slowly, his heart aching. "No, Pete. I'm not. I'm… I'm not even human."

The words hung in the air, sharp and painful. Pete staggered back another step, his face drained of colour.

"You're… what?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I'm an alien, Pete," Clark whispered. "I came here in that ship. My parents—my real parents—they sent me here when I was a baby. And… and I've been hiding it ever since."

Pete's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, shock and disbelief twisting his expression. He looked down at the truck, then back at Clark, his hands trembling.

"This… this is insane," he murmured, shaking his head. "This is crazy. You're not—you can't be—"

"I am," Clark said quietly. "And that's why we can't let anyone find the ship. If they do, they'll know. They'll know what I am, and… and everything will change."

Pete stared at him, his eyes wide and stunned. Slowly, the anger drained out of his face, replaced by something softer, something almost like fear.

"You're… serious," he whispered. "You're really…?"

Clark nodded slowly. "Yeah. I am."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Pete took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping.

"So… what do we do?" he murmured, his voice small and uncertain.

Clark glanced back at the truck, his heart still pounding. "We get it back to the ranch. We hide it. And… and we make sure no one else ever finds it."

Pete swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back to the barn. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay, Clark. We'll… we'll hide it."

And just like that, the world shifted. Everything changed.

But for the first time in a long while, Clark felt something almost like relief.

The grounds of the Luthor mansion were quiet in the early morning light, the air still and heavy with the scent of wet grass and fresh earth. Lex stood at the edge of the manicured lawn, his gaze sweeping over the towering stone walls of the mansion's west wing. His brow furrowed slightly as he inspected the damage—shattered windows, deep gouges in the stonework where the storm had torn through, leaving a chaotic trail in its wake.

But it wasn't the broken glass or the cracked masonry that had caught his attention.

No, it was something else—something small, shiny, and utterly out of place.

"What the hell?" Lex murmured, narrowing his eyes. He stepped closer, his polished shoes crunching softly against the gravel path. There, wedged tightly between two jagged stones just a few feet off the ground, was a flat, metallic object. It gleamed faintly in the morning light, the smooth, silver surface catching the sun's rays in a way that seemed almost deliberate.

Lex leaned in, his curiosity piqued. The object was small—no bigger than his palm—and perfectly shaped, with clean, precise lines and edges that didn't match the jagged, natural fractures in the stone around it. It looked almost as if it had been placed there, like a piece of a puzzle fitting neatly into a predetermined slot.

But that was impossible. The storm had hurled debris everywhere, flinging branches, rocks, and even sections of fencing against the mansion. This had to be a piece of something that had been caught up in the chaos. Something that had been thrown here with such force that it had embedded itself into the wall.

But what kind of metal could withstand that kind of impact without so much as a scratch?

Lex's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He reached out, hesitating for just a moment, then wrapped his fingers around the object. The metal was cold and smooth beneath his touch, strangely comforting in its solidity. He tugged gently, feeling it resist for a split second before it came free with a soft, metallic click.

He stepped back, turning the object over in his hand. It was an octagon—flat, perfectly symmetrical, and completely unmarked except for a series of tiny, almost imperceptible patterns etched into its surface. The edges were sharp and precise, the curves smooth and flawless. Even at a glance, Lex could tell it was no ordinary piece of metal. It looked crafted—designed.

But for what?

"What are you?" Lex murmured softly, his gaze locked on the strange, gleaming shape. He ran his thumb over the patterns, his heart pounding with a strange, fierce excitement. The metal was cool against his skin, almost icy, and the weight of it felt… odd. Not heavy, exactly, but dense. Like it was holding something back—some kind of energy or power just waiting to be released.

His pulse quickened. He glanced around, half-expecting to see someone watching him from the shadows of the mansion. But the grounds were empty, silent. He was alone.

With a deep breath, Lex slipped the object into his pocket, his mind already racing ahead. He needed answers. And if there was one thing Lex Luthor excelled at, it was finding answers.

Hours later, Lex stood in the centre of his private lab, the object—now identified as some kind of key—lying in the middle of the examination table under the harsh, sterile light. The lab was a stark contrast to the opulence of the mansion above—a cold, sterile room filled with gleaming metal instruments and state-of-the-art technology. Machines hummed softly in the background, the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air.

Lex leaned over the key, his expression intense. He'd run every preliminary test he could think of—thermal scans, x-rays, chemical analysis—but the results had been… puzzling. The metal didn't match any known alloy. It was impossibly dense, resistant to heat, pressure, and even minor radiation exposure. And the symbols etched into its surface… They weren't just decorative. They had a pattern, a rhythm that seemed almost mathematical.

"Show me what you're hiding," Lex murmured, his voice low and urgent. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the surface. The metal was still cool, almost unnaturally so, and it seemed to hum faintly beneath his touch, like a sleeping beast stirring in its slumber.

"What are you?" he whispered again. "Where did you come from?"

He'd considered the possibility that it was a fragment of some advanced military tech—perhaps a piece of an experimental aircraft or a high-level government project. But that didn't explain the symbols. It didn't explain the sheer weight of it, the sense of purpose that seemed to radiate from its very core.

And it certainly didn't explain why it had been lodged in the side of his house.

Lex straightened, his gaze sharp. There was something more here. Something beyond mere metal and machinery. This key—if it was a key—belonged to something bigger. Something powerful.

But what?

With a deep breath, Lex reached for the small control panel beside the examination table. His fingers hovered over the array of buttons, each one linked to a different piece of equipment in his lab. He hesitated, then pressed the button to activate the resonance scanner.

The machine hummed to life, a low, vibrating thrum filling the air. A beam of soft blue light spread out across the key, scanning the surface with precise, measured sweeps. The symbols on the key seemed to shimmer under the light, glowing faintly as the beam passed over them.

Lex leaned forward, his heart pounding. The scanner's readout flickered, a series of numbers and graphs scrolling rapidly across the screen. For a moment, everything was normal—just the standard electromagnetic readings, the usual variations in density and composition.

And then—

The numbers spiked.

"What?" Lex breathed, his eyes widening. He stared at the screen, disbelief and excitement warring in his gaze. The readings were off the charts. Electromagnetic interference, gravitational fluctuations… even a faint pulse of something that the scanner couldn't quite identify.

Something that wasn't natural.

"Interesting," Lex murmured, a slow smile spreading across his face. He shut down the scanner, his gaze never leaving the key. "Very interesting."

He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing the symbols again. This time, the metal felt warmer, almost as if it were reacting to his touch. The patterns seemed to shift beneath his skin, the light dancing along the curves and lines, creating strange, fleeting shapes.

A shiver ran down Lex's spine.

This was no ordinary piece of technology. This was something more—something far beyond human understanding. Something alien.

And it was here, in his hands.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Lex whispered, his voice filled with quiet, almost reverent awe. He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Let's see what secrets you're hiding."

He would find out. Whatever this thing was, wherever it had come from… he would find out.

And he wouldn't stop until he knew everything.

The ranch was a mess.

Fallen branches, torn fencing, and broken shingles lay scattered across the grounds, the aftermath of the storm evident in every corner of the sprawling property. The early morning sun cast long shadows over the debris, illuminating the damage with a stark, unforgiving light. The Dutton family was spread out across the yard, their boots crunching over shattered wood and crushed leaves as they worked to clear the wreckage piece by piece.

John Dutton stood at the base of what had once been the south paddock fence, his gaze sweeping over the downed posts and tangled wire. His face was set in grim lines, his jaw clenched tight as he watched Lee and Rip wrestle with a particularly stubborn section of the fencing. Jamie was on his knees beside the main barn, picking up shards of shattered glass and tossing them into a wheelbarrow, his expression drawn and tense.

Evelyn and Beth were inside the barn itself, the doors hanging crooked on their hinges. They were working together in tense silence, clearing out the remains of the collapsed loft. Every so often, John would glance up at them, his eyes dark with worry. They had barely spoken since the storm had passed, the weight of the night's events pressing down on all of them like a physical force.

"Lee, pull it to the left—no, your other left," Rip called out, his voice rough with strain. He grunted as he strained against the fallen beam, sweat glistening on his forehead. "This thing's stuck deeper than I thought."

Lee muttered something under his breath, bracing his shoulder against the beam. "On three. One… two… three!"

With a low, shuddering creak, the beam shifted, the old wood groaning as it finally came loose. Lee staggered back, breathing heavily, his face tight with frustration.

"Good," John said quietly, nodding approvingly. "Now cut it down to size and haul it out."

"Yeah," Lee murmured, his gaze drifting to the remnants of the barn in the distance. "Another piece of history gone."

John's expression hardened. He turned away, his shoulders stiff, as if trying to physically distance himself from the sense of loss that hung in the air.

Jamie looked up from his place beside the barn, his gaze flicking between his father and brother. "We'll build it back," he said quietly. His voice was soft, uncertain, but there was a hint of determination in it. "We'll build it back better."

"Will we?" Lee shot back, his voice bitter. He gestured toward the mess around them, his eyes flashing. "How long are we going to keep doing this, Jamie? Picking up the pieces, rebuilding just so some other storm—or some other disaster—can tear it all apart again?"

"That's enough," John interrupted sharply. His gaze locked onto Lee's, his expression fierce. "We don't have the luxury of giving up."

Lee's jaw tightened, but he looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm not saying we give up. I'm just saying… How many times can we keep starting over?"

Silence fell over the yard, thick and heavy. John glanced around at his children—Lee's tense, bitter stance, Jamie's uncertain gaze, Evelyn and Beth's hunched figures inside the barn—and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. This storm hadn't just ripped apart the ranch. It had torn into the heart of their family, bringing every fear and every doubt to the surface.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. They couldn't afford to lose sight of what mattered. Not now.

"We'll rebuild," John said quietly, his voice steady. "Because that's what we do. This ranch… this land… it's our home. And we protect our home. No matter what."

Jamie nodded slowly, a faint, strained smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah," he murmured. "No matter what."

But even as he said it, his gaze drifted toward the barn, his eyes dark with worry. The cellar was still empty. The ship—Clark's ship—was still out there, lost somewhere in the chaos. And until they got it back, until they found a way to hide it again… everything was at risk.

"We can't keep it in the barn," Jamie said abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence. He stood up, brushing dirt and glass shards from his hands. "If we find it… if we get it back… we can't just put it back where it was."

Lee glanced at him sharply. "What are you talking about?"

Jamie's gaze shifted to his father, his eyes wide and earnest. "It's too exposed. If someone found it once, they'll find it again. We need to… I don't know, bury it somewhere. Somewhere no one will ever look."

"And what?" Beth asked, stepping out of the barn. Her face was flushed, her eyes narrowed with anger. "Just hope it never gets dug up by some farmer with a plow? Or some idiot out treasure hunting?"

"No, we do it right this time," Jamie insisted. He turned to John, his expression pleading. "Dad, we need to think bigger. We need to build something… something permanent. A vault, or a bunker—something we can lock down and secure."

"A bunker?" Lee scoffed, shaking his head. "Jamie, we're not building a damn military base out here."

"Why not?" Jamie shot back, his voice rising. "It's not like we're talking about storing cattle feed or old tractors. This is a spaceship! A spaceship, Lee! If the wrong people find out—"

"They won't," John said sharply. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "They won't, because we're not going to let it happen."

"But Dad—" Jamie began, but John held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Enough," John said quietly. His gaze swept over his children, his eyes hard. "We're not building bunkers, and we're not burying it in some ditch. We keep it close, where we can watch over it."

Evelyn stepped out of the barn, her face pale, her eyes filled with worry. "John… we can't keep it here," she said softly. "Not after what happened. It's too dangerous. What if someone saw it? What if… what if someone's looking for it right now?"

John clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The thought had been gnawing at him ever since the storm had passed. He knew how fragile their safety was—how easily everything could come crashing down if the wrong person got a glimpse of that ship.

But what choice did they have?

"We keep it close," John repeated, his voice firm. "Maybe not in the barn, but… somewhere nearby. We'll find a place. We'll build something, if we have to. But we keep it on the ranch."

"And what about Clark?" Beth asked quietly. Her gaze was steady, piercing. "What happens if people start asking questions? If they start putting the pieces together?"

John swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. "We won't let it get that far," he murmured. But even as he said it, a sliver of doubt wormed its way into his mind. How much longer could they keep this up? How many more close calls could they survive?

"We'll figure it out," he said softly. He looked at each of his children in turn, his gaze fierce. "We'll get the ship back, and we'll figure out a way to keep it safe. No one's finding out what we're hiding. Not now, not ever."

Silence fell over the yard, heavy and tense.

And then, slowly, Jamie nodded. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, Dad. We'll do it your way."

Lee glanced at Jamie, then back at John, his jaw clenched. "We need a real plan," he said quietly. "Something more than just 'we'll figure it out.' We need to think about this. What happens if it goes missing again? What happens if—"

"We protect it," John interrupted, his voice hard. "We protect Clark. That's all that matters."

Another silence settled over them, thicker and more suffocating than before. And in that silence, each of them grappled with the same question:

How long could they keep the truth hidden?

The truck rattled softly as it bumped along the gravel road, the engine's low hum blending with the distant murmur of wind rustling through the fields. Clark sat hunched in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched tight. He kept sneaking glances over at Pete, who was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

Neither of them had said a word since they'd loaded the ship into the back of Pete's truck and covered it with a heavy tarp. The metal had scraped against the truck bed as they manoeuvred it into place, the sound sharp and grating in the early morning stillness. Even under the tarp, the ship's bulk was impossible to miss—a dark, hulking shape that seemed to pulse faintly with some hidden energy, as if it were alive.

Now, as the truck rumbled down the empty road toward the Dutton ranch, the silence between the two friends felt thick, almost suffocating.

"Pete," Clark began softly, his voice strained. He shifted in his seat, his hands twisting in his lap. "I'm… I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. I just… I didn't know how."

Pete didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the road, his expression tight and unreadable. The morning light cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. For a moment, Clark wondered if he'd even heard him.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," Clark continued hesitantly. He glanced at the covered shape in the back of the truck, his chest tightening. "I didn't want you to think that I was… lying to you. That I didn't trust you."

Pete's hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles standing out stark and white. "You were lying to me, Clark," he said quietly, his voice low and raw. "For years."

Clark flinched, the words hitting him like a blow. "I know," he whispered, his shoulders slumping. "I know, Pete. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

For a moment, Pete didn't say anything. He just kept driving, his eyes fixed on the road, his face pale and tense. The truck's engine hummed softly in the background, the only sound in the oppressive silence.

"I thought… I thought I knew you," Pete said finally, his voice trembling. He glanced over at Clark, his gaze filled with a painful mix of anger, confusion, and something almost like betrayal. "You're my best friend, Clark. My best friend. And all this time… you were hiding something like this from me?"

Clark swallowed hard, guilt twisting in his gut. "It's not that I didn't trust you," he said desperately. "I do, Pete. I trust you more than anyone. But… but I was scared. I didn't know what would happen if people found out. I didn't know if you'd—if you'd look at me the way you're looking at me right now."

Pete's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing. "How am I looking at you, Clark?" he demanded. "Like… like you're some kind of—"

"Like I'm a stranger," Clark whispered, his voice breaking. He looked down at his hands, his heart aching. "Like I'm not who you thought I was."

Pete opened his mouth, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. He turned back to the road, his expression crumpling. "I don't… I don't know what to think," he muttered, his voice strained. "One minute, you're just Clark—just my best friend, the guy I grew up with. And the next… you're telling me you're an alien. And that thing back there is your… your ship."

Clark's gaze flicked to the tarp-covered shape in the back of the truck, the weight of Pete's words settling heavily on his shoulders. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said softly. "And I don't expect you to just… be okay with it. I don't expect you to understand."

Pete let out a harsh, humourless laugh. "Yeah, well, you got that right." He shook his head slowly, his eyes wide and dazed. "I mean… Jesus, Clark. An alien. How… how is this even real?"

Clark looked down, his chest tightening. "I ask myself that a lot."

Pete glanced at him sharply, his gaze softening slightly. For the first time, the anger in his eyes seemed to dim, replaced by something closer to sympathy.

"You mean… you don't know?" he asked hesitantly. "About… where you're from, or… or what you are?"

Clark shook his head slowly, his expression pained. "No, " he murmured. "I do. I know where I came from. I don't know what… what I'm supposed to be. All I have is… is that." He gestured vaguely toward the covered ship, his shoulders slumping. "That's all that's left of… of my past. And I've spent my whole life trying to keep it hidden."

Pete stared at him, his gaze searching. "But… why?" he asked softly. "Why hide it, Clark? Why not… I don't know, tell people? Find out more about yourself?"

Clark closed his eyes, his throat tightening. "Because I'm scared, Pete," he whispered. "I'm scared of what they'll do if they find out. Of what they'll do to me. Or… or to my family."

Pete's breath caught, his expression softening further. "Your family," he murmured. He looked away, his gaze distant. "Yeah… yeah, I guess that makes sense."

They fell into silence again, the truck's engine rumbling softly beneath them. The miles slipped by in a blur, the road winding through fields and pastures, the familiar landscape passing unnoticed as the weight of their conversation pressed down on them.

Finally, as they crested the last hill leading up to the Dutton ranch, Pete let out a low, shaky sigh. "So… what now?" he asked quietly. "What do we do with… with it?"

Clark hesitated, his gaze fixed on the ranch house growing larger in the distance. The sight of it—the white walls, the sprawling yard, the barn and paddocks—filled him with a strange, bittersweet longing. This was home. This was where he'd grown up, where he'd learned what it meant to be human, to be part of a family.

But now… now everything felt different. Fragile. Like it could shatter at any moment.

"We get it back to the ranch," Clark said softly. "We hide it. And we make sure no one ever finds it again."

Pete nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "And… and what about you?" he asked hesitantly. "What happens to you now, Clark?"

Clark swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. "I don't know," he whispered. "But… but I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. Together."

Pete glanced over at him, a faint, uncertain smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, together."

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the ranch house looming larger with every passing second. As they pulled into the yard, the truck's tires crunching softly on the gravel, the front door burst open.

John and Evelyn Dutton came running out, their faces pale and drawn with worry.

"Clark!" Evelyn cried, her eyes wide. She skidded to a stop beside the truck, her gaze flicking from Clark to Pete and back again. "What—what happened? Where did you find—?"

"We got it," Clark interrupted softly, his gaze steady. "We got the ship back."

John's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to the tarp-covered shape in the back of the truck. "And Pete?" he asked quietly, his voice low and intense.

Clark took a deep breath, glancing over at his best friend. Pete met his gaze, his expression uncertain but resolute.

"He knows," Clark said softly. "He knows everything."

For a long moment, John just stared at them, his face pale and drawn. Then he took a deep breath, his shoulders stiffening.

"Get it inside," he ordered quietly, his voice tight. "We'll figure out the rest later."

Clark nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Pete's. "Yeah," he murmured. "We'll figure it out."

"Doesn't matter," John cut in sharply, his gaze locked on the covered ship. His expression was a mix of relief and simmering anger. "What matters is that it's back. Get it inside. Now."

"Where?" Clark asked, his voice tight. His gaze flicked nervously around the yard. The barn was still a wreck, one of its walls partially caved in, and debris littered the ground. "The barn's not safe anymore. We can't keep it there."

"We'll move it to the main house for now," John said grimly. He turned sharply to Lee, Kayce, and Jamie, who had just appeared on the porch, their eyes widening at the sight of the ship. "Get the tarp secured. Rip, help them haul it inside. We're not taking any chances."

Lee and Kayce moved forward without a word, their faces set in grim lines. Rip followed, his eyes narrowed as he took in the heavy shape of the ship under the tarp. Jamie hesitated, his expression a mix of shock and confusion.

"That's… that's the ship?" Jamie whispered, his gaze darting nervously between Clark and Pete. "You actually found it?"

Clark nodded slowly, his chest tight. "Yeah. We found it."

Jamie shook his head, his eyes wide. "But how did it get all the way out there? Did… did someone—?"

"I don't know," Clark interrupted softly, glancing down at the ground. His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty. "Maybe it was the storm. It… it could have torn it loose and… I don't know, thrown it across the fields."

"Thrown it?" Lee muttered sceptically as he adjusted the tarp over the ship. "Clark, this thing weighs more than a couple of tons. It would take more than just a little wind to move something like this."

"But the storm wasn't 'just a little wind,'" Clark argued. He gestured helplessly at the wreckage around them. "It tore apart the barn. It levelled half the field. It's not impossible that the wind—or a tornado—could have picked up the ship and hurled it somewhere else."

"And the key?" John asked quietly. His gaze shifted to Clark, his eyes dark and piercing. "Did the storm move that, too?"

Clark flinched, guilt twisting in his gut. He hadn't meant to blurt out the news about the missing key, but now there was no taking it back. He glanced at Pete, who was standing awkwardly beside the truck, his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

"I don't know," Clark admitted, his voice tight. "It's supposed to be in the ship. There's a compartment for it—a small octagonal slot. But when we found the ship, it was gone."

Evelyn's face was drained of colour. "Gone?" she whispered. "John… if someone has it—"

"We don't know that someone took it," Clark said quickly, his heart pounding. "It could have been the storm, too. If the wind was strong enough to throw the ship, it could have torn the key loose and sent it… somewhere. Maybe it's just lying out there in the fields."

"Or maybe someone found it," Lee said flatly. He turned to Pete, his expression hard. "What did you see when you got there? Was anyone else around?"

Pete stiffened, his gaze darting nervously between the Duttons. "N-no," he stammered. "It was just… just the ship. It looked like it had been buried half in the ground, like it hit hard when it landed."

"See?" Clark said urgently, looking around at his family. "That means it wasn't moved by anyone. It was the storm."

Beth, who had been watching the exchange in tense silence, finally stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "But even if it was the storm," she murmured, her voice soft and dangerous, "that doesn't mean it's safe. That doesn't mean we're safe."

Clark's heart sank. He knew what she was getting at—what they were all getting at. If the key was missing, if someone found it, then… then they knew. Or at the very least, they suspected. And if they knew, then Clark—and the entire Dutton family—was exposed.

"We have to find it," Evelyn whispered, her hands trembling. "We have to find that key, John. If it's out there, if someone else has it…"

"They don't," Clark said firmly, though his voice shook slightly. He looked around at his family, his gaze pleading. "Please. It was just the storm. I'm sure of it."

"You're sure?" Lee repeated sceptically. "You know that for a fact?"

Clark hesitated, his throat tightening. "No," he admitted softly. "But… but what else could it be?"

John let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "We're not taking any chances. Lee, Kayce, Jamie—tomorrow morning, I want you out there searching every inch of the property. Start where the ship was found and work your way out. Rip, you're with them. If that key's out there, we're going to find it."

"And if we don't?" Beth asked quietly, her gaze sharp.

John's jaw clenched. "Then we figure out what the hell we're dealing with."

Clark's chest tightened painfully. He glanced over at Pete, who was staring at the ground, his face pale and drawn. This was all his fault. If he'd been more careful, if he'd just been faster, maybe—

"Clark," John said softly. He stepped forward, his expression softening slightly. "We're not blaming you. None of this is your fault."

Clark looked down, his heart aching. "It feels like it is."

"Yeah, well, it's not," John murmured. He placed a heavy hand on Clark's shoulder, squeezing gently. "We're going to fix this. We're going to keep you safe. You hear me?"

Clark nodded slowly, though he didn't quite believe it. "Yeah, Dad. I hear you."

Evelyn moved closer, her gaze gentle. "We'll keep you safe," she whispered. "We'll protect you. No matter what."

Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating. They were all thinking the same thing: what if it wasn't enough? What if the key was already in the wrong hands? What if—

"Let's get it inside," John said abruptly, his voice low and tense. He turned sharply to Lee and Kayce. "Rip, help them lift it. Jamie, get the doors open."

They moved quickly, silently. Clark stepped back, watching as the tarp was carefully adjusted and the heavy ship was slowly manoeuvred into the house. Pete stayed by his side, his expression strained and uncertain.

"We'll find it," Pete murmured softly. He glanced at Clark, his eyes dark with worry. "We'll figure this out."

Clark nodded slowly, his chest tight. "Yeah," he whispered. "We will."

But as he watched his family struggle to secure the ship, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were already too late.

And that something far worse was coming.

The house was quieter now, but the tension lingered in every corner like a shadow that wouldn't fade. Outside, the storm's damage was still evident—fallen branches, splintered wood, and torn fencing scattered across the grounds. The ship, now tucked away in a reinforced storeroom in the back of the house, was temporarily out of sight, but it weighed heavily on everyone's mind.

The Dutton family sat around the large dining room table, the air thick with worry and exhaustion. John was at the head, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the floor. Lee and Kayce sat side by side, their arms crossed, identical frowns on their faces. Jamie shifted nervously in his seat, his gaze darting around the room. Evelyn stood by the window, her back to them, staring out at the ranch with a distant, troubled expression.

Beth was absent from the table. She had slipped out the back door as soon as they'd finished moving the ship, tension radiating from her in sharp, angry waves. Rip had followed her, his eyes shadowed with concern.

Clark stood off to the side, his arms wrapped around himself as if trying to make himself smaller. Pete lingered awkwardly beside him, clearly unsure whether he should stay or leave. The two of them exchanged a brief, uncertain glance, but neither spoke.

"We need to decide our next steps," John said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low and rough, as if every word was pulled out of him by sheer force of will. "We can't just keep reacting. We need a plan."

"What kind of plan?" Jamie asked quietly. He glanced around the table, his brow creased with worry. "The ship's back, but the key is still missing. We don't know who might have it—or if anyone even knows what it is."

"And that's a problem," Lee interjected, his voice flat. He leaned forward, his eyes dark. "If someone does have it, they'll be looking for the ship. It's only a matter of time before they come knocking."

"And what if they do?" Kayce asked, his gaze locked on John's. "What are we going to do—just pretend we don't know what they're talking about? We can't lie our way out of this, Dad. Not if someone's already on our trail."

"We don't know that anyone is," John argued quietly. "We're just guessing."

"But what if it's more than that?" Jamie pressed. "What if—"

"What if, what if, what if," Lee muttered irritably. He shook his head, his expression tight. "We can't keep doing this, Jamie. We can't keep chasing our own tails, jumping at every shadow. We need to focus on what we do know."

"And what's that?" Kayce asked sharply. "Because right now, all I know is that we're one missing key away from a full-blown disaster."

"Clark," Evelyn said softly, turning away from the window. Her eyes were wide, filled with a quiet desperation. "What about Lana?"

The question sent a jolt through the room. Clark flinched, his heart pounding as every eye turned to him. "Lana?" he repeated, his voice strained. "What… What about her?"

"She was with you during the storm," Evelyn murmured. She stepped closer, her gaze searching his face. "She saw the truck. She… she must have seen something, must have wondered how you managed to get her out of there without a scratch."

Clark's mouth went dry. His mind flashed back to the whirlwind of the storm, the truck spinning wildly through the air, the desperate blur of motion as he'd reached out and shielded her with his own body. She hadn't seemed to notice at the time, but afterward… the look in her eyes…

"She's suspicious," John murmured quietly, his expression darkening. "I could see it in her face when she came to check on you. She's putting the pieces together. She's thinking."

Clark swallowed hard, panic twisting in his gut. "No, she—she doesn't know anything," he stammered. "She just… she just thinks it's weird, that's all. I can… I can talk to her. I can convince her that—"

"Can you?" Kayce interrupted softly, his voice sceptical. "Clark, she's not stupid. She's already asking questions. And the more questions she asks, the more likely she is to figure out the truth."

"Then we tell her," Pete blurted out suddenly. The room went deathly still. Every head swivelled to stare at him, disbelief and shock etched on every face.

"Excuse me?" Lee said flatly. His gaze locked onto Pete's, his expression hard. "Tell her?"

Pete swallowed nervously, but he lifted his chin, his eyes defiant. "Yeah. Why not? If she's already suspicious, if she's already trying to figure it out, then… then maybe it's better if she knows. If Clark tells her himself, instead of… of letting her stumble onto it on her own."

"That's not your decision," John said coldly. His eyes flashed with anger as he turned to Pete. "You're not part of this family. You don't get to make those calls."

"Dad, stop," Clark said quickly, stepping between them. He turned to Pete, his expression conflicted. "You don't understand. It's not that simple."

"But maybe it should be," Pete argued. He looked around at the Duttons, his eyes desperate. "You're all acting like telling her would be the end of the world. But it wouldn't. She's your friend, Clark. She cares about you. She'd… she'd understand."

"And what if she doesn't?" Beth's voice cut through the air like a knife. She stood in the doorway, her gaze sharp and intense as she stared Pete down. Rip was just behind her, his expression carefully blank.

"Beth," Evelyn murmured softly, but Beth shook her head.

"No, Mom," she said quietly. "This is serious. If Lana finds out, if she tells someone, even by accident… then it's over. For all of us. This isn't just about Clark. It's about all of us."

Rip shifted slightly behind her, his gaze flicking between the Duttons. "She's right," he murmured. "One wrong word, one slip-up, and this whole thing falls apart."

Evelyn's face crumpled. "But she's just a girl," she whispered. "She… she wouldn't—"

"You don't know that," Beth said harshly. Her eyes flashed with anger as she turned to her mother. "You think you know her, but people change. And when they do, they don't always keep secrets. Especially not secrets like this."

Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, John took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to Clark. "What do you want to do, son?" he asked quietly. "It's your call. Do we tell her?"

Clark hesitated, his heart racing. Every instinct screamed at him to protect Lana, to trust her. But… but if she knew, if she really knew…

"I don't know," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know what to do."

John nodded slowly, his gaze softening. "Then we wait," he murmured. "We keep her close, keep an eye on her. And if she starts asking too many questions…"

"We'll deal with it," Lee finished quietly. His eyes were dark, his expression hard. "Whatever it takes."

The words sent a chill through the room. Clark swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. He glanced at Pete, who looked pale and shaken.

"Okay," Clark whispered. "Okay."

But even as he agreed, he couldn't shake the gnawing fear that Lana was already too close to the truth—and that when the time came, he wouldn't be able to do what was necessary to keep her quiet.

As the tension in the house simmered, Beth slipped outside, needing a moment to breathe. The cool night air brushed against her skin, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the faint tang of smoke from the smouldering bonfire they'd lit earlier to burn some of the debris. She wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders stiff as she stared out over the darkened landscape.

"Beth."

The deep, familiar voice sent a shiver down her spine. She turned slowly, finding Rip standing a few feet away, his expression guarded. His eyes lingered on her face, searching, as if trying to read the thoughts hidden behind her stormy gaze.

"Why are you out here?" she asked quietly, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. "Trying to save me from myself?"

Rip shrugged, his gaze never leaving hers. "Figured you might want some company."

Beth's smile softened, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Yeah," she murmured. "Maybe I do."

They stood in silence for a long moment, the only sound the distant rustling of the wind through the trees. Finally, Rip took a small step closer, his eyes dark and intense.

"You don't have to be the strong one all the time, you know," he murmured softly. "Not with me."

Beth looked away, her chest tightening. "Yeah," she whispered. "I know."

But even as she said it, she felt the truth twisting inside her like a knife. She couldn't not be strong. Not here. Not now.

But with Rip… maybe, just for a moment, she could let herself be weak.

And as Evelyn watched them from the shadows of the porch, her heart ached. Because she could see it—the connection between them, the way they gravitated toward each other, the unspoken understanding in their eyes.

But she could also see the danger.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Later that night, after the ship had been moved back into the rebuilt cellar beneath the barn temporarily, John and Evelyn sat together in the quiet kitchen. The weight of the day's events hung over them like a shadow.

Evelyn sipped her tea, her eyes distant. "It's getting out of control, John. First Nixon, then the storm, now Pete. We can't keep this hidden forever."

John sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know. I've been thinking about that too. It's only a matter of time before someone else finds out."

Evelyn placed her cup down, leaning forward. "Maybe we need to stop reacting and start taking control. If we don't, we'll always be one step behind."

John looked at her, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Evelyn's eyes were steady, filled with determination. "You've always been a leader, John. People listen to you, respect you. If you ran for office—maybe something local at first—we could control the narrative. We could be on the inside, making the decisions that protect Clark."

John leaned back, his mind racing with the idea. He had always preferred to stay out of politics, to keep his focus on the ranch. But Evelyn was right. Things were spiralling out of control. They needed to take action, not just wait for the next crisis to hit.

"You're talking about playing the long game," John said, his voice thoughtful.

Evelyn nodded. "Exactly. If we have influence—if people trust us—we can steer the conversation. We can protect Clark from the inside."

John exhaled slowly, the enormity of the decision weighing on him. "It's a risk."

"It's a bigger risk not to," Evelyn replied softly. "If we don't act now, we'll be fighting off threats forever."

John was silent for a long moment, staring out the window at the darkened ranch. Finally, he nodded. "Maybe you're right. If this is what it takes to keep our family safe, then maybe it's time we took control."

The morning sky was just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn, casting a faint, grey glow over the ranch. The stillness of the early hour was broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees and the soft, distant sound of horses shifting restlessly in the paddocks. Rip Wheeler was out on the front porch, leaning against the railing, his sharp gaze scanning the grounds. Even though the storm had passed and the ranch seemed quiet, something didn't sit right with him. There was a tension in the air, a weight pressing down on everything that made his skin prickle.

As he watched, movement caught his eye—a slight, stumbling figure in the distance, half-hidden by the morning mist. Rip straightened, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell?" he muttered under his breath. The figure was small, unsteady, weaving back and forth as it made its way up the gravel driveway.

Rip's heart leapt into his throat. He was down the steps in a flash, his boots crunching over the gravel as he broke into a run. The closer he got, the clearer the figure became—a young woman, barely more than a silhouette in the weak light. Her clothes were torn and dirty, hanging off her thin frame like rags. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess, and she was staggering, her movements disjointed and jerky, as if she were on the brink of collapse.

"Hey!" Rip called out, his voice rough with alarm. He slowed to a stop a few feet away, his gaze locked on the girl. "Are you—?"

"Have to… warn him," the girl gasped, her voice thin and breathless. She swayed dangerously, her eyes wide and unseeing. "Have to—have to keep him safe."

Rip froze, a chill running down his spine. "Warn who?" he demanded sharply, stepping forward. "What are you talking about?"

The girl's gaze snapped to him, wild and desperate. "They—they're coming," she whispered brokenly. She took a stumbling step toward him, her hands reaching out blindly. "Have to… have to warn Clark. Please… have to—"

Rip's heart slammed against his ribs. Clark. She knew Clark's name. She was here for him. But how? Who the hell was she?

"Easy," Rip murmured, his voice low and tense. He stepped forward, gently catching her by the shoulders as she swayed again. "You're okay. Just… just take a breath."

But the girl shook her head violently, her eyes wide with panic. "No, no, no!" she cried, her voice cracking. She clutched at Rip's arms, her fingers digging into his jacket. "Have to tell… have to warn him. Before… before they take him. Before they… they find the—the ship…"

Rip stiffened, every muscle in his body going rigid. "What ship?" he demanded sharply. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They… they think it's… think it's his," the girl babbled, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. "Think he came in it. Years ago. Meteor… meteor shower. They—they don't know. They're guessing, but—but they want him. They want Clark. They'll—they'll take him."

Rip's blood ran cold. He tightened his grip on the girl's shoulders, his eyes blazing. "Who? Who's coming?"

"Amanda… Waller," the girl whispered brokenly. Her whole body was trembling violently, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. "She… she's… she's looking for… for him. For—for people like him. Special people. Experiments, they—they'll—"

"Christ," Rip muttered. He glanced over his shoulder, his heart racing. He needed to get her inside. Needed to get her to John. This was way above his pay grade.

"Okay, okay, you're gonna be alright," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. He slid an arm around her shoulders, half-carrying her as he turned her toward the house. "Come on. We need to get you to John."

"No!" she gasped, jerking in his grip. Her eyes were wild, glazed with fear. "No, have to—have to warn him! Clark—Clark can't—can't let them—"

"John will listen," Rip said firmly, his grip tightening as she tried to twist away. "He'll help. Just… just hang on, okay?"

The girl shook her head frantically, tears spilling down her cheeks. "No, no, no," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "They—they think he's… he's one of them. Think he's… special. They—they'll hurt him. They'll—they'll take him away."

Rip's heart ached at the raw fear in her voice. Whoever she was, whatever she'd been through, it was clear she was terrified. But there was nothing he could do out here, in the middle of the driveway. He needed to get her to John. Now.

With a low, tense growl, Rip tightened his hold and practically dragged her up the steps. "John!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the quiet morning. "John, get out here! Now!"

A second later, the front door flew open, and John Dutton stepped out onto the porch, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the dishevelled, trembling girl in Rip's arms.

"Alicia?" John breathed, his face paling. He took a step forward, his gaze locked on the girl's face. "My God… Alicia Baker?"

The girl—Alicia—lifted her head, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "Mr. Dutton?" she whispered faintly. "You… you have to—have to warn him."

John's heart twisted painfully. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over her thin, trembling frame. "Warn who, Alicia?" he asked softly, his voice filled with urgency. "Who do I need to warn?"

"Clark," she whimpered, her voice breaking. She turned blindly, her gaze darting around as if searching for something only she could see. "Have to warn Clark. They—they think… they think he has… has powers. They—they'll hurt him, they'll—"

"Who?" John demanded fiercely. He grabbed her shoulders gently, forcing her to focus on him. "Who's coming for Clark?"

"Amanda," Alicia sobbed. She shuddered violently, her eyes squeezing shut. "Waller. She—she's looking. Looking for people. For… for special people. Thinks… thinks Clark is—is one of them. Thinks he came in… in the ship."

Rip sucked in a sharp breath. "John," he murmured softly. "She's talking about—"

"I know," John interrupted, his voice tight. He looked down at Alicia, his heart aching. "It's okay, Alicia. You're safe now. We're going to keep him safe. Just… just rest."

But Alicia shook her head weakly, her fingers clutching at his shirt. "No," she breathed. "No, you—you don't understand. She's coming. She's coming, and—and she'll—she'll take him. She'll take… take Clark away. Have to… have to warn him…"

"Alicia, it's all right," John murmured. He pulled her gently against his chest, his hands trembling. "You've done enough. Just… just rest now."

But Alicia's eyes were already fluttering shut, her body going limp in his arms. "Have to warn him," she whispered faintly. "Have to… have to keep him safe…"

And then, with a soft, broken sigh, she went still.

John tightened his hold, his chest tightening painfully. "Damn it," he whispered hoarsely. He looked up at Rip, his eyes dark and fierce. "Get Clark. Now."

Rip nodded sharply, his gaze filled with determination. "On it."

He turned and sprinted back into the house, leaving John kneeling on the porch with Alicia's frail, unconscious form cradled in his arms.

"Don't worry, Alicia," he murmured softly, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "We'll keep him safe."

But even as he said it, a dark, gnawing fear twisted in his gut.

Because if what Alicia said was true… if Amanda Waller was already looking for Clark…

Then keeping him safe might be a hell of a lot harder than any of them realised.