"Things are getting more and more interesting," Adrian murmured to himself after Clark left. He stood by the window, the night stretching out across the Kansas plains, and a faint smile touched his lips.
He had believed his private actions were subtle enough, but Clark had been sharper than expected. Then again, he had never truly hidden anything from him. With Clark's abilities gradually awakening, it was only natural he'd pick up the traces.
Adrian often went into Metropolis at night, returning with the faint scent of blood. Those nightly hunts were less about justice and more about pressure. His strength was increasing, and with it came an itch he could not ignore. Criminals, thugs, and gangsters had become his outlet.
He was not a hero, nor did he care for the title. He intervened simply because their resistance was enough to be… entertaining. And when the dust settled, he collected their cash. Those "Franklins," as Clark had put it, explained his sudden wealth.
As he thought, another name surfaced.
"Dan Brown's death… that was the work of Jerome, wasn't it?" Adrian muttered.
He felt no pity for the dead football player. What caught his attention was the pattern — a meat-headed jock crushed by the return of a ghost bent on revenge. The story was amusing, even promising.
As for stopping Jerome? Adrian's smile widened faintly. That held no interest.
Tomorrow was the Homecoming Dance, a glittering distraction for the students of Smallville High. Adrian's gaze lingered on the night horizon. "It might be a magnificent performance," he whispered. "I'm looking forward to it."
---
The following morning, the corridors of Smallville High buzzed with energy. The air was thick with perfume, aftershave, and adolescent nerves. Boys scrambled to secure last-minute dates, while girls whispered excitedly in clusters about dresses and dance partners. The dance wasn't just an event, it was the centerpiece of their teenage world.
Adrian moved through it with casual indifference. To him, it was little more than theater, a stage waiting for the curtain to rise.
"Hey, Adrian!"
The familiar female voice drew his attention. He turned, spotting Chloe Sullivan with her usual coffee in one hand, a notebook in the other, and her sharp eyes already measuring him.
"Chloe," he greeted coolly.
"Chloe Sullivan, editor-in-chief of The Torch. Funny, isn't it? This is the first time we're talking without Clark around." Her smile was bright, maybe even too bright.
"Something you need?" Adrian asked.
He knew Chloe's type well: curiosity bundled in human form. To Adrian, curiosity was often nothing but a nuisance. And a reporter with curiosity? That was double the nuisance.
"Just a quick conversation, before class," Chloe said, hope flickering in her eyes. "It's about Clark."
Adrian studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod.
In The Torch office, Chloe hurried to shuffle papers into something resembling order. The smell of ink, old coffee, and dust lingered in the cramped room.
"Coffee?" she offered.
"No," Adrian said.
Her smile tightened, but she pressed on. "Alright then."
Chloe had always admired Adrian from a distance — he had the kind of presence that made people notice, though he never seemed to care if they did. She'd never been asked out, never been someone's first choice, but standing across from Adrian made her feel both self-conscious and strangely bold.
Adrian let his gaze wander, settling on the shelves stacked with old editions of The Torch.
"You keep archives," he said, almost idly.
"Yes," Chloe replied quickly. "Years of them."
"Do you have the papers from the Homecoming Dance three years ago?" Adrian asked.
Her brow furrowed in surprise, but she nodded. "Of course. One moment." She hurried to pull out the appropriate stack and passed it to him.
"April 21st. That was the date," she explained. "Don't be surprised if the layout looks rough. I wasn't editor back then." She tried a joke, but Adrian's calm, unreadable face gave her nothing.
He sifted through the papers, his sharp eyes locking onto one name. Jerome.
Chloe noticed where he lingered and filled the silence. "Jerome disappeared after being tied up in a cornfield as the 'Scarecrow.' He was a brilliant student, Smallville's only winner of the APPT Physics Cup. His disappearance caused a huge stir."
Adrian skimmed the article, noting the references to meteor rock exposure and his background in physics. Interesting. Jerome had turned kryptonite into something useful. That explained the energy.
"Adrian?" Chloe's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Clark thinks Dan Brown's death was connected to you. Is it true?" she asked bluntly.
"Perhaps," Adrian said, his tone smooth, giving nothing away.
"Usually an uncertain answer means you don't want to answer," Chloe pressed. "So, you don't want to answer?"
Adrian's eyes glinted with amusement. "What do you think, Chloe?"
She hesitated, then answered honestly. "My view isn't the same as Clark's. Sure, you disciplined Dan when he tried to set me up, but I don't think you killed him. My suspicion is Coach Watt. He's been acting strange, punishing students harshly. If Dan was an informant, it would make sense."
Adrian leaned back slightly, listening without comment.
Chloe's tone sharpened. "But Clark believes you'll act at the dance tonight. He says he'll stop you. So, to clear your name, are you still going?"
Adrian smiled faintly, the kind of smile that unsettled more than it reassured. "Why wouldn't I?"
Chloe's brow furrowed. "It feels like you're deliberately pushing Clark into conflict with you."
Adrian chuckled softly, his voice smooth as silk. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Either way, it will be quite a show."
---