The morning light filtered through the half-open blinds of Beth's bedroom, casting golden stripes across the worn wooden floor. The room was a chaotic refuge, a mirror of the storm in her mind—walls plastered with faded posters of bands like The Cure and Queen, mixed with her own charcoal sketches of starry nights and shadowy figures hinting at unspoken dreams. The narrow bed was a mess, sheets and pillows tangled, evidence of a restless night haunted by Clark's words, his stunned gaze when she bared her heart, and the sharp pain of realizing he still saw her as the safe, unchanging friend, not the woman she had become. On the nightstand, the lava lamp from the previous night bubbled lazily, its pink glow fading against the dawn, next to a pile of well-worn books: a battered copy of *The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy* and her physics textbook, marked with scribbled notes.
Beth sat on the edge of the bed, her bare feet pressing against the cold wooden floor, grounding her as she stared at her reflection in the small mirror propped against the wall. Her brown eyes were puffy from crying in the dark, the golden flecks in them dulled by exhaustion, and her dark hair fell in careless waves around her shoulders. She rubbed her temples, trying to push away the persistent headache born of relentless thoughts—Clark's words echoing endlessly: *You're everything to me, but…* But what? Not enough to see her as a woman? Her father's unexpected words from the night before lingered too, a comfort that didn't erase the raw ache in her chest. She needed to move, to find a distraction before her thoughts swallowed her whole.
With a sigh, she stood and walked to the closet, the wooden floor creaking softly under her weight. The closet was a narrow niche crammed with thrift store finds and simple black clothes. She rummaged through the hangers, ignoring the "fancier" blouses and dresses that felt too vulnerable after last night's emotional collapse. She chose faded black jeans—soft from countless washes, with a small tear at the knee from an adventure in the Kent fields—a plain black tee, and a loose gray sweater, comforting, with sleeves long enough to cover her hands if she needed to fidget. She dressed slowly, the fabric brushing against her skin, and slipped on a pair of worn Vans, tying the laces with careful knots. Back at the mirror, she pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and applied a quick swipe of lip balm—no mascara today, nothing that could run if emotions overflowed. It was armor, simple and practical, to face a day she wasn't sure she was ready for.
Descending the stairs, her house felt quieter than usual, a modest single-story farmhouse squeezed between the sprawling Kent property and a line of overgrown shrubs. The kitchen was small, with chipped Formica counters cluttered with a half-empty coffee maker and a stack of unopened mail—LuthorCorp utility bills, a flyer for Smallville's upcoming Harvest Festival. The air smelled of reheated macaroni from the night before and the faint trace of her father's woody cologne. Tom had already left for work, his briefcase gone from its usual spot by the door, a sticky note on the fridge his only goodbye: *Left early. Cereal in the pantry. -Dad.* Beth gave a weak smile at the brevity, so different from the rare vulnerability of the previous night, but that was him—practical, distant, but trying in his own way. She poured herself a bowl of generic cereal, added milk, and ate standing at the counter, the spoon clinking against the ceramic in the house's silence. The house creaked around her, the old wood groaning as if echoing her unease, and through the window, she could see the edge of the Kent farm—Clark's barn visible in the distance, a silhouette against the morning sky. She looked away quickly, rinsed the bowl, and grabbed her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder.
The walk to school was a familiar ritual, but today it felt longer, heavier, the gravel crunching under her sneakers with each step. Smallville's rural roads wound through swaying cornfields and patches of wildflowers, the air fresh with the scent of dew-soaked earth. Birds sang overhead, flitting between telephone wires, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the maples lining the path, whispering of the approaching fall. Beth kept a steady pace, her backpack thumping against her hip, filled with notebooks and the camera she'd borrowed from the Torch office last week. Her mind wandered despite her efforts—flashes of Clark's face from the night before, the way his blue eyes widened at her tone, the awkward silence that followed. *Why couldn't he just see her?* She kicked a pebble, watching it skitter into the ditch, and forced her thoughts to the day ahead. The Torch would be her escape: Chloe's endless energy, the buzz of a new story. It had to be enough.
When she reached Smallville High, the parking lot was filling with rusty pickups and second-hand sedans, students spilling out in groups, their laughter cutting through the morning mist. The school loomed—a squat brick building with faded murals of crows (the mascot) and banners announcing the football team's latest loss. Beth blended into the crowd, nodding at acquaintances with a practiced smile, until she slipped through the side door leading to the Torch office. The hallway echoed with locker slams and muffled chatter, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, but as she pushed open the newsroom door, a sense of purpose wrapped around her like a familiar cloak.
The Torch office was a chaotic haven in the bowels of Smallville High, its walls papered with clippings about meteor freaks, inexplicable phenomena, and Chloe's infamous "Wall of Weird." The air carried a faint smell of cold coffee mixed with printer ink, and the fluorescent lights hummed. Chloe Sullivan was already there, her blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail, fingers dancing across her laptop keyboard. Pete Ross was rifling through a stack of aerial photos, while a freshman sorted clippings with exaggerated care. The room's low hum felt alive, almost welcoming.
Beth slipped in quietly, her backpack slung over one shoulder, letting it slide to the floor beside a cluttered desk. She picked up a stack of Pete's photos, scanning them with focus, her eyes tracing patterns as if already dissecting the mystery. "Morning," she said, her voice low, almost swallowed by the room's noise. "What's on the table today?"
Chloe looked up, her face lit with that unquenchable enthusiasm. "Beth, you're gonna flip. We've got reports of weird patterns in the McKenzie farm's cornfields—perfect circles, like someone flattened the corn with a giant compass. Farmers are talking alien landings, meta-human stuff, you know? I'm thinking it might be LuthorCorp meddling where they shouldn't." She slid a map toward Beth, marked with red X's. "Check out Pete's drone photos. I want to see if you spot a pattern before we head to the field."
Beth nodded, spreading the photos across the desk, her fingers moving with careful precision. "Circles, huh. Doesn't seem like bored teenagers—too much precision." She frowned, picking up a photo showing a ring of flattened corn. "The angles are too symmetrical. Maybe… some kind of centripetal force? Could be an experiment, like something mechanical or magnetic." Her voice was calm, almost hesitant, as if thinking aloud, but her eyes gleamed with the focus of someone already mapping possibilities.
Pete peeked over her shoulder, chuckling lightly. "As usual, I didn't catch a single word you just said. What's this 'centripetal' thing? You saying it's a tractor spinning in circles or what?"
She sighed softly but kept her eyes on the photos. "Not exactly, Pete. Centripetal force is… like, what keeps something spinning around a central point. Like a rock on a string. If these circles have a consistent pattern, it could be something generating controlled rotation. Too early to tell, just thinking out loud." She opened her backpack, pulled out her glasses, and slid them on before diving back into the images.
Chloe crossed her arms, grinning. "This is why we need you, Beth. I'm all about the theories, but you always see what's hidden between the lines. Wanna help sort these photos? If we map the sizes and distances of the circles, we might confirm if it's… I don't know, intentional."
"Sure," Beth replied, already grouping the photos by their angles. "If we digitize these, I can try calculating the proportions. Maybe there's a mathematical pattern." She grabbed a notebook, scribbling numbers and quick sketches of the circles, as if visualizing an equation—it was just how her mind worked, breaking problems into logical pieces.
Pete shook his head, still smiling. "Have we properly thanked your genius brain yet, Harper? Bet you're already scribbling some code or whatever to crack this." He nudged Chloe's shoulder with the tip of his pen.
"It's not code," she shot back, a faint smile breaking through. "Just notes. But if we get time, I could try something on the school computer. Nothing too fancy." She looked away, as if the compliment made her uneasy, and went back to work.
The room kept its rhythm, with Chloe typing and Pete tossing out occasional comments. Beth moved between them smoothly, but a subtle tension lingered in her shoulders. She kept her head down, focused on the photos, but her thoughts drifted to places she'd rather avoid. When Chloe leaned back, stretching, the conversation shifted.
"You know, Clark could help with this," Chloe said, almost offhandedly. "He grew up on a farm, has a good eye for this stuff. Might spot something in the field we missed."
Beth froze for a split second, her fingers tightening on the edge of a photo. Clark's name brought a pang in her chest, a mix of hurt and the fact she didn't want to face him now. "Maybe," she said, her voice neutral, stacking the photos with excessive care. "But we don't need him. The drone photos are solid. I can work with these." She avoided Chloe's eyes, grabbing her notebook and scribbling more notes, as if that could block the discomfort.
Chloe tilted her head but didn't push. "Fair enough. We're heading to the field after school. Meet me in the parking lot, okay? We'll check out those circles up close."
Beth nodded, her gaze fixed on the notebook. "Got it. Just tell me the time—I've got to help the math teacher with some tutoring tonight."
"Nerd," Pete muttered under his breath, teasing. Chloe grabbed her notebook and swatted him with it, forcing him to quiet down with a half-smile.
"12:30 in the parking lot, then we head to McKenzie's farm," Chloe said, tucking the notebook into her leather crossbody bag. With a quick wave, she left the room, Pete trailing behind, leaving Beth alone in the now-silent office.
The McKenzie farm sprawled under Kansas's open sky, golden cornfields rippling like an ocean under the afternoon breeze. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and ripe plants, mixed with the faint dust kicked up by light steps. The afternoon sun warmed Beth's skin, beads of sweat forming on her forehead as she walked beside Chloe, the camera slung around her neck like a familiar, comforting weight.
The circles in the cornfield were real—wide, precise patterns, with stalks bent uniformly, as if an invisible hand had drawn perfect rings in the green fabric of the field. They stretched for hundreds of meters, creating a geometric maze that defied simple logic. Mr. McKenzie, a grizzled farmer in time-worn clothes, met them at the field's edge, his face etched with deep wrinkles, a mix of suspicion and genuine curiosity in his weathered eyes.
"Forty years working this land, and I ain't never seen nothing like this," he said, his voice rough with a rural drawl, leading them through the tall rows of corn, his battered hat shielding him from the relentless sun. "One day, the corn's standing tall and strong; the next, these rings show up outta nowhere. Don't know if it's kids pulling pranks or something worse. All I know is it's weird. I'm thinking it's those meteors again, falling around here, messing everything up, like the sky's conspiring against us."
Beth walked silently, camera in hand, snapping photos with methodical precision. She paused occasionally, crouching to examine the stalks up close, feeling their rough texture under her fingers. "Look at this," she said, pointing to a spot where the corn was bent at a perfect angle. "The stalks aren't broken, just folded, and all in the same direction, like some force guided them. It's like a steady pressure, not a sudden impact." She hesitated, as if weighing whether to continue, the wind gently tousling her hair, then added, "Could be some kind of directed energy. Like… low-frequency waves or something."
As the group moved away from the McKenzie farm, the setting sun painting the cornfield in reddish hues, Chloe couldn't contain the curiosity bubbling in her mind. She turned to Beth, who was still adjusting the camera on her shoulder, her face pensive under the golden light, her glasses reflecting the twilight's glow. "Hey, Beth, you mentioned directed energy and vibrations… what if it's something magnetic? Like, magnetic fields manipulating the stalks? That would explain the precise patterns without physical damage."
Beth stopped for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she processed the idea, the light breeze ruffling the strands escaping her ponytail. She'd read about experiments with electromagnetism in plants—how magnetic fields could alter root growth or orientation—but applying that to the circles was an intriguing leap. "Could be," she said slowly, her voice low and analytical, as if piecing together a mental puzzle. "Strong magnetic fields can induce electric currents in plant tissue, causing localized heating or uniform bending. If it's pulsed, like a high-powered electromagnet, it could explain the consistent direction of the stalks. It's not breaking; it's like they're being 'combed' by an invisible force."
Before Chloe could respond, a familiar figure emerged from the tree line in the distance—Clark, walking through the cornfield with that easy, confident stride, his white shirt and flannel jacket with rolled-up sleeves catching the fading sunlight like he was part of the rural scene. He looked out of place yet perfectly at home, a presence that drew eyes effortlessly.
"Hey, guys," he called, his voice hesitant as he approached, stepping carefully to avoid damaging the bent stalks. "Chloe mentioned the crop circles. Thought I could lend a hand. I grew up dealing with fields, you know? Might spot something you missed."
Beth felt her stomach tighten, a wave of discomfort spreading like a cold current, the camera suddenly heavy in her hands. She shot a quick glance at Chloe, who shrugged almost imperceptibly, a mix of apology and casualness, confirming she'd called Clark without warning. Beth pressed her lips together, her face a carefully constructed mask, and focused on adjusting the camera lens, zooming in on a bent stalk with exaggerated precision. "Clark," she said, her voice low and controlled, lacking the warmth that used to color her greetings. "Just taking some photos."
Chloe, sensing the subtle tension, jumped in to steer the conversation. "So, back to magnetism… Beth, tell me more. You think it could be some secret experiment? LuthorCorp, maybe? Those bald guys are always mixed up in the weird stuff around here."
Beth, kneeling in the dirt, examined the scattered photos, her focus absorbed in the details. "His dad isn't…" she murmured, almost to herself, without looking up.
Chloe paused her note-taking, pencil hovering, and turned to her friend with a puzzled expression. "Isn't what?"
Beth lifted her eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips as she connected pieces Chloe hadn't yet. "Bald."
Silence. Chloe blinked, processing the information. "But the son is bald! I thought it was genetic!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with surprise and a touch of indignation.
Beth chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Nope. Ironically, he's got a full head of hair."
Chloe huffed, ironic. "That family's bizarre." She went back to scribbling in her notebook.
Beth nodded, reluctantly intrigued, a shiver running through her at the thought of that night with the Luthors. She began weaving a theory aloud, as if jotting it in her mental notebook, her steps slowing on the dirt path. "Let's say LuthorCorp is developing a magnetic manipulation device—call it 'Project Polaris,' inspired by polar fields. The official goal could be something benign, like improving agriculture: using magnetism to align seeds or boost crop yields through electromagnetic stimulation."
"Yeah, right, Beth. Like the Luthors give a damn about agriculture or anything that doesn't line their pockets with money or power!" Clark cut in, his voice dripping with sarcasm and venom, his eyes narrowed with a barely contained anger that simmered beneath the surface. He crossed his arms tightly, his body tense, as if the mere mention of the Luthors was enough to ignite his suspicion.
"I wasn't done talking… But yeah, Clark, knowing LuthorCorp, there's a darker side." Beth met his gaze, her eyes steady, silencing him. "Maybe it's a non-lethal weapon or a crowd-control prototype, generating magnetic fields that disorient or immobilize organic targets without leaving traces."
She didn't mean to sound sharp, but lately, Clark seemed incapable of saying anything without turning it into a jab at Lex—and, by extension, at her. Beth knew that wasn't his intention; deep down, Clark was kind. Still, her patience was wearing thin. She didn't owe anyone apologies… or explanations.
She paused, crouching to pick up a loose soil sample, examining it between her fingers as if it could reveal secrets. "Picture this: they test the device in rural areas like McKenzie's farm, using drones or satellites to direct low-frequency magnetic pulses. The corn stalks, full of water and minerals, act as conductors—the field bends them into circular patterns because the device emits spiral waves, creating concentric rings for maximum coverage. No footprints because it's remote, and residual meteor radiation in the area amplifies the effect, making the circles more precise than in normal tests."
"You think…" Chloe's voice faltered, laced with reluctance. Beth looked up in time to catch the quick exchange of glances between Chloe, Pete, and Clark—all wearing the same worried expression, as if sharing a secret she was left out of. It grated on her; she hated feeling excluded, especially by her only friends.
"…it's tied to that meteor shower?" Pete finished for Chloe, his gaze shifting to Beth. His question came in a low, almost cautious tone, as if the mere possibility demanded care.
Beth hesitated, her fingers still clutching the soil sample, the weight of their stares pressing on her like an invisible current. The air between them felt thick, charged with something unspoken, and she felt a knot form in her throat. The mention of the 1987 meteor shower—the event that turned Smallville into a hub of anomalies—wasn't new, but Pete's cautious tone made her frown. She stood slowly, brushing her hands on her jeans, her eyes flicking from Pete to Chloe and finally to Clark, who looked away, focusing on a distant point in the cornfield as if avoiding something.
"Maybe," Beth replied, her voice steady but edged with suspicion. "The meteors left traces of weird minerals in the soil—stuff that doesn't show up in standard tests. If LuthorCorp is messing with electromagnetism, the soil composition here could be amplifying the effects, like I said. But…" She stopped, crossing her arms, her glasses slipping slightly on her nose. "Why are you all looking at each other like that? Feels like you know something I don't."
Chloe opened her mouth but hesitated, exchanging another quick glance with Pete. Clark, still turned away, shifted his feet, the gravel crunching under his shoes. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, broken only by the rustle of corn in the wind and the distant call of a bird. Beth's heart raced, a mix of frustration and curiosity simmering beneath the surface. She hated being left in the dark, especially by the people she considered her closest allies.
"Look, Beth," Chloe began, her tone careful, as if picking each word with tweezers. "It's just… before you joined the Torch, we dealt with a lot of weird stuff, things we didn't fully explain to anyone. And sometimes, digging into this, involving more people, can be… dangerous." She gestured vaguely toward the cornfield, but her eyes were fixed on Beth, almost pleading with her not to push.
Beth raised an eyebrow, her expression hardening. "Dangerous? Chloe, we work at the Torch. Our whole deal is digging into weird stuff. Since when do you back off from a story?" She looked to Pete for support, but he just shrugged, his usual smile dimmed.
"It's not backing off," Pete said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's just… being careful. These circles might be more than just a weird experiment. What if it's something bigger? Something we shouldn't be poking at?"
Beth felt heat rise in her neck, a mix of irritation and hurt. "You guys call me out here and now want me to 'leave it alone' for some secret reason you clearly don't trust me enough to share? Seriously? After everything we've investigated together?" She turned to Clark, her eyes narrowing, daring him to speak. "And you, Clark? You on the same 'leave it alone' vibe? Because lately, you haven't seemed too shy about telling me what I should or shouldn't do."
The words came out sharper than she intended, and Clark's face tightened, a shadow of guilt passing through his blue eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Chloe stepped in, raising her hands.
"Okay, okay, let's breathe," Chloe said, forcing a smile. "Nobody's saying to drop it, Beth. We just want to make sure we're going in with our eyes open. Right?" She looked to Pete and Clark for backup, but neither spoke.
Beth exhaled through her nose, trying to rein in her frustration. She knew she was being harsher than necessary; the earlier conflict with Clark still weighed on her. And now this: her friends acting like she was a loose piece in the group, left out of something they wouldn't explain. She grabbed her camera, snapping one last photo of the nearest circle, the click of the lens loud in the tense silence.
"Whatever," she said finally, her voice calmer but still firm. "I'll analyze the photos and calculations tonight. If it's a LuthorCorp experiment or anything else, we'll figure it out." She slung the camera into her backpack and adjusted the straps, the sharp movement betraying her restlessness.
Chloe sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Beth, it's not like that. It's just… complicated. I promise we'll talk, okay? But for now, let's focus on the circles. You're right—if there's a mathematical pattern, you're the one to find it. We'll hit the Torch later, digitize these photos, and see what we can pull from them."
Beth nodded but didn't respond, her lips pressed tight. She started walking back through the cornfield, the stalks brushing against her arms, the setting sun casting long shadows that seemed to dance with her thoughts. Clark took a step after her, as if to say something, but stopped, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. Pete and Chloe exchanged another glance but followed in silence, the group moving like a disjointed unit.
When they reached the field's edge, Mr. McKenzie was still there, leaning against his pickup, his hat now in his hands as he stared at the horizon. "Find anything useful?" he asked, his voice heavy with weary hope.
Beth hesitated but answered practically. "Not yet, Mr. McKenzie. But we've got some leads. We'll analyze the photos and soil. If it's something… unusual, we'll let you know." She offered a half-smile, trying to sound confident, though her mind was racing.
He nodded, twirling his hat between his fingers. "You Torch kids, always snooping, huh? Just be careful. This town… something's off here." He gave a dry laugh, but his eyes carried weight.
As they walked back to town, the sky darkening into shades of purple and orange, Beth kept her pace steady, the camera swinging against her chest. She felt Clark's gaze on her back but didn't turn. Her mind was already racing, drawing lines between the circles, the meteors, LuthorCorp, and the inexplicable tension among her friends. There was a pattern somewhere, and she was determined to find it—not just in the cornfields, but in whatever her friends were hiding.
At the Torch, she'd start piecing it together, one photo at a time, one equation at a time. But deep down, she knew it was just a way to drown out the feeling gnawing at her silently—the sense that her friends, especially Clark, who'd been by her side since childhood, never truly saw her as part of their circle. She'd always known Clark had his secrets, just as she had hers. And she'd always respected that. But now, realizing the others knew too, that they were complicit in something she alone was kept out of, the wound felt crueler. It wasn't just about trust… it was about belonging. And maybe she'd never truly had that.
The Torch office felt more claustrophobic that night, the air thick with the incessant hum of fluorescent lights, a low, grating sound that echoed like a mechanical whisper, amplifying the emptiness between the people inside. The lingering smell of cold coffee hung like an invisible fog, sour and stale, blending with the faint scent of old printer ink and yellowed paper from the clippings plastered on the walls. Those walls, covered with Chloe's "Wall of Weird"—a chaotic mosaic of articles about meteor freaks, unexplained sightings, and conspiracy theories—seemed to close in on Beth, as if the faded headlines and grainy photos were watching her back, judging her self-imposed silence. She sat at the cluttered desk, head bowed over her notebook, hands moving with mechanical precision, the pen tracing equations and sketches of the crop circles with firm, almost aggressive strokes, as if each line was an attempt to anchor her mind in the concrete and push away the inner turmoil. Her glasses slipped slightly on her nose, and she pushed them up with a distracted, repetitive gesture, a tic betraying her growing unease.
She was quiet, quieter than usual, a silence that wasn't serene but heavy, charged, like the air before a storm. Normally, she swallowed her feelings, offering polite smiles or light, superficial responses to keep the group's fragile harmony, as if it were her job to grease the social gears. But tonight, the weight of hurt and exclusion anchored her in place, an invisible anchor that kept her from moving, from pretending. She chose not to hide her discomfort, letting it hang in the air like a tangible presence, a barrier her friends couldn't ignore. Each breath felt amplified in her chest, and for the first time, she didn't care if they noticed, if they felt the chasm that had opened between them, the void growing with every unaddressed second.
Chloe and Pete were scattered around the office, trying to maintain their usual rhythm, but their movements were forced, awkward, like actors in a poorly rehearsed play. Chloe, perched on a creaky swivel chair, flipped through notes on her laptop with repetitive mouse clicks, the sound echoing like drips in a cave, breaking the silence only to reinforce it. Her eyes darted across the screen, but occasionally flicked to Beth, quick glances filled with unspoken concern, as if she wanted to say something but the words dissolved in the heavy air. Pete, meanwhile, sorted the drone photos into a sloppy stack on a side table, the aerial images of the crop circles rustling under his restless fingers, a dry, grating sound that filled the gaps but not the emptiness. He rearranged the photos needlessly, stacking and unstacking, as if the motion could dispel the mounting tension, thick as smoke, making each breath harder, each avoided glance more noticeable.
Clark, ever the passive one, leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive posture, his restless gaze wandering like a cornered animal, a scared dog unsure whether to approach or flee into the shadows. His blue eyes, usually so steady, now jumped between the cracked floor, worn by years of hurried steps, and the cluttered shelves of dusty files, deliberately avoiding the corner where Beth worked, as if meeting her gaze could shatter the fragile truce. His silence was the loudest, punctuated by the occasional shuffle of his feet on the worn linoleum, the leather of his boots creaking faintly, a sound that echoed like a constant reminder of his presence—too close, yet distant enough to hurt. The tension hung between them all, an invisible thread stretched to its limit, where every held breath, every averted glance, every rustle of paper or click of a key seemed to amplify the discomfort, making the air almost unbreathable, as if the entire office were holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable moment when something—a word, a gesture—would finally break the precarious balance.
Beth, without lifting her head, felt his presence like an electric current, a magnetism that drew her gaze despite her efforts to stay focused, his posture seemingly relaxed but charged with a coiled tension that made his body seem alive with raw energy. His white shirt, slightly tight, hugged the contours of his torso, outlining every muscle with almost cruel precision. His broad shoulders strained the fabric, revealing the firm curve of his biceps, where subtle veins traced paths under bronzed skin, pulsing with a silent strength. His chest, defined and solid, moved with each deep breath, the shirt marking the ridges of his abdomen beneath the cotton. His crossed forearms were a work of art—long, defined muscles with veins standing out in relief, like taut ropes under the skin, suggesting a strength he seemed to struggle to contain. The soft office light cast shadows that accentuated every detail, turning him into something almost aristocratic, a contrast between apparent calm and the raw energy emanating from him. Beth felt heat creep up her neck, slow and insistent, her heart racing as if merely looking at him sparked something primal, a spark that burned with an intensity she could barely suppress. *Shame on you, Beth*, she scolded herself silently, guilt squeezing her chest like a vice. *He's your friend, not some piece of meat for you to drool over.*
"Beth, have you checked those digitized photos on the computer yet?" Chloe asked, trying to start a conversation, her voice a bit too loud, as if to fill the void. "I spotted some discrepancies in the stalk angles on the west edge. Could be a clue."
Beth didn't look up, her fingers tightening on the pen as she traced an equation in her notebook. "Yeah, I saw. The angles are consistent, 45 degrees from the center of each circle. Looks like a radial pattern." Her voice was flat, almost mechanical, giving only the bare minimum before returning to her work. She scribbled a simple equation to model the possible magnetic field that could have caused the circles:
`B(r) = (mu_0 * I) / (2 * pi * r)`
This represented the magnetic field strength (B) as a function of distance (r) from a circular electric current (I), with mu_0 as the magnetic permeability of free space (a constant). Beth adapted it mentally, imagining pulsed magnetic waves instead of a steady current, as if a device emitted spiral waves. Beside it, she sketched a quick graph, a decaying curve showing how the field weakened with distance, murmuring to herself: "If the pulse is modulated, the centripetal force could bend the stalks without breaking them…"
Pete leaned over Beth's cluttered desk, his broad shoulders casting an uneven shadow over her notebook. His dark blue shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealed tanned forearms marked with faint scratches from someone who spent more time playing football than in offices. He rested his hands on the edge of the chipped wooden desk, his fingers tapping lightly, an awkward rhythm betraying his attempt to seem relaxed. "Seriously, Beth, this looks like a star map or some mad scientist stuff. What're you cooking up?" He forced a smile, hoping for a reaction. His brown eyes, usually full of playful mischief, now held a spark of concern, as if he knew he was treading on shaky ground.
Beth, however, stayed still, her body hunched over the notebook as if protecting something fragile. Her eyes, narrowed behind thin-framed glasses, remained fixed on the black ink lines she traced with obsessive precision. She gave a slight nod, barely noticeable, without looking up. "Its just an approximation," she said, her voice dry, almost sharp, like the scrape of a blade against stone. Her pale hands, nails painted black, moved with mechanical determination, the chewed-up Bic pen leaving teeth marks in the blue plastic as she wrote another equation to calculate the magnetic force on the crop circle stalks. Pete lingered for a few more seconds, his eyes on her notebook, head slightly tilted as he tried to decipher the equations and diagrams. Beth, without lifting her face, caught his movement from the corner of her eye, his broad shadow shifting over the open pages. She noticed his fingers hovering over the paper, hesitant, as if wanting to touch one of the notes but pulling back. The formula, surrounded by sketches of the crop circles and measurements in microteslas, stayed under his gaze, but Beth wasn't sure if he was trying to understand or just feigning interest. He scratched the back of his neck and let out a short, almost inaudible sigh before straightening up. When Pete returned to the side table, the rustle of the drone photos he rearranged filled the silence.
`F = q * v * B * sin(theta)`
Here, F was the force on charged particles (like ions in the stalks), q was the charge, v the relative velocity, B the magnetic field, and theta the angle between the motion and the field. She estimated rough values, considering the stalks, full of water and electrolytes, could conduct currents induced by an external field. It was a simple calculation, but it helped visualize the pattern of the circles. She didn't explain it aloud—not today.
Chloe exchanged a glance with Pete, frowning, clearly picking up on Beth's coldness. "Okay… so, how about comparing this to the '87 meteor records? Maybe there's some mineral in the soil amplifying this magnetic effect?" She leaned forward, trying to catch Beth's attention, but Beth just nodded again, scribbling in her notebook.
"Already noted to check," Beth replied, turning the page.
The silence fell like an iron curtain, suffocating the room with its weight. Beth, seated in the creaky rolling chair, fixing now her eyes on the dusty window, where the pale late-afternoon light danced, revealing Clark's sharp reflection. The tension was a burning knot in her chest, a pressure she refused to release, as if giving in could shatter the control she barely held onto.
In the reflection, Clark was an inescapable presence, leaning against the opposite wall, transformed from before. his body exuding a coiled energy, like a storm about to break.
Beth saw every detail: his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, a slow, deliberate movement stretching the skin, marking the firm line of his jaw. His jaw muscles clenched, tense, as if he were chewing words he didn't dare let out. His blue eyes, sharp and piercing, were locked on her through the glass, a gaze so intense it seemed to cut through her, heavy with an intensity that made the air feel denser. Beth dug her nails into the chair's arms, the rough wood under her fingers, trying to smother the anger—and something else, something pulsing in her veins that she didn't want to name.
Suddenly, Clark moved. He pushed off the wall with a sharp jerk, the floor groaning under his heavy boots. He strode toward her, shoulders rigid, fists clenched, jaw even tighter, the tendons in his neck standing out under his skin. Beth froze, her fingers locked on the chair's arms, nails digging into the wood. Her breath stopped without her realizing, her chest tight, her heart racing in spikes of anxiety, the tension of what he might say or do vibrating. In the reflection, his eyes didn't waver, still locked on hers, now closer, sharper. He opened his mouth, lips parting, his tongue brushing his cheek one last time before a sharp word nearly escaped.
The door behind them creaked and swung open with a dry snap, cutting the air like a blade. Clark stopped mid-step, whipping his body around, shoulders tensing even more, his gaze shifting to the entrance with a ferocity that made the silence hum. Beth's heart pounded, the pulse echoing in her ears, but she kept her eyes on the window, the reflection now capturing the tense silhouette of Clark's broad back, turned toward the door. The tension in the room was palpable, as if the air itself were holding its breath, waiting for the next move.
Then the Torch door opened fully, bringing a gust of fresh air and an overly sweet perfume with the sound of light footsteps. Beth didn't need to look up to know who it was—Lana Lang stepped in, her brown hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights, her warm smile lighting up her face like she brought the sun into the room. She wore a light long-sleeve blouse and a short skirt that swayed gently, the picture-perfect image of a girl untouched by chaos. "Hey, guys!" she called, her melodic voice slicing through the tension like a beam of light in a storm. "Am I interrupting something ?" The contrast between Lana's radiant energy and the charged atmosphere made the moment feel even more suspended, as if the world had paused to watch what would come next.
Chloe looked up, relieved by the interruption. "Lana! Nah, just… the usual. Chasing mysteries. What brings you here?"
Lana approached, leaning against the edge of a table, her body tilting subtly toward Clark, her brown eyes sparkling with a flirtation that wasn't exactly hidden. "I'm organizing a karaoke night at the Talon tonight. Nothing fancy, just to liven things up. You guys have to come! Clark, you promised you'd try singing once, remember?" She laughed, touching his arm lightly, her fingers lingering a second too long, the gesture laced with casual intimacy.
Clark, until then a statue of tension, with shoulders locked and jaw so tight the tendons in his neck stood out, seemed to melt under the sound of Lana's voice. His shoulders, previously rigid as if carrying the weight of the world, relaxed slowly, dropping as if an invisible cord had been cut. The fierce look in his blue eyes, which moments ago seemed to pierce the door, softened, catching the light Lana seemed to radiate. A flush crept up his cheeks, tinting them a warm red, and his lips, once pressed into a hard line, curved into a goofy, almost childlike smile that transformed his face. It was as if her presence had lit a gentle flame within him, extinguishing the storm that had consumed him.
He scratched the back of his neck, the gesture awkward, betraying the shyness only Lana seemed to draw out. "I… don't know if I promised that, Lana," he said, his voice now lighter but still shaky, laced with a vulnerability that contrasted with his imposing frame. "But, uh, sounds cool." His eyes sparkled, fixed on her, as if the rest of the room—and all the tension from before—had simply vanished.
Beth looked away from the window and lowered her head over her notebook, her brown hair falling like a curtain over her face. Her eyes rolled instinctively, tired of watching the flirtation unfold in front of her for the umpteenth time, while her pen traced another equation on the paper, numbers and symbols flowing with mechanical precision.
Her focus was back on the paper now, at first thinking it was a device. A simple machine emitting controlled pulses. But she quickly realized: for something with that kind of power, technology, and precision, the cost would have to be in the millions. And what if it wasn't just technology? What if it was something beyond science, something alive… a meta-human with magnetic abilities? The thought made her shiver, but then her mind snapped back to the concrete: the device.
If anyone had the means to create something like that, who else but LuthorCorp? They had the resources, the labs, the power, and the minds for projects of that scale. And if it was indeed theirs, there'd be a way to find out—maybe in financial records, recent budgets. It was impossible to fund a project that massive without a noticeable spike in expenses. Any project of that magnitude would leave glaring marks in the financials; there was no way to hide spending that big without someone noticing. The logic was relentless, and Beth knew it.
The thought of her father hit her like a crushing wave, almost like a voice in her head. He was an accountant at LuthorCorp, someone with direct access to the company's financial underbelly. If there was a secret buried in the balance sheets, he'd be one of the few who could spot it. But digging into those records… it was a line she couldn't, wouldn't cross. Poking into her father's files meant not just exposing his professional life but throwing away all the integrity he'd fought for. Confidentiality agreements like those were iron traps: one misstep, a single comma out of place, could mean not just the end of his career but lawsuits, debts, even physical danger. LuthorCorp didn't forgive betrayals.
Still, the idea pulsed, uncomfortable, burning like a flame in her mind. And with it, a cruel doubt. Her father, who'd always taught her the value of ethics and honesty, could he have stayed silent in the face of something this big? Had he signed off on reports, turned a blind eye, maybe even complied, silently, with unethical projects?
Beth swallowed hard, her throat tight. The image of her father at the kitchen table, adjusting his glasses before talking about responsibility and choices, mingled with the cold shadow of the corporation he worked for. The contrast stung. A company manipulating dangerous technology—or worse, experimenting with meta-humans like disposable pieces. Was that even possible? The mere thought sent a chill through her, like each possibility was a dizzying drop. No, it couldn't be… Lionel, with his ruthless, calculating coldness, fit the part, but Alexander? He didn't seem capable of such things And yet, for a moment, she caught herself doubting—what if she was wrong? Then her conscience sliced through like a razor: she was letting personal feelings cloud the investigation. The truth was clear, unflinching: she didn't know Lex, not really. And frankly, making out in a dark corner wasn't exactly a scientific method for gauging someone's moral integrity. Each heartbeat seemed to mark this impossible choice, the conflict gnawing at her defenses from within, a tangle of desire, guilt, and rationality vying for space in her mind.
Lana turned to Beth, cutting through her spiral, her smile still warm but with a touch of formality. "Beth, you're coming, right? It'll be fun! We need someone responsible to keep these two in line." She pointed at Pete and Clark, laughing.
Beth lifted her gaze for a moment, her face a neutral mask. "Can't," she said, her voice firm, without warmth. "I've got to help the math teacher with tutoring tonight." It was true, but she also knew she couldn't handle watching Clark melt for Lana while feeling like a stranger among her own friends.
Chloe frowned, clearly wanting to push. "Seriously, Beth? Can't you skip tutoring just this once? We could use a chill night after… all this." She gestured to the scattered photos and notes.
"I promised," Beth replied, returning to her notebook, her pen tracing precise lines. "You guys go. Have fun."
Pete sighed, throwing his hands up. "Alright, Harper, but you're missing out. Karaoke at the Talon is new… sounds pretty cool." He tried for a light tone, but his smile didn't reach his eyes, as if he knew he wouldn't sway her.
Lana shrugged, her smile intact. "Okay, Beth, next time then. But seriously, you need to socialize a bit, change your ways... or you'll be stuck staying like this forever. She turned to Clark, slipping her arm through his with a naturalness that felt rehearsed, the gesture so fluid it almost seemed unintentional. "Come on, Clark, you'll help me convince Pete not to pick awful songs again." She laughed, pulling him gently toward the door, and Clark followed, his face still lit with that goofy smile.
Beth froze, not lifting her gaze, but she felt the movement, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the room. *"Staying like this forever?"* she thought, a pang of unease slicing through her. What the hell did she mean by that? Was that an insult?
It was definitely an insult.
Beth felt a tightness in her chest, biting her lip hard as Lana's words swirled in her head, sharp like a melody she couldn't silence. *"Staying like this forever"* What did Lana mean by that? That Beth was doomed to be the dull girl, hiding behind books while everyone else truly lived? The one who always had an excuse to skip karaoke, parties, any place where laughter echoed and memories were made?
She knew she wasn't the most outgoing person on the planet. There was comfort in her routine, in her perfectly aligned notes, in quiet nights devouring books or getting lost in movies. But did that define her? Was that all she was? Before everything got so complicated, she'd spent hours with Clark—simple moments, laughing at cheesy movie lines or debating wild comic book theories. That was socializing, wasn't it? Or had she been kidding herself even then, pretending while others lived something more real? When she saw Lana and Chloe with their easy laughs, drawing everyone in, or Pete, with his clumsy way of livening up any group, or even Clark, with that goofy smile that warmed hearts, Beth felt a stab of doubt. Was she falling behind? Not academically—she knew she was ahead there—but in the things that couldn't be lived through book pages. The inside jokes she never got, the secrets she wasn't part of, the moments that reached her only as echoes, always too late. Was she letting her youth slip away, trapped in fictional worlds that would never be real?
And how did people see her, really? Beth, the nerd? Beth, the eternal loner? She swallowed hard, the thought burning like an ember that wouldn't fade. Not that she'd admit out loud that it bothered her, but… what if it was true? She could have a boyfriend if she wanted, couldn't she? The memory of Alexander and his intense, unexpected kisses that night still made her heart race, but now it also left her confused. And then there was that weird moment with Clark, months ago, when they "kissed"—just to practice, he insisted, with that nervous smile that almost made her laugh. "Easy for you to say. Bet you've kissed tons of guys," he teased, half-awkward, as if he really believed she had experience. Did he see something in her she didn't? Or was he just messing around, not even thinking about the weight of those words?
Beth frowned, confused, her chest tight with a flood of contradictory thoughts. If her friends saw her as distant, predictable, the girl who always had answers but never joined the fun, then why did Clark assume she knew what she was doing? Was it just a joke she didn't get? Or was she, to them, just… convenient? The friend who always showed up with answers but was never truly known? Beth felt a lump in her throat. Maybe she was an enigma even to herself—half wanting to fit in, half comfortable in her world of notes and fictional stories. Who was she to them, really? And why, suddenly, did it matter so much?
The worst were the memories that pricked like thorns. The times they went out without even thinking to invite her. It wasn't constant, but it happened—a night at the Talon she only heard about the next day, a joke they all laughed at that she didn't get because "you had to be there." Each memory was a soft punch, but it hurt more with every repeat. Maybe Lana hadn't meant it cruelly, but her words opened a wound Beth didn't even know she had. Was she really just their friend out of convenience, the one who helped with everything but was never remembered? Did she even matter at their fun nights? She closed her eyes, her heart racing, trying to push away the wave of insecurity.
Chloe lingered at the door, looking back. "Beth, we'll catch up tomorrow, okay? We'll keep working on the circles. I'm counting on that brilliant brain of yours."
"Sure," Beth mumbled, unable to lift her eyes from the notebook. Something heavy sat in her throat, as if every friendly word had to cross a barrier she couldn't reach. Pete gave a quick wave, oblivious to the growing distance, and the three left. The sound of the door closing echoed through the empty office, leaving Beth with the feeling she'd been left behind—alone, drowning in her own thoughts, while the world moved on without her.
Beth let her pen pause for a moment, her eyes fixed on an incomplete equation: `E = (1/2) * L * I^2`. She took a deep breath, pushing her glasses up, and went back to work, tracing the next line as if she could solve not just the crop circles but the mess inside her too.
But her thoughts took shape, restless and persistent. She couldn't focus on the calculations. Lana's "Staying like this forever," said with that sweetness that felt like a disguised jab, and the thought of jeopard of betraying her father's job swirled in her head, more unsettling than any equation. Beth slammed her notebook shut, her heart pounding, pulsing until it hurt. Her hands shook, sweaty, and she gripped her knees, trying to contain the tight knot rising in her stomach and choking her throat. Her breaths came short, fast, insufficient. She ran a hand over her jeans, the dry sound echoing in the empty office, and leaned back in the chair, spine rigid, shoulders locked. She closed her eyes, trying to swallow the tightness in her chest and the tension in her throat, but the anxiety filled every inch around her, crushing any trace of calm.
She shook her head, forcing herself out of that spiral of self-pity. Lana wasn't her enemy. And Clark wasn't doing anything wrong. They were friends, and she was their friend. There was nothing wrong with that. Their friendship was solid, a pillar in her life. But what do you do when that pillar suddenly turns into a wall, blocking you from other possibilities?