The Sullivans declined the lunch invitation and hit the road back home.
"Clark, you've gotta come visit me in town," Chloe said, her cheeks rosy from the cold, flashing a sweet smile. "I've got a friend I want you to meet."
Scratching the back of his head shyly, Clark's eyes flicked toward Uncle Locke leaning against the doorframe.
Sure enough, Locke had a knowing, teasing grin on his face, making Clark's cheeks flush even redder.
But he nodded firmly, his voice full of earnest teenage sincerity. "Yeah! Next time for sure!"
Gabe and Moira thanked Locke again, their gratitude heartfelt.
Sam, on the other hand, just gave a slight nod before heading to his dark green military SUV.
He didn't get in right away, though. Instead, he watched as Gabe started their slightly beat-up sedan, carrying Moira, the girls, and old Henry down the snow-covered country road.
Only when the car shrank to a tiny speck in the distance did Sam open his door and slide into the driver's seat.
"Mr. Kent," he said through the rolled-down window, keeping it short. "Take care."
"Drive safe, General Lane," Locke replied calmly.
With a nod, Sam pulled out, trailing his family's car at a distance—close enough to protect, far enough not to intrude.
The SUV was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine.
But the warmth on Sam's face faded, replaced by his usual steely focus.
He grabbed the encrypted satellite phone from the passenger seat, his fingers swiftly punching in a long string of numbers.
The call connected quickly, the line so silent it was almost eerie.
Clearly, this was a highly secure channel.
"General," came a flat, digitally scrambled male voice.
Sam got straight to the point, no small talk. "The last confirmed trace of 'Wolf'—wasn't it in Smallville, Kansas?"
There was a brief pause on the other end, the speaker clearly caught off guard by the general dredging up an old codename and location.
But professionalism kicked in, and after a quick file check, the voice replied, "Yes, General."
"Records show the target's last tracked heat signature and suspected activity zone were at a farm in Smallville, within a five-mile radius."
"After reviewing the footage brought back by the field agent, we sent a ground team for a carpet search on the third day, but no further leads were found. Do you need us to reopen the investigation in that area? We can arrange—"
"No need," Sam cut in, his voice steady, almost detached, like he was discussing something irrelevant.
"What about Smith? I recall he took over the case later on."
Another brief silence, this time tinged with faint hesitation. "General… Agent Smith… he died two years ago in the failed 'Crucible Operation.'"
"He was killed pursuing the superpowered mercenary codenamed 'King Cobra.'"
"You and Ms. Amanda personally signed off on his casualty report and pension."
Sam's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing as fragments of memory clicked into place.
Right—two years ago, in a catastrophic incident involving a superpowered individual, Smith, a 32-year veteran agent…
Was gone.
His brow furrowed slightly, but his voice stayed even. "I remember now. What about Vance? There was another agent in that special ops team, wasn't there?"
The sound of rapid typing came through, then: "General, Agent Vance… he requested a transfer to the DEO's European branch last year after Smith's death. His report cited a need for a change of environment and… personal matters."
"His transfer was approved. He's now stationed in Prague."
"Can you get him on the line? I need details from back then—written reports won't cut it," Sam pressed.
This time, the voice on the other end sounded uneasy. "General… Agent Vance is now under the DEO's European branch. His personnel file and communication access have been fully transferred."
"The DEO, as you know, oversees our Task Force X…"
"I don't have clearance to directly access European branch info, especially for non-urgent historical cases like this." He paused, then added, "I can try submitting a formal request through DEO headquarters, but the process will take time, and… headquarters is always tight-lipped about supernatural investigators' files."
"…"
DEO.
Department of Extranormal Operations.
Their job: monitor anomalous individuals with superpowers, neutralizing any potential threats to the public.
Once someone transferred to the DEO—regardless of their prior unit—their files were locked down tight. Since its founding, it had been the go-to retirement or recovery spot for members of groups like Silverlight, Task Force X, Stormwatch, and A.R.G.U.S.
Sam went quiet for a few seconds.
He needed immediate, unfiltered intel, free from bureaucratic red tape.
But now… Smith was dead, and Vance was gone.
"Understood," he said finally, his tone betraying no emotion. "No action needed for now. Keep the channel open."
"Roger that, General."
The call ended, the encrypted line's indicator light going dark.
The SUV fell silent again, only the soft crunch of tires on snow breaking the stillness.
Sam Lane's gaze drifted through the windshield, landing on the distant outline of Kent Farm, serene against the snowy plain.
Old Henry's grateful words about his rescue echoed in Sam's mind—
"That Mr. Kent… he didn't just help me round up all my scattered sheep… My van was stuck in a snowbank, a heavy old thing, and he lifted it out all by himself! It's unbelievable!"
One man, lifting a snow-trapped pickup?
In a brutal blizzard, no less?
That was no ordinary farmer's strength.
And then there was…
The fact that "Wolf's" last known location was right near this very farm.
Too many coincidences stopped being coincidences.
This man, Locke Kent…
He was no ordinary guy.
Who was he? A mutant hiding his powers? An unregistered superhuman?
What was he doing, lying low on this quiet farm?
Sam's brows knit together, suspicion and caution swirling in his eyes.
The sunlight hit his face, but it couldn't dispel the shadow clouding his expression.
What if—
What was he even thinking?!
Sam froze.
His family's car was up ahead, carrying the loved ones he'd nearly lost, and here he was…
Plotting to investigate their savior.
The man who'd exposed his abilities to save Henry.
"Ella…"
He pulled an old photo from his inner pocket, gazing at his wife's radiant smile.
"I hope this Mr. Kent stays as good as he seemed today."
Especially remembering how, back in the living room, Locke had sighed about the struggles farmers faced these days.
Sam let out a breath. "He really…"
"Is a good guy."
---