Kent Farm basked in the golden morning light, the scent of hay and warm milk drifting through the open windows.
"Five scarecrows, two buckets of milk, fifteen baby bottles—Clark has finally started to get the hang of his Heat Vision," Adrian said to his parents, taking a sip of juice from his glass. His tone was calm and measured, his bright blue eyes reflecting quiet pride. "He's still a little clumsy, but not beyond saving."
Jonathan chuckled and patted his son's shoulder. "You've done a fine job teaching him, Adrian. You've really fulfilled your role as a mentor."
Standing nearby, Clark felt a pang of jealousy. For all his progress, the words of praise seemed to favor his brother. He quickly composed himself, eager to prove he was just as capable.
A row of candles had been set neatly on the round table. Clark inhaled deeply, narrowing his focus. He felt the energy build behind his eyes and released it in short bursts.
Poof!
The first candle lit.
Poof! Poof! Poof!
The second, third, and fourth followed in quick succession, each flame glowing steadily. Clark smiled in satisfaction. "See? Once I get the heat going, I can control it without even thinking—"
A sudden whoosh interrupted his confidence. The last candle burst into a small jet of fire, flaring dangerously high.
Jonathan and Martha jumped in alarm.
Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sometimes there are… minor accidents," he muttered, glancing at Adrian.
Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look. Their doubts about Clark's control grew stronger. Clearly, Adrian's guidance still had work to do.
---
The next morning, Adrian stood by the kitchen counter, holding a phone to his ear. "Yes, I understand. I'll review the documents later," he said before hanging up.
Jonathan entered from outside, his hands streaked with engine grease. "You know what I dread most? Seeing black smoke coming from the tractor's exhaust pipe." He sighed. "Means there's something wrong with the engine, and we can't afford another one right now."
"Or," Adrian replied without missing a beat, "it could just be the oil pump rod or a displaced adjustment joint. Maybe the nozzle's not atomizing properly."
Jonathan and Martha exchanged an amused glance.
"I'm starting to think our boy could pass the mechanical engineering exam already," Jonathan said with a grin.
Martha laughed softly as she stirred the fruit salad. "Let's hope he doesn't decide to spend his life fixing tractors."
"Is Clark still out back practicing?" Adrian asked, leaning casually against the table.
"He is," Jonathan replied, washing his hands. "Seems like he's getting more control. That warm milk trick of yours was a good idea—it helps him focus and keeps the milk warm at the same time."
Martha frowned. "It's also wasting a lot of milk."
Jonathan chuckled. "Clark thinks so too. That's why he's been extra careful not to overheat it."
After drying his hands, Jonathan turned back to his son. "So, who was on the phone, Adrian?"
"Metropolis University Press," Adrian said. "The first edition hardcover is already selling out. They're sending my royalties soon. Lex Luthor helped get the deal moving faster."
"Lex?" Jonathan's expression tightened. He wanted to comment, but Martha shot him a warning look. He let out a quiet breath and smiled instead. "No matter what, your mother and I are proud of you, Adrian."
"Thanks," Adrian said simply. "Oh, and the publisher wanted to hold a book signing at the school. I turned it down."
Martha looked up from her salad. "Why's that?"
"I'm not interested in being in the spotlight," Adrian said, placing the newspaper into the cabinet. "Writing is fine, but I'm not chasing attention. Honestly, I'm about as interested in being a celebrity as I am in becoming a tractor mechanic."
Jonathan nodded in approval. "Writers should be close to their readers, but not too close. Sometimes keeping your distance helps you stay true to your work."
---
Despite Adrian's refusal, news about the book signing spread across Smallville High within hours. Students whispered about it between classes.
"Do you know why Adrian turned it down?" Chloe asked Clark, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
Clark rubbed his tired eyes. "Maybe he just doesn't like signing autographs. He's been like that since forever."
"He doesn't seem like the type to crave attention," Chloe agreed. "I've read his book—it's incredible. The way he describes the darkness, the suspense, it feels so real! Like he's been there himself."
Her enthusiasm grew with every word. Clark and Pete shared a helpless glance; they'd seen Chloe get like this before.
Then Chloe's gaze shifted past them, catching sight of Adrian entering Ms. Aikins's office. "Huh. Looks like even Ms. Aikins has taken an interest in him," she muttered, her tone laced with a hint of jealousy.
---
The air in the biology office was warmer than usual, thick enough to feel deliberate.
Adrian stood by the desk, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, a faint shadow of indifference on his face. "I doubt a grade report is reason enough to summon me, Ms. Aikins," he said, his tone calm—too calm—but edged with quiet authority.
Ms. Aikins didn't answer. Instead, she turned toward the door and clicked the lock into place. The soft rhythm of her heels echoed across the room as she approached, a slow, teasing smile curving her lips.
"In class, you can call me Ms. Aikins," she said, voice low and silken. "But outside class… I prefer you call me Desiree."
Adrian's expression barely shifted. His eyes—cold, blue, and steady—followed her every movement with an unnerving stillness.
"I read your book," she continued, brushing her fingers through her hair. "It's brilliant. Imaginative. Daring. No one writes like that anymore. Lex speaks very highly of you, you know."
"So, you know Lex Luthor," Adrian replied, his voice even, unreadable.
"Of course," she said, stepping closer. "But what I want to discuss has nothing to do with Lex." Her words melted into the air as her perfume enveloped him. "It's about you."
Her arms looped around his neck, the movement slow, deliberate. "You're dark. Mysterious. Like your writing," she whispered. "I find that intoxicating."
Adrian's jaw tightened, though his composure never wavered. He leaned in just enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze. His voice was a quiet warning. "You're treading a dangerous line, Desiree."
"Am I?" she breathed, her lips hovering inches from his. "Maybe danger is what makes it thrilling."
A faint, humorless smile touched Adrian's mouth. "Or maybe it's what gets people burned."
The air thickened, pulsing with something volatile—something neither dared to name. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Adrian stepped closer, close enough that his breath brushed her ear.
"You're my teacher," Adrian voice was low, dangerously low. "This is a dangerous game you want to play…."
"That's what makes it more fun, no?" Desiree leaned in, Her eyes on Adrian's lips.
---