Whoosh!
A figure standing not far from Adrian moved faster than him and was already rushing toward Jonathan, who stood frozen in place, before Adrian could react.
In that moment, everything around him seemed to slow down.
In his heightened perception, the pedestrians on the street, the out‑of‑control car hurtling toward his father, and even a promotional video playing across tall Metropolis buildings seemed to pause in time.
It was as if existence itself had been put on hold.
In that suspended scene, only a figure with golden light trailing behind him ran, body leaving a blur of gold in his wake. Before anyone could grasp what was happening, he seized Jonathan and darted to the side.
Bang!
Time snapped back to normal as the car smashed into the wall of a store.
The airbags deployed instantly and shattered the driver's consciousness. Jonathan's life was saved, but the drunken driver was knocked out cold.
Adrian watched clearly as the blond kid with a backpack, after pushing Jonathan out of harm's way, activated his speed and vanished before anyone could even blink.
Using his own speed, Adrian darted to his father's side, steadying him before crouching to check his condition.
During his rapid movement, he also let loose a quick burst of Heat Vision that scorred the drunk driver's chest. It wasn't lethal, but if untreated it would force a period of reflection in a hospital bed.
For someone that reckless, Adrian didn't care if the world forced him to lie still and think about his choices.
Time returned fully to normal now that the danger had passed. Once Jonathan regained his senses and heard the crash, he looked at the wrecked car and then up at Adrian, realization dawning that he was safe.
"Are you okay, Dad?" Adrian asked, concern woven through his tone.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Jonathan said with a shaky laugh, still catching his breath. "If you hadn't pushed me away, I'd be in the hospital right now."
"It wasn't me, Dad," Adrian said, eyes serious. "Someone else saved you."
Jonathan blinked, puzzled. "Someone who runs as fast as you?"
In his mind, no one was faster than Adrian.
Yet now Adrian was telling him that someone had outrun him, and that made Jonathan's brow furrow in confusion as he reached into his jeans pocket.
A moment later he shook his head, looking somber as he spoke.
"He saved my life, and he stole my wallet."
Adrian blinked.
"That credit card, your credit card? It was in there."
Jonathan lowered his head, a faint self‑reproach tugging at his features.
"I should've been more careful."
"Don't blame yourself, Father," Adrian said, glancing in the direction the mysterious runner had disappeared. "Against someone that fast, I wouldn't have any better ideas."
Adrian's mind trailed over possibilities. The speed the stranger displayed resembled Flash's, but at this point in time the first Flash was gone, and the equipment tied to the Justice Society was still accounted for. The second Flash, Barry Allen, should still be in Central City, growing into his future powers, long before he ever became the Flash.
So where had this guy come from, looking so much like Flash?
Later, back at Kent Farm, Martha gasped when she learned about the stolen wallet.
"Your wallet was stolen?" she exclaimed, eyes wide with shock. "Jonathan, are you hurt? Did the robber have a weapon?"
"No injuries," Jonathan explained, "but the guy ran fast, almost as fast as Adrian and Clark."
Hearing that eased some of Martha's worry.
Jonathan walked toward the storage shed, a temporary wooden building filled with tools and salvaged items from the farm.
"I'll call the bank now and cancel the credit card."
"Wait," Adrian stopped him.
He wanted the transaction records. If the thief used the credit card, the bank logs could reveal their location and lead them to the person.
Jonathan turned to face his son.
"I'll make the call."
Adrian gave his father a faint smile, then walked into the shed and picked up the phone. But he didn't dial the bank.
Instead he dialed a private number.
"Malcolm Merlyn?"
"Yes," came the reply.
"Is Clark still with the Thug Gang?" Adrian's voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.
"No," Malcolm answered. "Clark's been handling his own things. I don't see him much these days. He doesn't want interference."
Although Adrian wasn't directly in contact with Clark, Malcolm had maintained lines of communication. So Adrian at least knew general intel on Clark's whereabouts.
"Whatever he's doing, assist him as much as you can," Adrian instructed, voice cold. "And don't let him find out we're talking. I also need you to monitor a credit card's transaction records."
"Understood," Malcolm said without hesitation.
After hanging up, Adrian stepped out of the shed.
The sun was dipping behind the horizon as moonlit night slowly crept over the farm. The moon climbed higher, its clear light washing over Adrian, making his presence shimmer with power.
It felt like a thermal bath, a surge of strength filling him again.
Under the moon's blessing, he furrowed his brow.
Would this "blessing," or rather this curse, stick with him forever?
Not far from the farm, at Aunt Neil's house.
Aunt Neil watched Lana with a conflicted expression.
Ever since Lana had been possessed by Countess Solu, she'd endured torment that left deep psychological scars. Now seeing her niece again stirred old fear.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Neil," Lana said, voice earnest. "I don't remember what I did when that happened. If I hurt you, I'm truly sorry."
Aunt Neil looked at Lana's hands, scarred and raw from playing piano under mystical duress during the possession, and sighed.
"Are you sure that wasn't you, Lana?" she asked gently.
"I'm sure," Lana replied, worried and sincere. "I only remember reading that old spell book, then nothing. I must've lost consciousness. Maybe someone else was in control."
Her heart was heavy with shame and remorse.
"Whether it was you or not," Aunt Neil said, "our farm and the horse ranch were destroyed. Rebuilding will be a massive undertaking."
"I'm truly sorry," Lana said, gripping Aunt Neil's hand. "I'll do whatever it takes to make amends."
"Auntie," Lana said with a shaky smile, "I mean that."
Aunt Neil returned the smile, warm despite her fatigue. "You're family, Lana. That's what matters. People may not see your heart, but I do."
Inside Lana's room later, she examined a strange symbol on her lower back — a mark made of black lines and dots that couldn't be washed away. It was imprinted there since she woke, and no amount of scrubbing could remove it.
She sighed, then showered, ate lightly, and made her way to Kent Farm.
At the farm's barn, Lana found Martha, Jonathan, and Adrian having dinner.
"Sorry," she greeted awkwardly.
Later, face‑to‑face with Adrian outside, she spoke softly.
"Has Clark not returned yet?"
"No," Adrian said without betraying emotion. "His rebellious phase isn't over."
Lana lowered her gaze, watching the moon rise over the broken fence.
"I came to apologize," she said. "I don't remember what I did, but whatever it was, I'm truly sorry."
Her voice wavered as she spoke of memories that felt like fragments of someone else.
"I don't know if I can go back to who I was, but I am truly repentant."
"If you aren't beyond redemption," Adrian said calmly, "then there's still hope."
Lana hesitated, then reached for his hand, wanting him to understand how much she cared about his opinion.
But his phone rang.
Seeing the caller was Malcolm, Adrian's brow tightened. After a few moments' conversation, he hung up.
"They found the address of the person who stole the credit card," he said and started walking toward Metropolis.
Lana watched him go, her eyes fixed on the moon above her head.
If there were a Moon Goddess or a Moon Knight, could they hear her deepest regrets?
___
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