The Toyota Corolla tore down the road like a crazed beast, smoke and flames pouring from its hood. Fire spilled out of the windows as though the car itself had been born in the inferno.
Through the haze, Adrian's sharp eyes caught sight of the driver. The man's body was engulfed in flames, his mouth frozen in a scream that barely rose above the roar of the engine.
Adrian swerved hard, slamming the brakes. But even with his reflexes, he knew the collision was inevitable. The car was coming at them too fast, the driver accelerating in madness, consumed by fire and pain.
For Adrian, the world slowed. His senses stretched the moment out into eternity, each second drawn into crystalline clarity. The screech of tires, Jonathan's startled gasp, the glow of fire against the wet blacktop—all frozen in time.
Adrian opened his door. His eyes glowed red.
Heat Vision cut through the night.
A beam of searing energy, thin as a razor but devastatingly hot, lanced across the road. The fire met the beam, and in an instant, the Corolla's front tire melted into slag.
The explosion was immediate. The tire burst, rubber and molten metal flying, and the flaming car lurched out of control. Sparks sprayed across the road as it careened sideways.
It slammed into the guardrail, tearing through steel with a deafening crash before the engine gave its final, dying cough. The flames roared higher, consuming everything.
By the time Jonathan blinked, Adrian had already shut his car door, pulled the Ford into a controlled drift, and steadied them against the shoulder of the road.
The entire maneuver had taken less than a heartbeat.
"God…" Jonathan exhaled, gripping the seatbelt across his chest. His heart pounded against his ribs. "That nearly killed us."
Adrian looked at him, calm as ever. "I'm fine, Dad."
His voice was steady, unshaken, though his gaze lingered on the wreck. The driver's screams were gone. Nothing remained but fire and the crackle of twisted metal.
If Adrian had aimed differently, if he had chosen to drag the man out instead of blowing the tire, perhaps the driver might have lived another moment. But Adrian wasn't the type to gamble his own safety for a stranger. The choice had been simple. The fire would claim its victim regardless.
Jonathan, catching his breath, unbuckled his seatbelt. "There's an extinguisher in the trunk. I'll try to—"
"No." Adrian's tone was sharp enough to cut. He didn't raise his voice, but the command in it was absolute. "That car is one spark away from exploding. You're not walking into that fire."
Jonathan froze, then reluctantly nodded. Adrian dialed the fire department, reporting the accident in clipped, precise words. Minutes later, sirens wailed in the distance.
They stayed until the firefighters arrived, until the blaze was brought under control, until the last fragments of the Corolla's frame hissed beneath the rain.
By the time the Kents returned to the farm, it was past eleven.
Martha was waiting in the living room, pale and anxious. "Jonathan, Adrian—why so late?"
Jonathan sank into the sofa, weariness pulling at his face. "We nearly got hit. Car came at us head-on. Went up in flames before we could stop it."
Martha's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God!" She turned to Adrian, grasping his shoulders as if to reassure herself he was unhurt. "Are you alright?"
Adrian offered a faint smile. "Perfectly fine."
Jonathan's expression darkened. "The driver… it was Vice Principal Martins. From the school."
Martha's shock was immediate. "Vice Principal Martins? Are you sure?"
"The body was burned beyond recognition," Jonathan admitted, "but the license plate, the car model… the police are certain it was him."
Martha sank into the chair opposite her husband, her face heavy with grief. "I spoke with him only last week. He was kind, thoughtful. A good man."
She glanced at Adrian, then back to Jonathan. "What could have caused it?"
Jonathan shook his head. "The police will investigate. But it's a tragedy, no matter the reason."
Adrian, silent until now, stared out the window. The storm had broken at last. Rain streaked down the glass in sheets, tapping against the panes as wind howled across the fields.
But his mind wasn't on the storm.
The fire had started from inside the car, flames blooming outward. That wasn't an accident. That was deliberate.
Arson.
And whoever set it had chosen their victim well.
Vice Principal Martins. At their school.
Adrian's jaw tightened. Whoever had done this wasn't finished.
---
The next morning at Smallville High, the story was on every student's lips.
"So, let me get this straight," Chloe said, her voice laced with skepticism. "Adrian can pull a school bus out of a river, but he couldn't pull a man out of a burning car?"
Clark shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe it was too late—"
"Too late?" Chloe cut him off with a raised eyebrow. "Please. For someone who can set fire to things with his eyes, 'too late' doesn't really add up."
"Chloe!" Clark hissed, darting a glance around the hallway. Students were milling about, whispering about the accident. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You promised me you'd keep quiet about Adrian and me. No one's supposed to know."
Chloe smirked, holding up her camera like a shield. "Relax, farm boy. I keep my promises. But you can't expect me not to ask questions. Two brothers who aren't exactly… normal, hiding out in Smallville? That's Pulitzer gold."
Clark groaned. "Chloe—"
"Fine, fine," she relented, rolling her eyes. "Your secret's safe. For now."
But her expression turned serious as she tucked the camera away. "Back to business. If Vice Principal Martins didn't die by accident, then I have a suspect."
"Chloe," Clark warned, already dreading where this was going.
"Think about it," she pressed. "Martins constantly clashed with Coach Walt. They argued just last month over players cheating on exams. If anyone had a grudge…"
Clark frowned. "That's not fair. You've always had it out for Coach Walt. That doesn't mean he'd kill someone."
Chloe folded her arms, unbothered by Clark's disapproval. "Maybe. But people snap. And if someone in Smallville has started playing with fire, then Martins is just the first casualty."
Clark said nothing. But at the edge of the hallway, Adrian stood watching. He hadn't joined the conversation, hadn't needed to. His piercing gaze swept across the students, quiet but commanding, a predator among sheep.
And though his expression was calm, his mind was already working.
If someone in this town had lit that fire, Adrian would find them.
And when he did, there would be no mercy.
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