"Clark, I thought you'd been spending all your time with the football team lately. Surprised you even had time to stop by."
Adrian's tone was calm but edged with amusement as he watched his brother walk in.
"Sorry, I've just had extra practice. Coach Watt said we need to prepare for next Monday's game, so…" Clark scratched the back of his head, sounding awkward.
"I get it. Sometimes you have to make choices," Adrian replied, glancing down at the paper Clark held. "You're not here to rope me into football, are you?"
"No." Clark sat down and handed him the paper. "It's a sign-up form for the school's blood drive."
"Blood drive?" Adrian frowned, his expression hardening slightly. "Clark, you know we're different from the others."
"I know." Clark let out a quiet sigh, his helplessness plain. "The blood drive is hosted by Lana. She wanted to give you this form herself, but she couldn't find you after school. So she asked me to pass it on, even though I told her you weren't… suitable."
"Oh?" Adrian arched an eyebrow as he took the form. "Funny. Lana used to faint at the sight of blood back in seventh grade. And now she's hosting a drive?"
Seeing Clark's puzzled expression, Adrian smirked. "Relax. I'm not snooping on her private life. You told me yourself once, didn't you?"
Before Clark could answer, Adrian leaned back in his chair. "Let me guess how you turned her down. Something like—'It's not convenient, but I can still help by recruiting others or passing out cookies.'"
"You seem to know everything, Adrian."
Clark shrugged, trying not to smile as he took the form back. "And you always manage to hit the mark."
"It's not about knowing everything," Adrian said smoothly. "It's about knowing you, especially when Lana's involved. Anyone could see your feelings toward her."
Clark's expression faltered, caught between denial and embarrassment. "I just want to help her—as a good friend."
Adrian's smile was sharp, but his voice softened slightly. "Then be careful. Once you cross a line, friendship won't be an excuse anymore."
Though Adrian had never been in love, his words carried the weight of experience, as though he had lived through things Clark couldn't imagine.
Clark nodded slowly, uncertain whether to take his brother's words as advice or teasing. Rising to leave, he hesitated at the doorway, a flicker of conflict crossing his face.
"You're acting strange today, Clark."
"No, it's just…" Clark sat back down, studying him closely. "When you walked in, you were carrying something. And I… smelled blood on you."
Adrian's expression remained unreadable.
"I don't know what you've been doing," Clark continued uneasily, "but you can't keep this up. I can't keep covering for you. If Mom and Dad find out, I don't know what will happen. I don't want to lie anymore."
"No one tells the whole truth, Clark," Adrian said evenly. "Just like you'll never tell Lana the real reason you can't donate blood. This is the price we pay for what we are."
"I can't convince you, can I?" Clark's disappointment was heavy as he stood again. "It's late. I should go."
"Clark." Adrian's voice stopped him cold. His eyes were steady, almost piercing. "Don't always trust what you see. Eyes deceive. Pay attention to the people around you."
Clark froze. The words echoed in his mind, gnawing at him long after he left. What did Adrian mean? Who was he supposed to be watching? That night, for the first time in years, Clark couldn't fall asleep easily.
---
The Next Afternoon – Kent Farm
"I told you, Jonathan, don't use the upstairs bathroom. It's clogged again, and cleaning it will be a nightmare." Martha's voice carried from the dining table, where she sat poring over bills and expenses.
"Sorry, I didn't notice." Jonathan scratched his head, tools in hand. "I'll take care of it."
"You don't exactly have a plumber's touch, Jonathan," Martha replied dryly, eyes still on the numbers. "At most, you're an electrician and a farmhand mechanic."
"Can I take that as a compliment?" Jonathan joked, heading upstairs.
Martha sighed, ignoring his humor. The numbers weren't adding up. "Looks like we'll have to think about another bank loan…"
Her voice trailed off as several men in dark suits approached the farmhouse, led by Niel. Their polished shoes crunched against the gravel driveway.
"Good afternoon," one of the middle-aged men said smoothly when Martha stepped outside. "We're looking for Adrian."
"As Adrian Kent's guardians, we'd like to discuss the publishing contract with you first," he continued, flashing a professional smile.
"Publishing contract?" Jonathan asked, confused. "You mean… you're interested in my son's writing?"
"Exactly. Ms. Niel recommended Adrian's manuscript to us. It's imaginative, atmospheric, and we believe it has incredible commercial potential. Since he doesn't have an agent, we thought it best to come directly."
Jonathan and Martha exchanged baffled looks, then turned to Niel, who gave them a reassuring nod.
"May we see the manuscript?" Martha asked hesitantly. She had often seen Adrian scribbling at night, but never thought it amounted to anything more than a hobby.
When the man handed her the papers, Martha skimmed them quickly. A strange chill ran down her spine—not from understanding the words, but from the feeling the pages carried. She didn't see anything that screamed commercial value, but she couldn't deny the unsettling effect the work had.
"We'll need to wait for Adrian," Jonathan said carefully. "It's his work, and he should decide."
Just then, the front door creaked open. Adrian stepped in, the late afternoon light casting his silhouette across the floor.
All eyes turned to him.
___
Happy New month