"So the publisher gave you thirty thousand dollars?"
At the dinner table, Martha stared at the thick stack of cash on the table as though it were something unreal.
"Yes," Adrian replied evenly, setting his fork aside. "Generally, authors can request an advance of ten, twenty, or thirty thousand before publication. It's money paid upfront, and after the book releases, royalties and rights earnings are deposited into the author's account."
Jonathan frowned, thinking it through. "But if the publisher doesn't earn that much back, do you have to return part of it?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair, calm and certain. "There's no such rule. The advance reflects their confidence in the work. If they misjudged, that's on them. We can use this money without worry."
Martha reached out and gently brushed her son's hair, pride warming her features. "I never thought one of my boys would become a writer. A farm boy from Smallville with a book in print… maybe the whole town will be proud of you one day."
Her gaze shifted toward Clark, who sat quieter than usual. "And Clark," she said softly, squeezing his hand, "we're just as proud of you."
Clark forced a small smile, though a shadow of disappointment lingered behind his eyes. He was genuinely happy for his brother, but the comparison stung more than he'd admit.
"Maybe we should have a lawyer look over the contract," Jonathan suggested, ever practical. "Publishers draft these things to protect themselves, not you."
"Ms. Niel reviewed it," Adrian replied smoothly. "She understands legal clauses. She said it was solid."
Jonathan nodded. "She's helped you a lot. We should thank her properly." He went to the cupboard and pulled out two bottles of hard soda. "I think we ought to celebrate. You two high schoolers can have a sip, in moderation."
"No, Jonathan." Martha's voice was firm. "That's alcohol. More than five percent content. They're too young."
Jonathan shrugged with a faint grin. "Fine. Then the two of us adults will celebrate. Rules are rules, kids."
Adrian smirked, but said nothing.
---
The Next Day – Smallville High
"I still don't think hard soda counts as alcohol," Pete told Clark as they walked down the hall. "It doesn't even taste like it. Not fermented, not the same as beer. Whatever it is, I like it."
"Pete, focus," Chloe sighed, juggling her books. "Weren't we talking about Adrian's book?"
"Yeah, but it makes sense, doesn't it?" Pete shrugged. "He's Adrian Kent. We've literally seen him shoot lasers out of his eyes and wipe the floor with Clark. Writing a book seems normal compared to that."
"Pete," Clark muttered, clearly embarrassed.
"Sorry, man." Pete chuckled. "But come on, it's true. If you accept he's got powers, being a writer isn't shocking. After hanging around you two, I've learned to roll with the impossible."
"Maybe you just don't care for writing," Chloe teased. "You'd rather be on the field."
"Exactly. You're the editor-in-chief of The Torch, Chloe. I can't compete." Pete grinned, and the two slipped into another playful argument.
Chloe suddenly paused, her eyes narrowing with interest. "Actually, I'd like to read Adrian's manuscript. Maybe even run a feature in The Torch."
"Most of his drafts are with Lana," Clark admitted reluctantly. "You'd probably have better luck asking her."
Chloe gave him a sly smile. "Clark, aren't you the least bit nervous? The girl you like has basically become Adrian's literary agent."
"I don't know," Clark admitted, shoulders slumping. "If I let fear guide me, if I try to stop things that are already moving, I'll only make things worse."
Chloe's expression softened. "Poor Clark. In love, sometimes you have to be selfish." She smirked faintly, though, her tone teasing. "But for what it's worth, I'd sooner bet on you finding happiness than on Adrian settling down with a girlfriend."
Clark sighed. Even when Chloe was trying to be supportive, her words had a sting.
---
The Torch – Editor's Office
Later that afternoon, Chloe set her bag down and reached for the coffeepot. Before she could pour, the door slammed open with a deafening bang.
Coach Watt stormed in, eyes blazing, a crumpled newspaper clutched in his fist. He threw it onto her desk with a heavy thwack.
"Do you know what you've done?" he roared. "You slandered me in print! What's your angle, girl?"
Chloe straightened her shoulders, her voice calm but edged with steel. "I only reported facts. There've always been rumors about your use of physical punishment on players. And I know a student was recently hurt but too scared to speak up."
"Rumors!" Watt spat. "I've led this team for twenty-five years, won countless honors for this school, and you—a child with a pen—think you can destroy that with a column? You'll fail."
"I report truthfully," Chloe shot back. "If I were just writing innuendo, I'd have mentioned Principal Kwan's investigation into you for academic cheating. He wanted the board to fire you, and everyone knows it."
Coach Watt's face went red, veins bulging at his temples. "Watch your mouth! I won't let some nosy student stand in my way. Stay quiet, or you'll regret it." His final words were nearly shouted.
The tension in the room thickened until, without warning, the newspaper on the desk burst into flames with a whoosh.
Chloe gasped and stumbled back, her eyes wide. The firelight flickered across her terrified face as the flames devoured the paper, leaving her shaken.
Something far more dangerous than threats had just entered the room.
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