Lucinda moved.
And immediately regretted it.
Every step she took backward, the man mirrored—one step, two steps—like they were stuck in some deeply unsettling ballroom routine no one had rehearsed for. He moved with purpose now. Less shivering. More target acquired.
Lucinda's brain, ever helpful, offered a solution.
Just run past him. Grab him. Toss him aside.
I mean—come on. The guy was shaking like a broken fridge. He could barely stand. She could probably shoulder-check him into next week.
It would be easy, right?
Right?
"Sure," Lucinda swallowed hard.
Every single kryptonite-infected human she had ever seen on this show had ended up with either enhanced strength, speed, durability, or all of the above. This was not a coincidence. This was a pattern. And Lucinda had genre awareness, thank you very much.
Running toward him would be astronomically stupid.
"But how did he even get in?" she muttered, stepping back again.
Dylan. Obviously. Probably. But not the point right now. The point was: imminent icy death. If he touched her, it was over. She'd freeze solid, die tragically, and become one of those "who is she again?" character people only brought up in Reddit threads and then curse at them.
That would be humiliating and Lucinda refuse to experience it first hand. So she squared her shoulders to get ready. She might not have powers, but she had spite. And panic. And—wait—she gasped when she remembered she actually had a phone—Clark.
Yes. Clark. Clark with the muscles, the six-pack abs that deserved their own zip code, and probably a V-line carved by the gods themselves. Clark with the save-the-day habit that made everyone else look lazy.
She fumbled with her phone, fingers betraying her like traitorous little gremlins. The screen had suddenly become absurdly slippery which she very wisely decided to blame on fate, bad luck, and possibly the universe's cruel sense of humor. Honestly, she couldn't believe that fumbling over a phone is possible in a life and death scenario. Unnecessary, but real!
Lucinda squeaked like a startled mouse when the man sprinted.
"TEKA LANGGGGGGG—" she screamed, words tumbling over each other.
Her brain short-circuited into a chaotic slideshow of options:
Door? Lock it—except what if it freezes solid and traps her? Run around the room away from him? Terrible idea. She'd trip over literally everything. She might actually die before the man could actually touch her. Window? Second floor. Dramatic death guaranteed.
She crunched the numbers in a fraction of a second. Either way, she'd be dead.
Lucinda's soul briefly left her body, waved a casual goodbye to reality, and started mentally packing for the afterlife.
"CLAAARKKKK!" she bellowed into the phone—completely ignoring that Clark was, predictably, not answering. Of course he wasn't.
He would never speed run from his room to Lex's mansion just to save a side character with attitude issues.
Lucinda's body simply decided to lunged for the door, desperate to shut it, but the man slammed against it at the same moment. The impact rattled the frame violently, and Lucinda's feet slipped out from under her. She tumbled backward, slamming into the floor with a harsh thud. Her phone, clutched tightly in panic a second ago, betrayed her, skidding across the floor and landing several feet away.
Groaning, Lucinda's back slammed against the wall. Pain radiated along her spine, but she refused to stay down because she's a strong independent woman goddamnit.
She pushed herself up on trembling arms, each movement sharp with adrenaline. Being frozen solid was not on her to-do list today, no thanks!
Her eyes darted around the room. Where's Edgar? Dylan? The other guards? Molly? Jess? Panic tightened her chest. Are they okay? Did this guy get to them already?
The man now stood beneath the doorframe, framed by the dim hallway light. His presence sucked the warmth out of the room, the air around him shimmering faintly, ice forming along the edges like frost creeping over glass. Lucinda's fingers twitched toward her phone—but it lay hopelessly far away, just out of reach.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said finally, his voice low and cold, each word dropping the temperature by degrees. "But I have no choice."
Lucinda scooted backward, pressing herself against the wall, trying to maximize the distance.
"But there's something… different about you," he continued, a grin curling across his frostbitten face. "I can feel that if I suck the warmth from you… I'd feel completely better."
"I'm sure you're feeling it wrong," Lucinda swallowed. "I'm a very cold person. Personality-wise. Emotionally. Spiritually. Frankly, I'm a walking freezer."
The man tilted his head, eyes dragging over her as if she were an item on a clearance rack. "Probably," he said. "But there's only one way to find out."
Lucinda watched him step closer.
Such a tragic death, she thought calmly. Taken out by an ice vampire with zero dignity and no witnesses. The man was already too close for escape. One touch and she'd be dead anyway. Honestly, she should've at least cleaned her room.
He knelt in front of her and slowly reached for her cheek.
Lucinda closed her eyes, bracing herself. Any second now, her life was supposed to flash before her eyes. That's how it worked, right? Childhood memories. Regrets. Maybe that embarrassing thing from high school she'd been actively suppressing for years.
None of that happened. Instead, a loud thud and the sound of shattering glass snapped Lucinda's eyes open.
"Lucy! Lucy! Are you okay?"
Clark was suddenly there, kneeling in front of her—eyes wide with concern, breathing like he'd just sprinted through three states and a moral crisis.
Lucinda couldn't speak. She turned her head toward the noise instead.
The man was gone.
The shattered window, however, remained—cold air rushing in as undeniable evidence that Clark had, in fact, resolved the situation by introducing it to gravity. Nice one, Clark! Lucinda mentally screamed. Mentally, because right now, she couldn't even speak properly out of shock.
"Y-You answered my call?" Lucinda stammered.
"I didn't," Clark shook his head. "You might've accidentally called Lex instead. Lex called me."
Lucinda blinked.
"He couldn't exactly teleport from Scotland back to Canada," Clark continued, a beat too dry for the situation. "He was… very surprised to hear you screaming my name."
Lucinda stared at him.
"Oh," she said faintly—then gasped as another thought slammed into her. Lana's necklace. "Is Lana okay? That ice man dropped her necklace earlier. Did something happen to her?"
Clark nodded. "He attacked her earlier. I was nearby—thankfully. He got distracted, which gave me just enough time to step in," his jaw tightened. "I didn't know he'd come here."
Only then did Lucinda realize she'd been holding her breath again. She inhaled shakily, relief loosening her chest—Until footsteps echoed down the hallway.
"Miss Bryce! What's happening in there?" Edgar's voice rang out, sharp with concern.
Lucinda's head snapped toward the door. "You better go," she told Clark urgently. "Dylan had Lana's Kryptonite necklace. You cannot stay here."
Clark nodded. "I'll look for Sean too."
Lucinda blinked. "Sean… right." The name clicked into place. Sean Kelvin. One of the Crow players. Of course it had to be him. She just could remember his face. Good thing Clark mentioned it.
"But what are you going to tell them?" Clark asked. "Your room looks definitely..." He looked around, "...frozen."
Lucinda straightened, wincing. "Leave it to me. And if you're still not ready to be honest with Lex—tell him you only got here after I was attacked. Got it?"
She narrowed her eyes, studying his expression. One look told her everything. Clark Kent: brave enough to throw monsters through windows, not brave enough to have that conversation.
"Got it," he said. "Be careful," Clark placed a hand on Lucinda's shoulder only to immediately pull it away when he felt a sudden electric shock—or was it only his imagination?
"You should go now, Clark," Lucy said with urgency.
And just like that, Clark was disappeared—vanishing in a blur of speed that kicked up a of small cloud of dust which Lucinda inhaled... unfortunately. She coughed, swatting the dusts in the air.
Seconds later, Edgar burst in with Dylan and two guards close behind. The room looked like it had lost a personal war with winter.
Frost clung to the walls like pale veins, creeping over her vanity mirror and freezing half the curtains stiff. Shards of glass glittered across the floor beneath the shattered window, rimmed in ice. The air was painfully cold, her breath fogging in front of her face like she'd been relocated to the Arctic without consent.
"W-What happened here?" Edgar gasped, rushing to her side.
"H-He was here," Lucinda groaned as pain flared along her back. "T-The man I told you about," her knees buckled, and she pitched forward—only to be caught by Dylan just in time.
"Easy there," he said, steadying her. He glanced toward the hall. "The kitchen door's been flung open. Door knobs are covered in ice. That's probably how he broke in."
Lucinda squinted at him. "Are you sure you didn't let him in?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "And risk getting fired for negligence?" He shook his head. "I'd rather not, thank you very much."
Edgar exhaled deeply and stepped toward the shattered window, peering down into the dark below—where there was nothing but empty night.
Sean had already escaped. Of course he had.
"Since the meteor strike," Edgar said slowly, "I've seen a great many… inexplicable things in this town. But I've never encountered someone with ice abilities."
Lucinda watched him from behind. Even Dylan and the two guards exchanged uncertain glances, curiosity edging into unease.
Edgar turned back to them and gestured sharply at the guards. "You two—alert the others. Conduct a wide search. This incident does not leave the mansion."
"Yes, sir," they replied, heading out immediately.
Edgar's attention returned to Lucinda, his tone softening. "You should stay in the guest room tonight, Miss Bryce. This room is… compromised."
Lucinda glanced around at the frostbitten walls and the missing window, then finally allowed herself to sigh.
Dylan volunteered to help her move a few belongings so they wouldn't be damaged during repairs tomorrow. Jess and Molly joined in, carefully packing her clothes—mostly to help, and partly to ensure her lace underwear didn't grow legs and leap directly into Dylan's line of sight.
Now, Lucinda found herself back in the guest room—the very one she'd woken up in after being unceremoniously teleported into this mess of a life.
She sat on the edge of the bed while Molly wrung out a damp towel, fussing as she gently dabbed at Lucinda's injuries.
"Good heavens," Molly exclaimed, nearly wilting on the spot. "I'm so relieved you weren't hurt more badly." She paused, pressed a hand to her chest, then rallied again. "Honestly, the shock alone nearly finished me."
Jess, for once, was completely composed. She carefully applied cream to Lucinda's scrapes—likely from ice, judging by the sting. Lucinda hadn't even realized she was injured.
"Calm down, Molly," Lucinda chuckled. "It's not like I'm severely injured."
"But you're still injured," Molly protested, raising a trembling finger—whether from age or righteous fury was unclear. "If I had been there, I would've smacked that weirdo's face, tossed him into the air, and round-kicked him straight into the wall."
Jess didn't even look up. "Your bones are already too weak for that, Molly."
"Your mouth is rotten, child," Molly grimaced, shooting her a glare sharp enough to peel paint.
Jess hummed thoughtfully. "Lucy's a bad weed," she dabbed on more cream, entirely unfazed. "And bad weeds don't die easily."
Lucinda slowly turned her head. Molly did the same. Now both of them were glaring at Jess.
Jess finally glanced up, blinked once, and added, utterly sincere, "I meant that as a compliment."
Lucinda grimaced. "I usually question people's quiet personalities. Now I know why you should keep quiet."
Jess didn't respond. She kept dabbing cream on Lucinda's wound, her expression perfectly unreadable—as if the world's criticisms were nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Meanwhile, far from Lex's mansion, Clark stood under the darkened road, surrounded by nothing but cornfields—the faint tracks of Sean he had been following now completely gone.
A groan escaped him as dizziness rolled in. It was getting late. Best to go home first. He made his way to his favorite spot: the loft of their family barn. There, he found Chloe perched on the wooden bench.
"Chloe," Clark greeted, a small smile forming. "What are you doing here this late at night?"
Chloe stood, stretching her arms behind her back as she walked toward him. Her short, spunky hair bounced with every step.
"Well, guess who finally got asked out on a date?" she said with a grin, leaning toward him.
Clark blinked. "Well, since it's not me, and probably not Pete… the only logical answer is you."
Chloe snapped her eyes playfully. "Yes, you're right."
Clark made a face as she turned. "And who's the lucky guy?"
"I can't tell you yet," Chloe replied, heading toward the telescope Clark had suspiciously pointed toward the balcony of Lana's house. "I might jinx it."
Before she could look through it, Clark snatched the scope away and placed it out of reach.
"Oh, please," Chloe teased, giggling. "It's not like I don't know you've been taking peeks at Lana Lang since grade school with that thing. You're so low, you're subterranean."
Clark's cheeks flushed bright red. He stared anywhere but at her. "It's late, Chloe. You mean to tell me you came here just to announce a date?"
"Nope," she said, shrugging. "I actually came to check on Lana. She said someone attacked her. Didn't see the guy clearly, but mentioned he had weird… superpowers. Ice, maybe. I came to interview her, but she's still recovering. And apparently, according to her aunt Nell, you were the one who saved her."
Chloe squinted at him. "So… did you see that man?"
Clark froze. If he admitted it was Sean, there was no doubt Chloe would barge straight into danger to see for herself. He had enough saving people for one day. And his super strength was still on the fritz.
"I… didn't," Clark said smoothly. "He wasn't there when I found Lana unconscious."
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Oh, what a bummer. Where's the inquisition when you need it?"
Clark grinned faintly. "Well, apparently that's not my problem. I'll drive you home."
"I brought my car, Clark," Chloe replied, crossing her arms. "Next time, be more useful in the Torch, okay?"
Clark watched her descend from the loft, a mix of relief and confusion tugging at his chest. Then he looked down at his hand—the very one he had placed on Lucinda's shoulder. His eyes narrowed.
Is this something to do with Lucy?