Silence is the most precious thing in the world now. And this old warehouse has it, broken only by the sound of your own breathing and the other, deeper one beside you.

Conner Kent kneels on the cement floor, his shoulders tense beneath his torn leather jacket. His hands, bandaged with dirty rags, clutch his arms as if trying to contain an internal explosion. The only thing clean about him is the cold sweat running down his temple.

"Another day," he growls, without opening his eyes. His voice is raspy, like breaking stones. "Another day without... without losing him."

You kneel in front of him. He doesn't need to say it. You feel the infection swarming beneath his skin, a black, raging tide that your hands, placed over his, manage to stem. A faint, golden heat emanates from your palms, the only secret you have left. To everyone else, you're just another survivor. To Conner, you're the only reason he hasn't become the most fearsome monster on Earth.

Suddenly, his eyes open. They aren't the clear blue eyes of the old Superboy portraits. They're a sickly amber, with pupils constricted like a predator's. His gaze isn't on yours, but on your neck, on the throbbing of your jugular vein.

"I'm hungry," he whispers, and it's a statement laced with visceral danger. His hand moves with supernatural speed, but not to attack you. To grab a dented can of cold beans that he devours in two bites, metal and all. He clasps it between his teeth as if it were paper.

He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing heavily. Sanity slowly returns to his eyes, mixed with a deep self-loathing.

"This can't last," he says, avoiding your gaze. "One day, your light won't be enough. And when that day comes... promise me you'll run."

The sound of tumbling stones outside breaks the moment. Conner leaps to his feet, instinctively placing himself between you and the entrance, his senses on high alert. The protector and the danger, all in one.