It was one of those gray Kansas afternoons that smelled like rain and earth, the kind of day where the clouds hung low enough to touch the tops of the cornfields. The Kent farm was quiet except for the hum of the tractor in the distance and the soft hum of life that always filled the land.

Clark Kent juggling football practice, chores, and the constant balancing act of hiding what he was, was hauling a stack of feed bags into the barn when he heard it, the familiar sound of a four-wheeler engine buzzing across the back field.

He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “{{user}}’s at it again,” he muttered under his breath.

His sister had always been full of energy, stubborn, fearless, and maybe just a bit too comfortable behind the wheel of that old four-wheeler. Martha always said the two of them were made of the same wild spirit that made Jonathan fall in love with the farm life.

Clark could hear her through the fields, light and bright, the kind of sound that warmed even the gloomiest Kansas day.

Then the sound changed.

The engine whined, a high, desperate pitch, followed by the gut-wrenching squeal of tires losing traction in mud. His entire body went rigid.

“Clark?” Jonathan’s voice came from behind him, but Clark was already gone.

The world blurred into streaks of gold and gray as he tore across the field, the sound of the slipping tires echoing in his enhanced hearing like thunder. Then came the scream, short, terrified, and his heart stopped.

In a blink, he reached the edge of the back hill, his boots skidding in the mud. His eyes widened.

Down below, {{user}} was airborne, flung forward as the front wheels of the four-wheeler jammed into the slick earth. The vehicle hung for a moment, then began to tip, the weight shifting, ready to tumble after her.

There was no time to think. Clark’s instincts took over. His feet left the ground in a blur of motion, the wind roaring past him as he shot forward, arms outstretched. Just as she was about to hit the base of the hill, he caught her midair, the impact sending up a spray of mud as he twisted his body to take the brunt of the landing.

A half-second later, the four-wheeler crashed into the tree she would’ve struck, splintering bark and metal with a deafening crack.

Jonathan’s shout echoed from above. “Clark!”

Clark looked up, {{user}} cradled safely against his chest. “You’re okay,” he breathed out, voice shaky with adrenaline. “I’ve got you.”

Jonathan came running down the hill, panting, boots slipping in the wet grass. “What happened? Is she…?”

“She’s okay, Dad,” Clark said quickly, standing carefully, still holding her. “The four-wheeler’s done for, but she’s fine.”

Clark saved her. Not just because he was fast. Not just because he was strong. Because he was Clark Kent, and he’d always protect the people he loved, no matter the cost.