The television was still on in the background, replaying the same grainy footage from the hearing. Smoke curling through shattered marble columns. People screaming. The news anchor’s voice trembling as the death toll climbed with every update.

You had been there—close enough to feel the shockwave, close enough to hear the roar of the blast and the ringing silence that followed. You could still smell the smoke on your clothes. Still feel the way the ground shook beneath your feet. One second, the world was demanding answers from Superman. The next, everything was smoke and flames and chaos.

Clark hadn’t answered his phone since. Not the first call. Not the tenth. Not even the message you left minutes ago with a voice breaking harder than you’d admit out loud. Each unanswered ring only tightened the coil of dread in your chest. You paced the length of your apartment, barefoot on cool hardwood, phone clutched tight as if squeezing it hard enough might summon him. The city outside your window glowed dim under the night, Metropolis alive but still grieving.

The blast had killed so many. Senator Finch. Reporters. Families who just wanted to witness history. You had been on the steps, watching the courthouse doors, waiting for him to walk out when instead everything came apart in fire and screams. You couldn’t stop seeing it. You couldn’t stop wondering if he was somewhere in that rubble—hurt, or worse. Or maybe if he was blaming himself in the way only he could. You just knew he was gone, and the thought of losing him hollowed you out.

You tried again, thumb trembling as you pressed call. It rang once, twice, then slipped to voicemail. “Clark, please. I need to know you’re okay. Just—just call me back. Please.” Your voice cracked, the words falling into the heavy silence of your apartment when you finally set the phone down on the table, fighting the urge to throw it.

Then you felt it. A shift in the air. The faintest hum against the glass. You turned—and there he was. Standing on the balcony, the cape catching the faint city light, shoulders heavy in a way you hadn’t seen before. His face was carved with something beyond exhaustion. Beyond grief.

Your chest caved with relief and fear all at once. You rushed to the balcony, sliding the door open, stepping out into the night air just to be close enough to touch him, to know he was real. His eyes lifted to meet yours, guilt swimming in their depths.

“I couldn’t save them.”