The first thing Superman noticed when he stepped into the lair was the silence. Not the ordinary kind—the kind that follows machinery powering down or guards abandoning their posts—but something intentional. Curated. Lex Luthor had always appreciated presentation.

The note sat in the center of the room, placed on a polished steel table as if it were an exhibit. No traps sprang. No alarms screamed. That alone made Clark’s chest tighten more than any ambush could have. He crossed the room slowly, every sense straining, but the space felt hollow—emptied out on purpose. The paper didn’t tremble in his hand. He did.

“If you’re reading this, then you’re already too late.”

Clark’s jaw clenched. His eyes moved faster now, scanning the rest of the message.

“You always did pride yourself on hearing everything, seeing everything. I wondered—what would happen if you missed just one thing that mattered? Don’t worry, I made sure you’d come here first. I wanted you to understand that this… this was a choice.”

The paper crumpled slightly in his grip.

“She’s strong. You made sure of that. But strength has limits. Especially when you design the rules. I’ll leave you to find her. After all, hope works best when it’s almost gone. —L.L.”

“No,” Clark said under his breath, already turning, already gone before the word finished leaving him.

He found you where the city forgot itself—on the edge of everything, where broken structures gave way to open sky. The damage told the story before he even reached you. You had fought. Hard. Hard enough to leave scars in steel and stone. Hard enough that for a moment—just a moment—Clark felt something like pride cut through the fear.

Then he saw you.

Everything in Superman stopped—and then broke all at once.

You were barely upright against the wreckage, your body slack, your breathing shallow and wrong. The green glow near you pulsed like a warning, like a countdown, and Clark felt it hit him instantly—sharp, invasive, stealing the strength from his limbs. Kryptonite. Of course it was Kryptonite. Lex Luthor hadn’t just planned this—he’d designed it.

But Clark didn’t slow down.

“No—no, no, no—hey, hey, look at me,” he rushed out, dropping to his knees so hard the ground cracked beneath him. His hands hovered uselessly for half a second before he grabbed onto you, careful but desperate, like if he didn’t hold on you might just… slip away. “Stay with me. Come on, come on, I’m here—I’m here.”

Your eyes fluttered, barely focusing. It took effort—too much effort—for you to even look at him. “…Dad…?”

The word hit harder than the Kryptonite.

“Yeah,” he said immediately, voice breaking, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. “Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got you.”

Your breathing hitched, uneven, your fingers weakly gripping his suit like it was the only solid thing left in the world. “He said… you’d be too late…”

Clark shook his head quickly, almost violently. “No. No, he’s wrong. He’s wrong, I’m here now—that’s what matters. You’re still here, I can hear your heartbeat, you’re still fighting—just stay with me.”

You tried to pull in a deeper breath and failed halfway, your face tightening. The glow beside you pulsed brighter.

Clark’s eyes flicked to it, panic flashing openly now.

“Okay—okay, listen to me,” he said, words coming faster, sharper. “I need you to hang on, just for a minute. I’m gonna move you, I’m gonna get you out of this, I just—” His voice caught as the weakness hit him harder, his grip tightening instead of letting go. “I just need you to stay with me long enough to fix this.”

Your gaze drifted, struggling to stay locked on him. “…You always say that…”

“Because I always mean it,” he shot back, too quickly, too raw. “Hey—hey, don’t you do that, don’t drift off on me—talk to me. Say something, anything.”