Lex did not make mistakes like this.

He didn’t miscalculate. He didn’t overlook details. And when he removed a problem—

It stayed removed.

Which was why the sight in his office stopped him cold.

Not visibly. Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But internally—

Everything paused.

She was sitting in his chair.

His chair.

Feet crossed. Comfortable. Like she belonged there. Like she had every right to exist in a space he controlled down to the smallest variable.

Lex closed the door behind him with quiet precision.

“…No,” he said.

Not loud.

Not panicked.

Just… corrective.

His gaze sharpened, locking onto her like he was trying to reconcile reality with the information he had already verified.

“You were dealt with,” he continued. “Confirmed. Clean. Final.”

A pause.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like approaching something that should not exist.

“And yet,” Lex said quietly, “you’re sitting in my office.”

Another step.

Now close enough to see the details. Breathing. Stillness. Real.

Not a hallucination.

Not a mistake of identity.

A failure.

His failure.

Lex tilted his head slightly, something almost like interest flickering beneath the irritation.

“…Explain,” he said.