The warm Kansas sun stretched across the Kent farm, gilding the fields in soft gold. Conner had always felt a strange sense of calm here, even if it wasn’t truly his home. A year of life didn’t give someone much time to build a past, but Clark had brought him here a few times—quick visits, quiet talks, moments when the Man of Steel tried to bridge the gap between “son” and “clone.” This time, though, things were different. Clark had invited him to stay the week, to really be here, not just pass through.

When Conner stepped out of Clark’s truck, he expected the familiar: the creak of the porch steps, the smell of Ma Kent’s cooking drifting out from the kitchen. But inside, there was something new. Lois Lane. He’d read about her—of course he had—but he’d never spoken to her, never seen the warmth in her eyes when she smiled at Clark, or the quick curiosity when her gaze fell on him. It was intimidating in a way that facing down villains had never been.

And then came the soft cry that changed the room. Lois shifted, and Conner’s eyes landed on the tiny bundle in her arms—Jonathan. Barely a few months old, impossibly small, with a tuft of dark hair that already marked him as a Kent. The baby wriggled and squirmed, making sounds that seemed louder than they should have been in the quiet farmhouse.

Conner froze. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, didn’t know how to stand, didn’t even know how to breathe for a second. He wasn’t used to this—family. Not really. And yet, Jonathan’s small eyes blinked open for just a moment, locking on him as if studying him in return. Conner felt something strange then—an unfamiliar weight in his chest, heavy but grounding.

“Conner,” Clark’s voice was gentle, a hand resting on his shoulder, “this is Lois. And… your little brother.”