The yellow school bus groaned as it pulled onto the soft shoulder of the forest road, its brakes hissing like a tired beast. Beyond the rusted perimeter fence of the Smallville Hydroelectric Plant, the woods were thick with damp moss and the skeletal remains of autumn leaves. The air hummed with a low-frequency thrum from the high-tension power lines overhead, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of Jeremy's bones.
Inside, the students were scrambling to gather their rock hammers and collection bags under the watchful, somewhat overbearing eye of Mr. Summers.
…
Jeremy sat by the window, his expression a mask of detached calm. Beside him, Chloe Sullivan was already thumbing through a geological field guide, though her eyes kept darting toward the looming concrete walls of the power plant in the distance.
"Geology. The study of things that don't talk back," Chloe sighed, shoving a stray blonde hair behind her ear. "Though in this town, even the rocks have a habit of screaming. I'm betting at least thirty percent of the samples we find today are 'Smallville Specials'—hot, green, and highly mutagenic."
Lana Lang leaned across the aisle, her jacket zipped tight against the woods' chill. "Is that why you brought the lead-lined bag, Chloe? Or are you just hoping to find a diamond in the rough?"
"I'm hoping to find a story," Chloe countered, glancing back toward the rear of the bus. "Speaking of stories... Clark looks like he's trying to merge with the upholstery. He hasn't said a word since we left the parking lot."
Jeremy turned his head slowly, his gaze shifting to Clark five rows back. The boy was staring at his own boots, his shoulders slumped in a practiced, heavy posture. He was taking the "Static" advice to heart—trying to be a ghost in a room full of teenagers.
Right next to Clark sat Eric Summers, looking equally miserable. His father, Mr. Summers, was currently standing at the front of the bus, checking a clipboard with military precision.
"He's just keeping a low profile, Chloe," Jeremy said, his voice a smooth, grounding hum. "After the scene at the gym yesterday, being 'the rock guy' is a lot safer than being 'the football guy.' Sometimes the most interesting things are the ones that don't want to be noticed."
Lana looked at Jeremy, her brow furrowing with a quiet concern. "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately, Jeremy. You're starting to sound like him. All riddles and shadows."
"Maybe I just appreciate the value of a good disguise," Jeremy replied, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. He shifted his weight, feeling the Refined Shard in his pocket pulse in sympathy with the massive electrical discharge from the nearby plant.
"Alright, listen up!" Mr. Summers barked, his voice cutting through the chatter. He looked at his son, Eric, with a pointed, disappointing glare before addressing the class. "We're looking for igneous formations along the ridge. Stay away from the transformer fences and keep your goggles on. Eric, try not to lose your kit this time."
Eric shrunk into his seat, his face flushing a deep red. Clark offered him a small, sympathetic shrug, but Eric just looked away, gripped by the suffocating pressure of his father's expectations.
…
As the students filed out into the biting air, Jeremy hung back for a moment, letting the crowd surge forward. He watched Clark stumble slightly as he stepped off the bus—a forced, clumsy movement that looked almost convincing to the untrained eye.
"Nice touch," Jeremy whispered as he passed him, his voice barely audible over the wind.
Clark didn't look up, but his jaw tightened. "It's harder than it looks, Jeremy. I feel like I'm wearing a suit that's three sizes too small."
"Better a tight suit than a glass cage," Jeremy noted. He looked up at the high-tension wires stretching over the treeline toward the ridge. Gray, heavy clouds were rolling in, and the air was beginning to taste like ozone.
Mr. Summers was already herding the group toward the rocky outcrop near the plant's secondary fence, shouting directions at Eric to keep up.
"Come on, boys!" Chloe shouted, waving a rock hammer. "The 'Wall of Weird' needs a new centerpiece, and I have a feeling the ridge is hiding something spectacular."
Jeremy felt a sudden, sharp spike of energy from the Shard. The hydroelectric plant was surging, and the atmospheric pressure was dropping. It was the exact recipe for a freak discharge—the kind of event that turned a normal field trip into a nightmare.
"Be careful what you dig up, Chloe," Jeremy murmured, his eyes glowing with a faint, predatory green. "Sometimes when you go looking for a spark, you end up catching the lightning."