Chapter Text
The wind moved like a living thing across the prairie.
It whispered through tall golden grass, bent it low, then let it rise again in long, shimmering waves that stretched as far as the eye could see. The sky above was an endless blue dome, unbroken but for a few drifting clouds that looked too soft to belong to such a harsh land.
Kara Danvers stood at the edge of her field, one hand resting against the worn wood of a fence post, the other loosely holding a length of rope she hadn't realized she'd stopped coiling. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, but not really seeing it.
She was listening.
Not with her ears—not exactly. It was something deeper, something she had learned long ago to ignore unless she needed it. The land had a rhythm. A pulse. The cattle lowing in the distance, the creak of the barn, the faint flutter of wings miles away. She could hear it all if she let herself.
So she didn't.
Not anymore.
Instead, she blinked and forced herself back into the present, squinting slightly as the sun dipped lower in the sky. There was work to be done before nightfall.
"Kara!"
The shout came from behind her, sharp and familiar.
She turned, already smiling. "I heard you the first time," she called back.
Alex Danvers was striding toward her, boots kicking up dust with every step, dark hair pulled back tight and practical. She carried herself like someone who trusted nothing she couldn't fight—and even then, she preferred to strike first.
"You didn't answer," Alex said, stopping beside her and crossing her arms.
"I was thinking."
"That's dangerous."
Kara laughed softly. "So I've been told."
Alex glanced toward the fields, then back at Kara. "You finish fixing the fence line?"
"Almost. Just need to reinforce the south corner."
Alex nodded once. "Good. Storm's coming in tomorrow. Last thing we need is the cattle wandering off."
Kara followed her gaze. The sky was still clear, but she could feel it—the shift in the air, the pressure building far beyond the horizon.
"Yeah," she murmured. "I know."
Alex gave her a look. A knowing one.
Kara quickly looked away.
There were things she never said out loud. Not even to Alex.
Not anymore.
The town of Grayridge sat a few miles east, small and stubborn against the vastness of the land. A handful of buildings lined the main road—saloon, general store, church, and the largest structure of all: Luthor Spirits.
You could smell it before you saw it.
Sharp, sweet, and burning all at once—the scent of distilled liquor drifting through the air like a promise or a warning, depending on who you asked.
Kara didn't come into town often.
But when she did, she noticed everything.
The way conversations hushed just slightly when she walked in. The way people watched her—not with fear, not exactly, but something close to it. Unease, maybe. Suspicion wrapped in polite smiles.
She kept her head down, did what she needed to do, and left.
That was the rule.
That was how she stayed safe.
It was late afternoon when Kara finally made her way into town that day, a sack of supplies slung over her shoulder. The streets were busier than usual—wagons creaking, horses tied along the posts, voices carrying on the warm air.
And then she saw her.
Lena Luthor stood just outside the distillery, sunlight catching in her dark hair like ink turning to fire. She was dressed far finer than anyone else in Grayridge—deep green skirt, crisp white blouse, gloves she didn't bother wearing but carried instead.
She looked like she belonged somewhere else.
Somewhere bigger.
Better.
But she was here.
And she was looking straight at Kara.
Kara's breath caught—just for a second—before she forced herself to keep walking.
Don't stare.
Don't linger.
Don't give them a reason.
But Lena stepped forward.
"Kara."
Her voice was smooth, controlled—and somehow warmer than it had any right to be.
Kara stopped.
Of course she did.
"Miss Luthor," Kara said, dipping her head slightly out of habit more than respect.
Lena smiled faintly. "You don't have to do that."
"It's polite."
"It's unnecessary."
Kara shrugged. "Most polite things are."
That earned her a small laugh.
God, Kara liked that sound.
"I was hoping I might see you today," Lena said.
Kara shifted her weight, suddenly aware of the dust on her boots, the sweat on her shirt. "Were you?"
"Yes." Lena stepped closer—just enough to lower her voice. "You never came by yesterday."
Kara hesitated.
"I was busy."
"You're always busy."
"That's what happens when you run a ranch."
"And yet," Lena said softly, "you always find time for me."
Kara looked at her then. Really looked.
There was something in Lena's expression—something quiet, something searching.
Dangerous.
"You shouldn't be talking to me like this," Kara said under her breath.
"And why not?"
"You know why."
Lena's jaw tightened, just slightly. "My father isn't here."
"That's not the point."
"It's always the point with you," Lena snapped, then immediately softened. "Kara..."
Kara looked away again.
The truth was simple.
Lena Luthor was everything Kara wasn't.
Refined. Educated. Powerful in ways that didn't require strength or speed or secrets buried deep beneath the surface.
And her father—
Well.
Everyone knew where Lionel Luthor stood.
"People are watching," Kara murmured.
"Let them."
Kara shook her head. "You say that now."
"I always say that."
"And one day it's going to matter."
Lena studied her for a long moment.
"Does it matter to you?" she asked quietly.
Kara's heart skipped.
"Yes," she said, too quickly.
Lena didn't look convinced.
They stood there longer than they should have.
Too close. Too obvious.
Kara could feel it—the weight of eyes on them, the shift in the air as curiosity turned into something sharper.
She stepped back.
"I should go."
Lena's expression flickered—just for a second—but she nodded.
"Of course."
Kara adjusted the sack on her shoulder. "I'll... see you around."
Lena hesitated. "Kara—"
But Kara was already turning away.
Walking.
Not running.
Never running.
She didn't stop until she was well outside town.
Didn't slow until the buildings disappeared behind her and the open land stretched wide once more.
Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
This was how it had to be.
Careful. Quiet. Controlled.
Because if people knew—
If they even suspected—
Everything would change.
And not just because of Lena.
Kara looked down at her hands.
They looked normal.
They always did.
But she knew what they could do.
What she could do.
And in a place like Grayridge, that kind of power didn't make you special.
It made you something else entirely.
Something to fear.
Something to burn.
Kara clenched her fists, then forced them open again.
No.
She wouldn't let that happen.
She wouldn't give them a reason.
Even if it meant keeping her distance.
Even if it meant pretending she didn't feel what she felt every time Lena looked at her like that.
Even if it meant breaking her own heart before anyone else had the chance to.
The wind picked up again, stronger this time, carrying the promise of the storm to come.
Kara lifted her gaze to the horizon.
Something was changing.
She could feel it.
And for the first time in a long while—
She was afraid it had nothing to do with the weather.