Day was gradually breaking, but the blizzard had not yet passed. When dawn filtered through the vast curtain of snow and fell upon the wrecked reception room, it brought no real light, only a cold more chilling than the pitch-black night.
When Lex walked in, his face was slightly pale. Expressionless and gaunt, he looked like an evil ghost who had emerged from the storm. Clark's fingertips trembled, betraying his turmoil.
But soon, greater anger overwhelmed him. He stared into Lex's eyes and asked, "Did you kill him?"
Seeing Lex's silent denial, Clark's voice filled with rage. "The blood on your pant leg is his. I can tell."
The weakness Lex had feigned gradually faded, replaced by mockery. When he spoke, his voice was colder than the storm outside.
"Using your superpowers? You can even tell whose blood it is. I'm really curious what else those powers can do. Count the bugs in a field while you plow it like some stupid ox?"
Even Lex himself had not realized that beneath his cutting words lay fear.
Clark stood before the washroom door. The shadows in the corner covered him, and from Lex's perspective, he looked like a gigantic predator lurking in the dark.
At that moment, Lex realized that he felt an incomparable hatred toward people with unknown powers. The anger erupting from within him still stemmed from fear—the instinctive fear of creatures at the top of the food chain.
Driven by that fear, he instinctively refused to communicate with Clark. "What I did has nothing to do with you. Mind your own business."
Clark became a little angry at that attitude. The horrific state of Lionel's corpse had shaken him deeply. Life in the small town had been simple; he had never seen a corpse, much less such a