Union.
The Kryptonian word for marriage.
Clark’s arm goes rigid against Zara’s. He still possesses his powers. His cells are still gorged on the radiation of a gentler sun than theirs. He could, he knows, tear himself from Zara’s weaker hold. Could walk away from their useless plucking at his limbs. Could rip the bulkheads apart and flee this ship in an ebony and blue blur.
He could, he thinks with his heart rushing loud in his inner ear, still change his mind.
Go back. Back to Earth with its golden prairies and azure seas and proud cities.
Back to his parents and his friends and the only life he’s ever wanted.
Back to Lois.
