Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

"Stay home, John, and take care of Star-Lord."

After giving John a quick instruction, Peter grabbed his coat and headed out.

John, who had overheard Peter's phone conversation, shrugged and switched the TV to Fox, where An American Werewolf in London was playing.

He didn't care much about Bruce's safety. Watching a werewolf rampage through the streets of London was far more interesting.

Star-Lord, having woken up and come downstairs, scratched his head when he didn't see Peter around. He turned to John, who was engrossed in the television.

"Dad's not home?"

"Dad went to save Bruce. That idiot's being played by some woman," John sneered. "He talks about wanting to travel the world, but I bet he'd get conned out of everything the moment he leaves America."

"Will Dad be in danger?" Star-Lord asked anxiously.

"Don't worry, he'll handle her just fine," John replied confidently.

"Why?"

"Because her name is Katie." John turned to Star-Lord and said with a smirk, "Someone with a name like that can't be dangerous. Katie—it sounds like a harmless little kitten."

After a brief pause, John continued, "Dad always says names are important. They're how people see us. No matter who you are, if you have a ridiculous name, it's like wearing a soggy, dirty dress—it sticks to you."

"No one bothers to look past it. They only see the ugly dress," he added, coughing as he scratched his suddenly itchy nose. He looked at Star-Lord and said:

"Imagine if George Clooney were named Artie Finkelnatz, or if Marie Curie was called... uh, Grimelda Shatterblossom?"

John added with a sly grin, "Honestly, I think 'Star-Lord' isn't much better."

Star-Lord froze. So John's ultimate goal was to mock his name?

"Star-Lord is the name Dad gave me! And it's nothing like a soggy, dirty dress," Star-Lord retorted indignantly.

John, who had long harbored resentment over Peter naming him "Peter Jr.," immediately stood up to argue.

"Sure, it's not like that. But it does sound like a name that talks too much—chatty, rambling."

He mimicked a little puppet with his hand, opening and closing its tiny mouth. "Star-Lord, Star-Lord, Star-Lord. Doesn't it sound childish?"

"Well, I think 'Homelander' isn't much better. It sounds like someone noble, sworn to protect their country, but you're nothing like that!"

John's face darkened at Star-Lord's jab. "That's the nickname Dad gave me."

"And Star-Lord is the nickname Dad gave me. Yours isn't any fancier than mine."

"Shut up, you little shit!" John snapped, annoyed.

But then he realized Peter would scold him for swearing if he found out. John puffed out his cheeks, took a deep breath, and eyed Star-Lord warily.

"You didn't record that just now, did you?"

He knew how sneaky Star-Lord could be—far craftier than Clark, despite being younger.

"Of course I recorded it," Star-Lord replied, holding up a recorder with a smug grin.

"You mocked the name Dad gave me and swore. I think Dad won't be too happy about this."

John's face softened into a charming smile. "Star-Lord, you know we're brothers."

He opened his arms, pretending to go in for a hug. "I love you, bro. We're family—I'll always have your back."

Star-Lord instinctively stepped back.

Where did he learn this act?

Why does it make me feel... uneasy?

...

In the car, Peter was on the phone with Officer Chandler.

"Katie Wisniewski is from Metropolis. Five years ago, her boyfriend suddenly went insane and murdered her parents. She inherited their fortune," Chandler explained.

"Later, she married a CEO, who then disappeared under mysterious circumstances. And there's another case—banking tycoon Horry Hunt was rumored to have dated this beautiful teacher before his death."

Driving and listening attentively, Peter commented, "This sounds exactly like a Black Widow's M.O."

He focused on the pedestrians crossing the street. "If we assume this teacher is the killer, why target the elderly woman at the orphanage?"

"I looked into her as well. She's Katie Wisniewski's aunt. There's some history between them," Chandler replied.

"That explains it—a Black Widow's revenge isn't surprising."

When the light turned green, Peter stepped on the gas. "So why haven't you arrested her yet?"

"We've deployed officers to her school and residence, but there's no sign of her. She's extremely dangerous. The department will issue a wanted notice shortly," Chandler said before hanging up.

Peter furrowed his brows and tried calling Bruce again, but the line didn't connect. Putting his phone away, he exhaled deeply, hoping Bruce would be alright.

Meanwhile, Katie Wisniewski stood in a secluded villa on the outskirts of Smallville.

Dressed in an elegant, figure-hugging gown, she frowned as she examined her reflection in the mirror.

Her fiery red lips exuded a dangerous allure. She reached up, touching a barely noticeable wrinkle near her eye.

Glaring at the wrinkle with disdain, she left the bathroom and walked to the living room, picking a rose from a vase.

She inhaled deeply, savoring its fragrance. As she did, the rose visibly withered, its life drained in seconds.

Her wrinkle vanished just as quickly.

She placed the withered rose back in the vase and headed to her room.

Inside, Bruce sat uneasily, having been summoned here by Katie.

She had taken his phone and told him to wait for a surprise.

The door creaked open, and Katie entered with a smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Bruce."

"No, actually, it hasn't been too long," Bruce stammered, shifting uncomfortably as her scent filled the air.

Pointing to an old portrait on the wall, he asked, "Who's that?"

"That?" Katie glanced at the black-and-white photograph of a woman in 18th-century attire.

"She's my ancestor, Elizabeth Parris."

Bruce felt a chill as he studied the smiling young woman in the picture. There was something ominous about her.

"She's beautiful, isn't she? Unfortunately, her life ended during her prime, back when witch hunts were rampant. The church cast a wide net, and women like her got caught in it."

"My ancestor, Elizabeth Parris, was one of the witches burned at the stake," Katie said with a tinge of bitterness before shifting her focus back to Bruce.

"But that's ancient history. Let's talk about the present, Bruce."

She perched on his lap, wrapping her arms around him. "Do you know what Peter Podrick did to me last night?"

"Mr. Podrick?" Bruce asked in shock.

"Yes. Last night in the barn, he tried to assault me. If I hadn't resisted, he would've succeeded," Katie said, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.

Bruce's first instinct was disbelief. Peter, who he saw as a father figure, could never do such a thing.

"No, that's impossible. Mr. Podrick wouldn't do that," Bruce said firmly.

"You don't know him as well as you think," Katie whispered, blowing a misty breath into Bruce's face and murmuring an incantation.

"Now, you must believe me," she said softly.

Bruce's eyes turned glassy. He looked at Katie and nodded. "Yes, I believe you."

"Good. Now, there's a gun in the drawer. Take it out," Katie commanded.

Moving like a puppet, Bruce retrieved the gun.

Katie handed him her phone, satisfied. "Peter Podrick is calling. Tell him you're here."

...

Join patreon if you want. patreon.com/GreekGreenGlass