Chapter Text
The alarm clock buzzed insistently at 6:00 a.m., but Alura had already been awake long before. She lay staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, hands folded over her stomach, feeling the weight of another "first day" pressing against her chest.
She turned her head toward the nightstand. The pair of black-rimmed glasses waited there, glinting in the weak light. She slipped them on and studied her reflection in the mirror across the room.
The disguise worked — or so Clark always said — but she couldn't help thinking it felt flimsy. Her freckles still dotted her cheeks and nose, faint but visible. Her bright blue eyes, no matter how she tried to hide them behind thick lenses, always seemed too striking, too sharp, too Kryptonian. She gathered her brown hair into a ponytail, tugging it tight, though the streaks of pink she had dyed months ago peeked rebelliously through. At five-foot-four, she looked unassuming — average, even — the same height as most of the girls her age. Just another teenager.
Except she wasn't.
Alura exhaled, the sound shaky in the quiet of the room. "Normal," she whispered to herself, as if saying it out loud might make it true. "Normal, ordinary, invisible."
The scent of frying bacon drifted upstairs, warm and comforting. It tugged her away from her reflection. She grabbed her backpack, worn but clean, and headed downstairs.
The Kent farmhouse kitchen glowed with the soft golden light of sunrise spilling through the lace curtains. Martha Kent stood at the stove, wearing her usual faded apron, humming to herself as she flipped pancakes. Jonathan Kent sat at the table with his newspaper folded open, spectacles balanced on the edge of his nose. Eliza Danvers leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee, already dressed for her day at the medical clinic.
"Morning, sweetheart," Martha said, turning with a smile that was as steady as the rising sun. She set a plate stacked high with pancakes onto the table. "Eat something before you go. First days take energy."
Alura slid into her usual chair, pushing her glasses up again. "Do I have to?"
"Yes," Jonathan said without looking up from his paper. His voice carried that firm but affectionate tone that always left little room for argument. "First day of high school is not the time to start skipping meals. Trust me, you'll want your strength."
Alura stabbed a piece of pancake with her fork but didn't eat it right away. "Strength isn't really the problem."
That drew Jonathan's attention. He lowered the paper and fixed her with the same look he used on Clark years ago when he had been struggling with his own secrets. "Then what is?"
Eliza crossed the room, setting her coffee down on the table as she sat beside Alura. "She's worried about standing out," she said gently. Her hand brushed a strand of pink hair back behind Alura's ear. "New school, new people. And when you're trying this hard to look ordinary, every glance feels like it might give you away."
Alura pulled away, embarrassed. "I just... I don't know how to be someone else all the time."
"You don't have to be someone else," Martha said firmly, flipping another pancake onto the stack. "You just have to be careful."
"Careful," Alura echoed, a little bitterly. "That's all I ever hear. Careful. Don't show your strength. Don't run too fast. Don't let anyone see you. Careful, careful, careful."
Jonathan folded his paper fully now and leaned across the table. His eyes softened, but his voice stayed steady. "Alura, being careful doesn't mean hiding who you are forever. It means giving yourself time. Time to grow into the kind of person who can carry all of this."
"And in the meantime?" she asked quietly.
Eliza reached for her hand, squeezing it. "In the meantime, you survive high school. One class, one day, one friendship at a time."
Alura swallowed hard, looking down at her plate. She wanted to believe them. She wanted to believe she could keep this all under control — the powers, the secrets, the lies. But even now, the world outside seemed too loud, too bright, too fragile for someone like her to step into without shattering it.
Martha set a glass of orange juice in front of her and cupped Alura's chin for a brief moment. "You'll be fine," she said softly. "You always are."
Alura forced a small smile and took a sip, though her stomach churned too much for hunger.
She finished breakfast quickly, grabbed her backpack, and stepped outside into the crisp Ohio morning. The old Kent truck sat in the driveway, dented but sturdy, a relic of another life. She slid into the driver's seat and glanced at herself once more in the rearview mirror.
Glasses. Ponytail. Hoodie zipped up to the chin. Just another small-town girl.
But the reflection staring back at her wasn't just a girl. She was Alura Zor-El. Cousin to Superman. Cousin to Supergirl. A Kryptonian hiding in plain sight.
And today, she was supposed to pretend she was ordinary.
She turned the key, and the engine growled awake.