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Chapter Text

Night was always beautiful in Paris. The exceptional kind of beauty—the kind that hurt the longer one looked. But it was always worth looking at, worth staying a few moments longer. Especially when Ladybug was with him. 

It had been several minutes since either of them had spoken, with only the booming bursts of fireworks and the sound of music echoing through the streets to fill the silence. Chat Noir glanced her way every now and then, if only just to make sure she was still there. But Ladybug stayed still and pensive on the roof beside him, her feet dangling over the edge, the breeze lifting stray locks of her hair around her shoulders. 

They were supposed to be watching the parade—at least, that was what he’d suggested when he’d messaged her with hopes of getting a moment alone. Yet Chat Noir couldn’t help the nagging voice at the back of his mind that told him she wasn’t really seeing it at all. 

“You’ve been so quiet tonight,” she said suddenly.

He blinked, almost wondering if he’d imagined her voice, only for her to angle her face his way. Her eyes slid to his, a small smile on her lips, and he realized she was expecting an answer. 

With a shrug, he glanced aside, finding no more comfort in the spectacle than in Ladybug’s gaze. The fireworks were unceasing, throwing showers of color over the floats and marching bands carving through le premier. It had been going on for a while now, but the crowds were tireless, their cheers and chants rising to the starless sky as they waved flags of red and black and green above the sea of heads.

Chat Noir had never seen anything like it. Not on the last Heroes Day, not on Bastille Day, not even when France had won the World Cup. There would never be a celebration like this again, because there would never be a Monarque again. This was what rejoicing was; a flood of ceaseless color, music, and light. And yet it was so far outside himself—like watching a special on a screen. 

“Chaton?” came her voice again, barely audible over the thundering fireworks. 

“I’m just not really in the mood to celebrate,” he said lightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the streets, where a group of marchers raised up a white banner printed with a familiar gray “G.”

“Why not?” asked Ladybug. “He’s finally gone. It’s over.”

The weight of her voice pulled his gaze up. She was angled toward him, hands in her lap, posture all but relaxed as she stared out over the city. When she noticed him looking, the corners of her mouth turned up, but her smile was hollow. 

It seemed he wasn’t the only one not in a celebratory mood. 

“What about you, then?” Chat asked, turning more fully toward her. “One of us should probably make an appearance.” And who better than the one who’d been there for every part of it?

Ladybug’s eyes met his. A firework erupted behind her in a burst of blue, dousing her with light as the sparks descended. In that moment, she was just as out of reach as she’d always been. Yet he felt that if he got too close, he would burn out like the flares as they fell. 

“I shouldn’t,” she said quietly, turning her face away. “Besides, I’m not really in a party mood… there’s still Guardian stuff to do.”

He studied her gaze, fixed on something unseen in the distance. Though he’d long grown accustomed to the way his heart tugged harder toward her the further away she went, this time the pang ground deeper in his chest.

“Right, of course,” Chat Noir said, turning away too. “You took Monarque down.” You and Gabriel Agreste, he couldn’t help thinking. “I’m sure you have a lot to talk to Nooroo about. And Su Han. And the team.” 

What a talk that would be, when Chat Noir would receive the play-by-play alongside all the other Holders. There was no point being angry about it. Not when Gabriel was gone, when Ladybug wore her victory like a shroud, when there was still so much work to do. Chat Noir didn’t know how to be angry without destroying anything—and so much had already been destroyed. 

“And you have to find a new butterfly holder too, right?” he asked, turning to Ladybug as the thought occurred to him. “Who are you thinking?” 

Marinette’s face blazed in his mind, bright as the blur of phone screens and sparklers and city lights gilding the streets with gold. The hope of it felt dangerous, yet it rushed through his veins with rapid urgency. She would complete the team, just as she had completed him. And then he could tell her, and burn away all secrets, like she deserved. Like they both deserved.

“I’m still looking,” Ladybug murmured. 

Chat regarded her a moment longer, only looking down to watch her play with her hands in her lap. She was still anxious—nervous, even. That he could understand; finding a new holder for the miraculous Monarque had used to terrorize the city for years was as large a task as it was a burden. She had to make sure the brooch went to the right person. She had to make sure they would be willing. 

He would ask Marinette, if Ladybug was willing. They could even go to her together. But not tonight—not when Marinette was out celebrating with her family, enjoying a newly saved city. If Ladybug could wait, Chat Noir could too.

“Let me know if you need help,” he said, pulling her gaze back to him. “I’ll always be here for you, my lady. At least, when I can.”

He should have been there when it mattered—should have fought harder to stay with her in Paris. Maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe Gabriel would still be here. Maybe Chat Noir would not. And maybe he would still fail to miss his father as much as he was supposed to. Maybe he would not.

Maybe it all just hadn’t sunk in. 

He found Ladybug studying him, the same searching look on her face as with which she would puzzle over a Lucky Charm. Chat Noir looked back at her curiously, only for her brow to furrow in response. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head. 

“Nothing,” he said after a moment, offering her his best smile. It had long stopped working on several people—Nathalie, Plagg, Kagami, Marinette. He hadn’t thought it would fail Ladybug’s test when it had so often passed before. Maybe he was just getting worse at hiding things. 

Her hand slid over his, her fingers pressing into the spaces between his own. Chat Noir looked down at their hands, imagining what it would be like to feel her bare skin on his. His heart gave a weary turn within his ribs as all the warmth from the look she gave him dissolved into some hollow gap within him. She seemed to realize it too, as their gazes met; some things, like bad faith and battered hearts, not even she could cure. 

“Is it…?” She inclined her head toward the parade, still marching strong through the city, the sound of drumbeats and drunken song rattling through the darkness. “You can tell me, chaton. We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“No,” he said, the word stuck in his throat. “No, it’s…”

It was his father, lost, the last memory Adrien had of him being his cold face as he shut the door to the white room. It was the feeling that he should finally be able to focus on the good Gabriel had done for the world—not that Ladybug and Monarque had gotten his last moments instead of Adrien, that whatever they’d done had left him dead, that Chat Noir still wasn’t sure he would have done anything to change it if he’d been there. 

He sighed, tipping his head back, his gaze flitting between the distant satellites masquerading as stars. “Two people are gone, you know? It just doesn’t seem right to celebrate.”

Ladybug hummed her assent, her eyes fixed on the side of his face. “Even if one of them was a villain?” she asked, her voice hesitant, unsure. “Even if he was evil?”

Chat gripped the edge of the roof, the chill of the night seeping through the material of his suit and stealing into his bones.

“What if someone out there was waiting for him to make things right?” The words slipped from his mouth, quick and staggered, and he found it suddenly hard to breathe even with the breeze swelling around them. “What if they were thinking he’d come back, that they’d at least get to talk to him again, that they didn’t know whether he would change one day, but at least they would get to see him. Just one last time. And now—” His voice broke suddenly, his eyes and throat burning with smoke from the fireworks. “And now they’ll never get the chance.”

The warmth of her hand pressed more firmly over his, then against his arm and leg too as she slid up against him. Her gaze burned into him, unwavering, but he couldn’t look at her yet—not when he knew he might break at any moment. 

“Chat,” Ladybug said, her voice coated with worry. “Did something happen?”

He could tell her, now. He had come here to tell her, to show her his face after three years of partnership, to let her see why so much was suddenly wrong. If only he knew what she would say when he pulled off his mask. If only he knew whether she would stay or go.

“I could tell you,” he ventured, turning to look directly at her. “But… it’s easier if I show you.”

He saw the moment she realized; the way her blue eyes widened, her pink lips parting in a tiny “o.” They stared at each other, unmoving, the sounds of the parade fading into the night. 

A single firework burst overhead, shattering the standstill. Red blazed over her face, the fall of sparks raining down behind her. Then her features pinched, and in that moment, every hidden place within him was painted red too. 

“Oh, Chat Noir,” Ladybug whispered, her expression growing more pained by the second. “I… I don’t know.”

“Why not?” he pressed, though every word hurt to speak. Still, he pivoted to face her fully, and though he missed her warmth against his side, he plowed on. “I’ve been thinking about it, ever since the day you defeated him. Monarque’s gone, my lady. No one’s going to come after our miraculous now.” 

She bit her lip, guilt twisting her entire expression. With a pang, he sat back, widening the distance between them. The air was smothered by bitter fumes, and he wondered vaguely whether the city had tired of the fireworks now or not. 

“Please?” he asked, dipping his gaze to avoid hers. “You know I’ve always been scared to lose you, my lady. But now… I don’t have to be.”

She gave a shaky exhale, pulling his gaze back to her. “Well,” she began, giving a shaky smile as she fiddled with the loop of her yo-yo string. “Um—”

A spark burst within her ear lobe, making them both flinch. Ladybug gasped and clapped a hand to her ear, but something small and red was already zipping across his field of vision, faster than the hand he reached out to grab it. Chat Noir twisted into a crouch, planting one foot on the roof tiles, ready to follow the object’s trajectory in a sprint until he watched it fly into an awaiting hand. 

He straightened to face the white-suited woman who stood there, arms and legs encased in black gloves and boots, her long dark hair flowing down her back, the electric trace of a butterfly mask hovering before her eyes. 

Shock ripped through Chat Noir’s veins as she smiled, her grin cutting a cruel gash across her pale face. A rosy light shone from within her closed fist, radiating like dawn for a split second before going dark. When she opened her hand, Ladybug’s earring had vanished. 

“You were right, Chrysalis,” said the woman, her gaze still pinned on Chat Noir. “That was easy.”

“Chrysalis?” Chat asked, turning his baton in his hands as he lowered into a defensive crouch. “But I thought…” 

Ladybug’s countdown timer sounded from behind. A half-glance back was enough he needed to see patches of her transformation peeling away from her suit. She stumbled back, arms extended before her, watching with wide-eyed horror as the material of her suit gave way to bare skin and the edge of her mask began to disintegrate from her face. 

She met his gaze, her own flooded with panic. Still, she detached her yo-yo from her hip, pulling it into a spin as she lowered into a bent-knee stance behind him. Chat Noir watched her, throat dry, and only looked away when her stare began to burn. 

“I thought you said you had the butterfly miraculous,” he managed, stepping in front of Ladybug to face the akuma. 

Ladybug didn’t answer. The woman laughed, the sound eerie as she threw her head back toward the inky expanse. 

“Come now, chaton,” she said, shaking her loose hair over her shoulder. “When are you going to stop being surprised by her lies?”

She leapt forward with the speed of a viper strike, a blur of black and white. Chat Noir readied his baton, but the woman lunged up instead of at him. 

He followed her movement, his jaw dropping as she rose into the air, spreading her arms wide. Her sleeves extended from her suit like wings, the material an iridescent blue that caught the city light as it spread. She hovered there like an exotic bird, the wind ruffling what looked like feathers covering her cape. A black brooch in the shape of a bird rested in the center of her chest, glinting with the light of the fireworks.

“I am Magpie,” she announced, flashing them the same, sickening grin as before. “And you have something I want.”

She rushed forward, aiming for him like a bullet. Chat Noir readied his baton, poised to swing as Magpie approached, only for her to shoot straight past him, locked in a collision course with Ladybug. 

The moment’s hesitation nearly cost him. But he swung hard, striking Magpie at an awkward angle beneath her outstretched arm. It was enough to disrupt her trajectory; she dropped awkwardly out of the air, landing unsteadily on her heeled boots, her long hair billowing in the night wind like the layers of her feathery cape. 

Magpie rounded on him, expression twisted with disdain. But then she was turning on her heel, pivoting to face Ladybug, hands outstretched as though to block a blinding light. On the other side of the roof, Ladybug looked up and met his gaze.

Realization strummed between them at the precise same moment. Whoever this akuma was, Chat Noir wasn’t her target. And whoever Chrysalis was, they seemed interested only in Ladybug.

“Did you really think it was over, Ladybug?” Magpie called, the butterfly mask glowing bright against her face. “Did you think Monarque was the worst it could get?” She made a pulling motion with her arms, and Ladybug’s yo-yo followed, straightening out of its spin and reaching for Magpie as though toward a magnet. 

Ladybug backed away, one hand still clasped firmly to her ear. Her timer sounded faster as her yo-yo began to disintegrate, more patches of suit vanishing in cinders of radiant light, exposing the skin and fabric beneath. Ladybug’s eyes flitted between Magpie and Chat Noir, and she turned part of her exposed face away, her features set with panic. 

He turned away too, pretending he hadn’t seen. Pretending that even with half the quantum masking gone, she wasn’t as familiar as an old, childhood song. But maybe that was just the mixture of fear and exhaustion in her expression. Or maybe just wishful thinking. 

Magpie giggled, pulling her arms back like she was hauling rope. With just one hand holding the yo-yo string, Ladybug’s grip gave out. The yo-yo sailed into Magpie’s open hand, where it too vanished in a blaze of pink.

She straightened proudly, aiming a wild grin at a now disarmed Ladybug, and gestured behind her to where Chat Noir stood. “Did you think he wouldn’t find out?”

He took his chance, tossing his baton into the back of Magpie’s outstretched hand. It bounced off her wrist bone with a crack, buying him a moment to shout, “Go detransform!”

Ladybug wasted no time, scrambling toward one of the smokestacks at the far end of the roof. Chat Noir dove for his baton, his fingertips just scraping the metal before it was pulled away, tugged by an invisible string into Magpie’s hand, where it too vanished in a burst of green light. 

He looked up to see Magpie approaching, his heart in his throat. The butterfly mask glowed against her skin, casting angled shadows over her features. As the light of Ladybug’s detransformation washed over the rooftop, Chat pushed himself to his feet and tackled Magpie to the gabled tiles in a single bound. 

He raised his fist, readying for a Cataclysm. 

Then she lifted her hands in surrender. “We should talk, Chat Noir.”

He hesitated, curling his right hand into a fist, giving her no opportunity to pull the ring from his finger with what seemed to be some kind of telekinetic power. But Magpie only looked serenely back at him, her face cast with the violet light of the akuma mask. 

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” he told her, peering into the mask, knowing full well the new butterfly holder could hear. 

Magpie tilted her head, her grin widening. “Not even the truth?”

His miraculous began to slide up the base of his finger, the prickle of interest at her words smothered by the momentary thrill of panic shooting through his chest. Chat Noir closed his fist tighter, stopping the ring at his knuckle. With his other hand, he grabbed one of Magpie’s wrists, pinning it to the roof tile beneath her. 

“The only truth I want,” he said, glaring into her mask, “is where your akumatized object is.”

She laughed as though he’d told a joke, then guided his hand to her chest where a small, bird-shaped brooch was pinned to the white fabric. 

“Right here,” Magpie said, her eyes never leaving his. “Go ahead. Destroy it.”

It had to be a trick. If this new holder was anything like Monarque, she had some ulterior motive, some underhanded design to take his miraculous by pretending to hand him a win. She had nearly stripped Ladybug of her earrings just moments ago; what difference did it make to Chrysalis which miraculous was captured first?

He hesitated, still staring into the electric depths of light. Magpie only waited, watching him with patient confidence. 

“Cataclysm,” Chat Noir said at last, and felt the brooch crumble beneath his hand. 

A black butterfly rose from the ashes, its wings charged with the same violet light that faded from around Magpie’s eyes. Ladybug’s footsteps sounded behind him, and he glanced back, meeting her dumbstruck look with one of his own. They both watched in silence as the akuma rose into the air, its magic fading from Magpie’s form, leaving her gasping in Chat Noir’s hold.

Wordlessly, Ladybug pulled her yo-yo out and launched it toward the escaping akuma. Chat Noir rose to his feet, staring at her, though she didn’t look up at him as she purified the butterfly, then set it free. 

“You were right,” he told her, speaking to the side of her turned face. He twisted his miraculous around his finger, a bitter taste coating his tongue. “I guess we can’t reveal, after all.”

Ladybug bit a trembling lip, sliding her yo-yo open to reveal the screen. “I’m going to call the team,” she whispered, and gave him her back, her head bowing over the yo-yo as she dialed Rena Rouge. 

Chat Noir stepped back, glancing down at the woman who had been Magpie, his mind reeling. Maybe Ladybug had never planned on letting them share their identities. Maybe she’d have gone on letting him think it really was over, like she’d said. Just another lie created by the girl with the powers of creation. 

He knelt down, murmuring a soft reassurance to the akuma victim before hoisting her into his arms. Then, without a glance back, he leapt off the roof, leaving Ladybug on her own—just as she liked it.

And she didn’t even notice him leave.

Chapter Text

5 days ago

“It wasn’t your fault, Adrien,” Gabriel said, taking a seat on the bed. “You weren’t even there.”

He looked very strange with the white leather suit, cat ears on his head and a bell at the base of his neck. His tail draped from the bed onto the floor, curling in a loop at the heel of his boot, his skin ashen beneath the alabaster mask. 

“But I should’ve been,” Adrien said, eyeing the Lucky Charm he held in his palms. It looked just like the one Marinette had given him so long ago, though the beads were spotted red and black. “It was my job to protect her.”

“And it was my job to protect you,” Gabriel said, placing a clawed hand on Adrien’s shoulder. He peered at Adrien through slitted silver eyes, a wistful smile on his face. “Ladybug gave her life to defeat Monarque. She made the ultimate sacrifice to keep us all safe. To keep you safe.” He squeezed Adrien’s shoulder gently, his smile widening. “Now do you understand why I had to lock you in that room?”

“You should’ve let me go,” Adrien said, curling his fist around the Lucky Charm. “I could’ve saved her.” 

Why did his father have his miraculous? Adrien didn’t remember telling Gabriel his identity. Unless Ladybug had decided to choose a new black cat holder without telling Chat Noir. That, he wouldn’t have a hard time believing. 

“I’m sorry, Adrien,” Gabriel said, getting to his feet. “I was just trying to be a good father.” His ears and tail flicked of their own accord as he turned to look at Adrien fully, slitted eyes brightening. Then he reached behind his back, withdrawing not the silver baton Chat Noir always stowed there, but a cooking spatula. “How about I make us some pancakes to celebrate?”

Adrien gasped. He sat up, opening his eyes to a dark, silent room. For several panicked moments, all he could hear was the uneven thud of his heart in his ears and the sound of Gabriel’s voice still ringing in his head. 

“Easy,” Plagg said, floating slowly toward him. Adrien started at the flash of his kwami’s green eyes in the darkness, and after a few wild stutters, his heart began to slow. “It was only a dream.”

A dream. Just a dream. Gabriel was not here, had not been here for weeks now, would never be here again. And Ladybug was not dead—his heart squeezed at the thought—but out there somewhere, safe because of what his father had given up to protect her. To protect Adrien. 

She was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

He laid back down, counting his breaths, his shoulder still cold from the touch his father had not given. 

Plagg hovered closer, darker than the shadows of the room, his eyes luminous as he dipped his inky head. “Same thing as last night?”

“Sort of,” Adrien managed. It was hard to look directly at Plagg, so he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. “This time… he survived.”

The kwami floated down, taking the same place on the mattress where Gabriel had sat in the dream. His presence weighed nowhere near as much, but it was a heavy comfort all the same. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to go back to sleep,” Plagg said.

Adrien raised his head toward the wall of windows, shades drawn over the glass. It still looked dark outside, but when he checked his phone, he saw it was already morning; 6h14, about an hour and a half before he’d set his alarm to ring. 

“Yeah,” Adrien said, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness of his screen. Marinette’s photo glowed on his phone background, a pink flower tucked in her hair. He remembered the day he’d given it to her, somewhere in the haze of happiness before he thought he’d be leaving Paris. Before all of this. She’d tucked an identical one into his hair too. 

If only he’d thought to keep it. 

But it was all right, now. He could tuck flowers in her hair any time he wanted. 

“Yeah,” Adrien said again, flipping his blanket off and swinging his legs over the edge of his mattress. “You’re right Plagg. But I should get up anyway.”

Plagg groaned, reclining on the sheets and giving Adrien his back. “Summer isn’t over yet. There’s no need to be up at the crack of dawn.”

Adrien flicked his lights on, banishing the darkness and shadows and stubborn, lingering dreams. “I’ve got a lot to do before Marinette comes over.”

“Or,” Plagg said, staying fixed on the bed. “We could just stay in. I promise you she’d understand.”

Adrien waved his kwami off as he set off down the hallway, knowing Plagg would follow him anyway.

Nathalie’s bedroom light was on when Adrien passed her room. He kept quiet as he walked past, not wanting to alert her to his presence. Though he was infinitely grateful she had decided to stay in Agreste Mansion, he wasn’t sure he could stand any of the “How are you today, Adrien?” or “Can I get you something, Adrien?” or “Do you need anything from me right now, Adrien?” she had been doing since the funeral. Especially not so early in the morning, when she already had a full day of managing Gabriel affairs ahead of her. 

On the other side of the stairs, Amelie’s bedroom door was firmly shut. But that was normal, Félix explained when he and his mother first moved in. Apparently, Amelie liked to sleep in every morning just as much as she liked to drink a glass of wine every night. 

“What are you doing here?” Félix asked as soon as Adrien walked into the kitchen. There was a bowl of cereal in front of him, the spoon halfway to his mouth and his phone propped up on the fruit bowl in front of him. His hair was still mussed from sleep, but the peacock miraculous was pinned to the front of his pajama shirt, Duusu looking just as sleepy as he sat munching on a bowl of sugared berries on the counter. 

“I live here,” Adrien said, closing the kitchen door behind him. It was a bit jarring, seeing a different kwami out in the open while his own lurked out of sight. Part of him dreaded the thought that any day now, Félix would catch one of his slip-ups. Especially since he’d already complained several times that Adrien’s room smelled strongly like cheese.

“I live here too.” Félix took another bite of cereal, absentmindedly scrolling through what looked like a news article on his phone. “You don’t usually get up this early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Adrien said dismissively, hoping his cousin would leave it at that. 

Félix gave him a look, but kept silent, his eyes sliding back to his phone as he continued spooning cereal into his mouth. Taking one of the bowls from the cabinets, Adrien joined him at the island counter, reaching for the cereal box by Félix’s side. 

Félix lunged suddenly, making a grab for it. On instinct, Adrien snatched it away, sending a few bits of cereal flying as he held it above his head. One glance up was enough to show the title DRAGON FLAKES in flaming gold letters on the front, a cartoon Ryuuko casting streams fire from her hands against a red background. 

Adrien burst out laughing. Félix took the opportunity to yank the box out of his grip. 

“Shut up,” he said, turning and shoving the box back in the pantry. “You’re the one with the Ladybug shrine on your phone.”

Adrien swallowed his laugh, a prickle of heat rising to his cheeks. He turned, grabbing a different, non-miraculous brand cereal box from the pantry and ripped it open without looking at his cousin. 

“I deleted it,” he said, making a mental note to delete it. 

Félix snorted, and Adrien glared, grabbing the carton of milk still out and open on the counter. 

“I did,” he said, filling his bowl. “It’s just pictures of Marinette now.”

Which were all he’d been looking at anyway; the secret Ladybug folder he’d saved in his gallery remained forgotten beneath pictures of Marinette laughing, Marinette making silly faces, Marinette not realizing he was taking a photo of her, smiling at something off-camera. Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. 

He could fill every gigabyte in every device he owned with pictures of her, and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“Let me guess,” Félix said, rolling his eyes at Duusu. “You’ve got another spectacular date planned for today. Even better than the one from yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the day before that day.”

“It’s a normal date,” Adrien retorted. Since the funeral, he’d taken Marinette to all the summer movies she wanted to see, on a boat ride, and surprised her with a candlelight dinner on her balcony under the stars. So what if he’d spent most of his days planning every detail, right down to the flowers he’d give her and the music he’d play? It was all normal boyfriend behavior, and he was very normal about dating Marinette. 

“A normal date,” Félix repeated, voice thick with skepticism. “What are you doing this time? Renting a horse and carriage? Spelling out her name with fireworks?”

“No,” Adrien said, and now his ears felt hot, too. He stirred the cereal around his bowl, staring into the milky depths. “We’re just going to the studio.”

At Félix’s prolonged silence, Adrien looked up.

“The Gabriel studio?” Félix finally asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“I thought she might like it,” Adrien replied, finally taking a bite of his cornflakes. He decided not to tell Félix about the gift he’d planned to give Marinette later that day. “She’s a brilliant designer. Crazy about fashion. And she…” He took a breath, forcing his voice to stay normal. “She really looked up to my father.”

Félix continued staring as Adrien chewed, only finally turning to exchange a look with Duusu after another stretch of silence.

“What?” Adrien pushed. “You have a better idea?”

“Not at all,” Félix said, and shoved another bite of cereal into his mouth, too. “It sounds nice. I hope the two of you have a lovely time.”

In the ensuing silence, Adrien reached for one of the croissants in the pastry dish set between himself and his cousin. The double rings on his left hand glinted in the fluorescent light as he lifted the lid. 

“Do you always wear those things?” Félix asked, glancing sidelong at him. 

“Pretty much,” Adrien said, selecting the fattest croissant from the dish before replacing the lid. The rings glinted silver in the light as he withdrew his hand. “Apparently, he wanted me to.”

Félix hummed, digging up another spoonful of cereal and popping it into his mouth. “Good.”

Marinette was only twenty minutes late today—one of her personal bests this summer. Adrien watched her hasty arrival from his bedroom window as she parked her scooter within the gate and wrestled her skirt from where it’d caught on the wheel. He was already smiling by the time he went down to greet her, twirling a fresh flower from the garden between his hands. 

“Hi,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. 

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “Hi, Adrien. I’m here.”

Then she threw her arms around him, like it hadn’t been less than twenty-four hours since they’d last been together, hearts beating in time against each other’s ribs. When they finally pulled back, he fell into her eyes, as blue and boundless as the summer sky above. 

“You’re right on time,” he told her, pressing the flower into her hand.

She lit up and brought the flower to her nose, her expression turning dreamy. “Really?” she asked, raising her gaze to his. “But I woke up late and I couldn’t get my bike to start and—”

“It’s fine,” he said, laughing. “I scheduled the tour an hour later. We can get something to eat on the way.”

She blinked at him, stunned, and he pressed a quick kiss against her parted lips. Then, taking her hand, he guided her toward the gate where the Gorilla was waiting by the car. 

Gabriel’s production hadn’t stopped just because its founder was gone. Nathalie had stepped in to take over management, working with Mme Tsurugi to ensure the employees kept their jobs and the shipments still made it to the stores and the stocks didn’t tank into oblivion. Lately, Adrien only really saw Nathalie when she came home at night, walking on legs healed by Ladybug’s Miraculous Cure. Still, he couldn’t help the sense of pride that came over him when he entered through the front doors of the Gabriel building, seeing the sleek floors bustling with workers and clients, knowing it was all her doing.

He tried not to look at the large, electronic portrait of Gabriel Agreste hanging in the foyer, glowing with LED light as he regarded his company from high upon the wall. He knew should have felt something beside a sour taste on his tongue and an unpleasant curl in his stomach every time he walked past; Gabriel Agreste’s image was all over the city now, after all. But Adrien held tight to Marinette’s hand and stared straight ahead, hoisting a smile onto his face as he nodded and waved to all the people who greeted them on their way toward the studio wing. 

“I think I’m underdressed,” Marinette whispered as they walked past hoards of high-heeled designers and perfectly-coiffed stylists. She reached her free hand up, toying with the loose strands of hair falling over her shoulders. “Maybe I should go home and change.”

“Marinette.” Adrien paused in the middle of the hallway, turning her to look at him. “You look beautiful. You always look beautiful. You’re the most beautiful person in this building, actually, and that’ll still be true even if you go and come back in your sweatpants.”

She laughed, her cheeks turning pink as she dipped her head. “You just don’t want me to leave.”

“I never want you to leave.” He laced their fingers together, heart beating faster as she met his eyes again. “But I mean it, too.”

She gave a short, pleased sigh and looked up at him through her dark lashes. Warmth swept through him at the sight. He loved being able to find the right words, to see how she glowed when he told her just how much she meant to him. It felt good—much better than the hollow, scooped-out feeling he would get when he was alone without her. 

“Here,” Adrien said, pulling on her hand and coaxing her toward the door. “Let me at least show you the mulberry silk swatches. Then, if you change your mind—”

“The what?” Marinette said. Her eyes traveled from Adrien’s face to the studio wing entrance, her steps giving way as he pulled her toward the threshold. 

“And there’s an old Leavers loom on the bottom level,” he continued, grinning at the way her jaw dropped. “Nathalie gave me the access key if you want to go look.”

She grabbed his hand, running forward and tugging him along. “You should have started with that!”

It was like she belonged here. Adrien could watch her flit from station to station forever, describing each piece of machinery, running circles around the sergers and coverstitch tables and all the vintage runway photographs framing the studio walls. She named each and every material type in the fibers department, rattled off facts about each model of knitting and linking machine, and even took a turn at the digitizer, crafting a green paw print on a black background and then turning back to grin at Adrien in a way that made his stomach flip. 

“Have you considered a miraculous line?” she asked, saving the file and opening a new one, sketching the outline of what seemed to be a fox’s head. “I think it’d be a hit.”

“You wanna talk to Nathalie about it?” Adrien asked, leaning against one  of the counters set with plotters. “She mentioned the design team is hiring interns.”

Marinette straightened, looking first startled, then wistful. “Oh, Adrien,” she said, drifting away from the desktop and toward the open archway of the crafting studio, where arrays of dress forms in every size and in various stages of alterations lined the walls. Suddenly, her expression turned dubious. “I don’t know. I don’t have any formal knowledge about any of this… What if I mess up? What if I mix up the English silk tulle with the Italian silk tulle? Or spill coffee on one of the plotters? Or my hair tie gets stuck in the Leavers loom and ruins it forever? Or I spill solvent in the dye lab and start a fire? What if I blow up the entire company in a day?”

“You won’t,” he assured her, laughing. “And if you did, I’d be really impressed.”

She paused by one of the mannequins, running her fingers gently over a sequined sleeve. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping forward and taking her hand. “Especially if you didn’t bring any explosives.”

She spluttered, turning pink, and he caught her hand as she brought it down to give him a light smack. Twirling her in place, he pulled her close, locking an arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. 

“I’m kidding,” he said, pressing a kiss on her cheek, just beneath her earlobe. She gave the smallest shiver, sending a bloom of heat through his own chest. “You’re the most talented designer I know, Marinette. And I know a lot of designers.”

“You’re just biased,” she said, though her eyes were fixed on the dress decorating the mannequin in front of them, her expression melting into something thoughtful.

“Guilty,” Adrien said, watching her a moment more before studying the gown with her. 

Its skirts fell from the hips in lengths of black satin, its bodice shining with sequins like the night sky and dipping into the navel in a V. More sequins rounded the shoulders and elbows over transparent tulle, ending just above the wrists. He had a brief, vivid image of her in the dress, hair up, lips painted red. Then she broke out of his hold and walked up to the dress form, circling it once before kneeling to examine the hem. 

“What’s the matter?” Adrien asked, tilting his head as he watched her. She lifted the skirt, the shining satin cascading from her hands as she pulled it between her fingers, then disappeared as she ducked behind the back. “Marinette?”

“You could raise the neckline,” she said, popping up over the left shoulder and drawing an imaginary line across the mannequin’s neck. “Then bunch the fabric here, give the illusion of shoulder pads.” She smoothed her hands over the shoulders, nodding in satisfaction. “And then sew ribbons into sleeves for cuffs. Might be hard with the tulle, but…” She trailed off, walking around the front of the dress again and pausing before it, one hand on her elbow as she thumbed her chin. “I could probably make it work.”

The room faded around her as Adrien watched, everything in his peripheral turning pale in comparison. He took a step toward her, drawn in by the need to be close, to bask in her brightness, in the way she made everything and everyone around her better than they were before. But then he caught sight of Nathalie standing in the doorway, and the room blinked into clarity once more. 

“I’ll be right back,” Adrien said, then hurried to meet his guardian. 

There was a Gabriel gift bag in her hand and a careful look on her face, but when Adrien came to stand before her, she greeted him with a nod. 

“Here you are,” she said, handing him the bag. He took it carefully, hooking his wrist through the twisted-paper handles, and gave her a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Nathalie,” he said. “I really appreciate it.”

She smiled back, but barely. Anyone who didn’t know her well enough would not have known it at all. “Are you sure about this, Adrien?”

“Very,” he said, turning back to where Marinette waited by the dress form. She had noticed his absence, and was now watching them with a guarded look. “Do you want to join us, Nathalie? I’m going to take her to the dye lab next.”

Nathalie waved a hand, taking a small step back. “No, no,” she said, offering Marinette a small wave from afar. “I need to get back to work. You two enjoy your date.”

“Maybe you can meet her later,” Adrien suggested. Nathalie paused, expression flickering, and his heart lifted with hope. “Formally, I mean. You, Aunt Amelie, and Félix! We can invite M. Gorilla, too. It’d be nice. I—” He grinned sheepishly, knowing he might be getting a bit ahead of himself. “I’d really like that.”

Nathalie glanced at him, something stirring in her gaze. Then she gave a short nod. “Of course. Let me know when works best for you.”

She left then, and Adrien returned to his girlfriend, feeling light.

“What’s that?” Marinette asked, toying with a length of black ribbon that he hadn’t seen her with before. 

“It’s, uh…” Adrien laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at her. “It’s for you.”

“For—for me?” She stared at him, blue eyes wide, then took the bag in her hand, digging in and pulling out a white, leatherbound book. “Adrien, you didn’t have to…”

She trailed off as she flipped it open, her jaw dropping as she turned to the first page. The sketches were old, the edges slightly yellowed, the colors of each individual drawing faded. Coats and dress shirts and gowns filled every page, models striking various poses, hats and scarves and shoes littered across the spread. Marinette’s eyes widened further with every turn of the page, and when she finally looked up, she seemed at a loss for words.

“I want you to have it,” Adrien said, his heart giving a sharp turn within his chest. Still, he stepped forward, grazing his fingertips against her elbows as she stared. “You inspire me every day, Marinette. And… and I wanted to give you something to inspire you back.”

“But Adrien,” she whispered, looking quite pale. “I can’t take this. It was your father’s.”

“Yeah,” he said brightly, flipping another page for her. “It was the first sketchbook that my mom gave him. You can see a lot of his earliest designs in here, like the Tibetan couture line from 2004 and the moth motifs from—”

She slammed the book shut on a butterfly-inspired dress, cutting the winged sleeves and ruffled skirts out of sight. Her face had gone from white to red, and the longer she stared at him the more he began to wonder if he’d done something wrong. 

“Do you…?” Adrien hesitated, his own face beginning to feel red too. “I’m sorry. I just thought… I thought you might like it.”

“I love it!” Marinette said loudly. “I can’t wait to look through it. At home.”

Adrien glanced around, noticing a number of heads turned in their direction. With a careful smile, he laid his hand over hers, slowly feeling her fingers relax beneath his touch. 

“You don’t have to pretend,” he began. 

“I’m not pretending!” She shoved the book back into the gift bag, her face still cherry red. “Adrien, I…” Her features softened as she looked at him, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “This is the most thoughtful gift. I don’t know what to say.” Her hand found his, clasping tightly. “Thank you.”

He smiled, though a strange feeling remained in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know why—she’d said it was fine, so it was fine. 

Ignoring the pang in his chest, he took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “You’re welcome.”

A stilted silence hung between them, growing heavier the longer they looked at each other. Finally, Marinette ducked her head, clearing her throat and tightening her hold on his hands. 

“You know,” she said meekly, her voice quiet again. “You haven’t really talked about him.”

Sudden dread sank through his gut, pressing cold upon his veins. The studio lights seemed to darken for just a moment, a bitter taste coating his throat, making it hard to speak. And suddenly, he couldn’t look at her.

What had he been thinking, bringing her here? Gabriel’s studio was filled with his legacy, his money, and all his bright ideas that had attracted everyone within these walls to him, like moths. His father had died a hero, and remained a hero to practically everyone in Paris. How much of a sin was it to speak of him otherwise—to talk about everything he’d done to Adrien, everything he’d made Adrien feel, how he still made Adrien feel even when he was no longer here?

He couldn’t do that. Not when he was safe and alive and whole, when the world was so beautiful now because of what Gabriel had done. 

“Oh,” he said, clasping Marinette’s hand tighter and pulling her toward the door. “I just remembered— we’re supposed to stop by the dye lab! But they lock it up for lunch, so we’d better hurry if you want to see.”

“Wha— Adrien!” she yelped, but stumbled along in his wake, her heels clicking against the marble behind him. “We can look at it later. Really, I don’t mind!”

“But we have the whole rest of the studio to see,” Adrien told her, tugging her fast down the hallway. “If we run, we can make it. Come on!”

She didn’t reply, but her hand tightened in his, her footfalls falling into time with his own. Together they flew down the brightly-lit hallway, employees and visitors diving out of their path, security guards shouting as they passed. 

She didn’t bring up the book again. Neither did Adrien—although he did see it open on her design desk in one of the selfies she sent him later on, a mess of papers and sewing materials scattered throughout the background. She didn’t bring up Gabriel again either, which was fine. After all the days they spent out and the late-night phone conversations where he never mentioned Gabriel’s name, she probably assumed Adrien just needed time. Which was true.

She didn’t have to know that every moment he wasn’t with her, Gabriel was all he thought about; his last moments, his last words, the last look on his face. She didn’t have to know the sense of loss he felt over everything Chat Noir could have known if he’d been there that day—everything Gabriel had ensured he’d never know by taking his place. How he fruitlessly spent every night laying awake imagining what he could have done, how he could have changed it—trying to stave off the guilt and powerlessness that left him feeling empty. She didn’t need to know that every day Ladybug didn’t contact his baton (he kept transforming to check), the less real it seemed that he’d ever been Chat Noir—like his time spent as a hero was nothing more than an adolescent daydream from a boy who’d never had any power over his own life. And the less likely it seemed she’d need him to become Chat Noir again, that she’d call him up and fill his life with purpose once more. 

But who was Adrien Agreste to feel any of that? He was the son of a man who’d given his life for the salvation of the world. He was the partner of a girl who made miracles look like everyday possibilities. But most of all—best of all—he was the boy who loved Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He could be anything that she needed. He would be, because that was what she’d been for him, and if he could make her a fraction as happy as she made him every time he laid eyes on her, then he would be all right. 

He would be fine. He was already fine. 

Everything was fine.

2 days ago

He made himself believe it. He made his friends believe it too, by taking up all their offers of pool days and arcade tournaments. He stayed over at Nino’s, forced Félix and Kagami to go to Rose’s birthday party, and made sure he and Marinette always, always found Andre’s cart before the long lines started. It was still summer, and they were still free, and now that there was nothing and no one stopping him from eating ice cream whenever and wherever he wanted, he would. 

“Want some?” he asked, tilting his cone toward Marinette as they walked along Pont Neuf, the afternoon sun beating down on their backs, white clouds wisping at breakneck heights. 

“Hm?” she asked, staring at a billboard across the bridge. Ladybug and Chat Noir’s faces were plastered on opposite ends, the words HEROES DAY PARADE written in bolded letters between them, the upcoming date and time in smaller script beneath. 

“Of my ice cream,” Adrien said. “He said my peppermint would go well with your blackberry.”

She blinked at him, then broke into a bright smile, scooping a spoonful of dark blue ice cream and holding it out to him.

“Of course you can have some,” she said, taking a step forward. “I told you, you don’t have to ask.”

He laughed, allowing her to pop the spoon into his mouth, the tart blackberry flavor tinging over his tongue. Then he offered her a scoop of his own, angling the spoon toward her mouth only for her to tilt her head at just the wrong moment, leaving a smear of peppermint on the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry!” they said together, and though Adrien felt a rush of fondness, she was still flushed, her cheeks the same color as the strawberry slices atop her double scoop. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Marinette said, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I wasn’t, um… I wasn’t paying…” She trailed off as Adrien pressed his own napkin to her cheek. “What are you doing?”

“You had some ice cream on your face,” he laughed, and she turned redder, stammering out something he couldn't understand. Swooping forward, he kissed her cheek. “There. All gone.”

She stared at him, her face flushed, her pupils blown. He stepped closer, taking in the shine of her lips, the pattern of her freckles, the length of her lashes—only for her expression to go strangely blank. 

“Marinette?” he asked as she stared at something over his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing," she said quickly. “I’m fine!”

He glanced around, following her gaze to the billboard across the way. The picture had changed from Ladybug and Chat Noir to Gabriel Agreste; his face calm, his fingers on his chin, the background all in white as black letters declared: HEROES DAY PARADE - FT. GABRIEL AGRESTE TRIBUTE FLOAT.

He turned quickly back around, his chest tight. 

“Let’s go back to my house!” Adrien said, reaching again for Marinette’s hand. “Félix said he’d be at Kagami’s all day, and Nathalie’s at work and Aunt Amelie’s out with her book club, so it’ll be just us. We can go in the pool or play Ultimate Mecha Strike. You owe me a rematch from last time, anyway.”

“Oh… Adrien, I can’t.” She pulled her hand from his, and he turned back around, all the air whooshing from his lungs as he caught the remorse on her face. “I told a friend I'd meet her after this.”

“A friend?” Adrien asked, his heart sinking fast. “Who?”

“Violette,” she said, checking her phone. “She’s new to our school, but you’ll meet her soon! I invited her to one of the Kitty Section rehearsals coming up.”

“Violette?” Adrien asked, shoving down the sudden, unbidden prickle of annoyance. 

It was fine for Marinette to have other friends. Good, even. She didn't have to spend every minute of every day with Adrien. She had a life of her own and so did he and it was absolutely fine for them to spend time apart. He was fine going back to his house alone. He was fine standing here with Gabriel's stare boring into his back, knowing any moment, Marinette would leave them alone together. 

Everything was absolutely fine.

“Don’t worry,” Marinette said, and he felt her fingers brushing his again, her features softening as she tipped her face up to his. “I’ll call you as soon as she leaves. Unless…” She trailed off, biting her lip. “Unless you want me to stay? I can tell her I need a rain check, if… if you need me to.”

The billboard behind her changed, then—the pixels on the screen rearranging into the faces of Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Vesperia, all looking stoic and heroic as the words HEROES DAY PARADE - LIVE APPEARANCES FROM THE MIRACULOUS TEAM printed themselves across the background. Adrien let out a short breath, then smiled at his girlfriend, the vice around his ribs evaporating. 

“No, no,” he said as quickly and calmly as he could. “You go! I’m sure I’ve been taking up a lot of girl time.”

She giggled, taking a step closer. “I’m not complaining.”

“I’m not complaining either,” Adrien said softly. 

She tilted her head, her eyes locked on his. Her cheeks were pink and her expression was soft, and suddenly in the bright, afternoon light, she had never looked more beautiful. Adrien sighed quietly, resting his forehead against hers, and would have been content to stay like that forever if her mouth wasn’t right there. 

“Well,” he muttered, “maybe I’ll complain a little.”

Marinette smiled as he leaned closer, their noses brushing. He could almost taste the ice cream on her lips as he moved in—and then the chime of her phone made them both start. 

“Oh!” she said, nearly dropping her ice cream. He caught the cone before it hit the ground, and she flashed him a grateful look before fishing her phone out of her purse. “Oh, it’s just Violette. Hi!” she said brightly, answering the call and pressing the phone to her ear. 

Adrien watched her, feeling strangely deflated.

“Wha— already?” Marinette pulled her phone back to glance briefly at the screen, then pressed it to her ear again, her brows knit. “But you said three.”

His heart sank further as she threw a guilty look at him. She must have gotten the time wrong, again. 

“Um, sure!” Marinette said, giving a nervous laugh. “Well, actually, I’m with my boyfriend right now. But… but since you’re here, you can meet us by Andre’s cart for ice cream before we go?”

Adrien gestured to her, mouthing, “It’s fine!”

“Oh,” Marinette said, staring at him. Then she pressed the phone to her chest, her expression cinched as she whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” he said, as cheerfully as possible. “You go. I’ll call you tonight when you’re home.”

She looked back at him with a soft sort of glow, the tension evaporating from her shoulders. “I love you,” she mouthed. 

“I love you,” Adrien whispered back. 

Stepping forward, she placed a burning kiss on his lips. Then she took his ice cream from his hand, leaving him with hers, and hurried down to the opposite side of the bridge. She stopped beside a girl who looked their age, but whose face was too far away to see. They both waved at him, then turned and vanished down the street, leaving him with a strange, hollow feeling in his chest. 

Adrien turned, determinedly avoiding looking at the looming billboard above him as it changed once again. 

He didn’t know how long he walked, only that his feet seemed to take the most familiar path along the Seine that he knew, the sun beating down his back as it followed. He stopped short when at last he heard the strum of a familiar guitar, and when he looked up, he found himself facing a colorful houseboat, bobbing gently atop the water. To his relief, found no large billboards within sight—only a friendly face. 

Luka Couffaine lowered his guitar, then waved to Adrien from the upper deck of the Liberty. Adrien waved back.

“Wanna come aboard?” Luka called, setting his guitar down and standing.

“If that’s okay,” Adrien said. He’d been on the Liberty enough times for it to feel just as familiar and welcoming as Luka himself. But it still only seemed right to ask. 

Luka beckoned, and Adrien moved back, measuring his steps before he took a running jump. He landed with both feet on the solid deck, then looked up, finding Luka nodding at him in approval.

“How’ve you been?” Luka asked, picking his guitar up again and strumming a series of chords. He looked quite relaxed among the scattered instruments and band equipment, his laptop set atop the speaker next to him and a cold drink sitting half-empty atop a violin case. 

“Fine,” Adrien said. “Good. Really good. You?”

Luka gave him a look, and suddenly, Adrien began to rethink his decision. 

It was the first time he’d seen Luka since his return from abroad—and since he’d learned someone else knew his identity. But… maybe keeping identities a secret didn’t really matter anymore. Monarque was gone and Ladybug’s Miracle Box was complete; there was no danger in losing their miraculous because of an identity compromise. But right now, Adrien couldn’t help wishing Luka didn’t know as much as he did. He hadn’t even had to say anything; the look on his face as Adrien sat on one of the band stools was loud enough. 

“Anyways,” Adrien said, not missing the way the snake miraculous flashed silver around Luka’s wrist as he strummed. “I was just in the area, you know. Thought I’d stop by. Marinette left to go meet a friend and I… don’t really wanna go back home yet.”

Luka tilted his head, fiddling with the tuning pegs on the guitar head. “Why not?”

“Well, because…” Adrien turned his own miraculous around on his finger, but Luka’s gaze stayed steady on his guitar strings. “Nobody’s there.”

He felt his face heat with sudden shame. Like every other person in Paris, Luka knew Chat Noir hadn’t been there to help defeat Monarque. He was also the only one who knew what that really meant for Adrien.

Luka glanced at him then, the corners of his mouth turning down. Then he strummed a soft chord on his guitar, and then another, weaving a melody that sounded something like summer. 

“I’ve been trying to write this song,” Luka said, shifting his hands along the guitar neck, fingers fiddling over the strings as his brow knit in concentration. “I thought I’d finished it a while back. Performed it and everything. People liked it, too—said the lyrics were good and the melody was catchy. But it didn’t exactly feel right.”

“What song was it?” Adrien asked.

“This one,” Luka said, pausing to let Adrien listen to the tune. He nodded along, giving an encouraging smile, but Luka only shrugged. “I’ve only shown a few people, but I’ll play it for the band when it’s done.”

“It sounds good to me,” Adrien said. 

“Yeah, because it’s supposed to,” Luka replied. “But it still doesn’t sound right to me, you know?”

“Oh,” Adrien said. He didn’t quite know what Luka meant; the peak of his own musical ability was playing already-written piano pieces from memory. And besides, everything Luka made sounded good. He had the rather uncanny talent of making any song sound like a long-revered masterpiece. 

“Did you ask your dad about it?” Adrien continued. Not everyone had a rock sensation to call their father. Surely any music made between Luka and Jagged Stone would become an anthem for the ages. 

“Actually, I asked Juleka,” Luka said, smiling slightly to himself. “She’s pretty much the only person who knows what I’m trying to say without me having to actually say it. Or… play it.” He strummed a new tune on the strings, and though it was the same melody, it was lower, deeper, longer. “Anyway, she told me almost right away I should change it to a minor key. As soon as I played it I knew she was right.”

He continued the song slowly, shutting his eyes and dropping his head over the guitar as the sound of summer days faded into fall. And he only had to play a few bars before Adrien agreed—the song was a minor key melody. It wouldn’t sound right any other way.

He could have that, he realized, the realization rippling over him like the wind on the Seine. There could be someone who knew what key Adrien needed to be in without him having to say a word. It could be Marinette. He wanted it to be Marinette. 

But then he looked down at his right hand, and his miraculous glinted back. 

There was already someone who knew this song. Someone he had hardly seen or spoken to since the world had turned on its head. Someone who was the only other person who knew what it was like to live half a life in the wrong key and pass it off as the finished product.

He stood suddenly, blood rushing. “I gotta go,” he told Luka. “I just remembered, I— I also have to meet a friend.”

“Good luck,” Luka said. He flashed Adrien a knowing smile, then returned to his guitar. The low melody followed in Adrien’s wake as he retraced his steps off the Liberty and back up the edge of the river. 

He wouldn’t need luck to talk to Ladybug as much as he would need guts. She’d always been so adamant about keeping their identities a secret, especially between themselves. But now, things were different. All he had to do was drop his transformation, and she’d know. She’d know why he hadn’t been there that day, and how much he wished he had been, and how good it would be to tell Marinette everything. How good it would be to tell each other everything, now that there was no more reason for fear, or secrets, or worrying what would happen if one day the other vanished, and they never saw each other again, with so many things left unsaid. 

And he’d thought and thought about what he’d say if this day ever came, and what not to say, and what it’d be like to finally see Ladybug’s face and speak her name without fear—but maybe it would be like Luka said. Maybe they wouldn't have to say anything at all. 

Maybe everything really would be fine.

Chapter Text

1 day ago

Bug Noire’s veins thrummed with power as she faced down Gabriel Agreste. The combination of the ladybug and black cat miraculous was a heady feeling; a rush of conviction that made her feel like she could take on the entire world without a steady foot to touch the ground.

“I want to see Adrien!” she demanded, pushing away the plate of pancakes he’d served her.

“You’ll have nothing more to do with my son,” Gabriel replied, unaffected as ever in his pristine white apron.

“We’ll see about that!” Bug Noire stood, knocking over the barstool with a clatter, and reached for her baton.

Gabriel had tried to keep them apart for too long. He’d tried to keep Adrien to himself, away from the world that loved him so dearly.

She wouldn’t stand for it.

Bug Noire raised her baton to strike.

“I’m coming, Adrien!” she yelled, eyes locked on the man who stood in her way.

The impact of her baton on the floor reverberated throughout the foyer and left a satisfying crack in the marble. Bug Noire watched in satisfaction as it spread, long spiderwebs of destruction spanning from her to Gabriel Agreste.

She hit the ground again, and the floor shattered.

They plummeted into the basement and her heart clenched in panic at the thick, thorny vines curling and twisting from the clouds to the dark water below. 

She landed on one knee and looked to the winding path of the vines. They led her eyes forward, down the runway to the massive rose window. The vines met beneath it, coiling around a small, glass-covered bed where Adrien lay trapped.

“Adrien, I’m going to save you!” she promised him, just in time for a scarlet dragon to swoop in from the stone blue sky. She’d lost track of Gabriel, but he no longer mattered; what mattered was saving Adrien, and Bug Noire wouldn’t hesitate.

She called for her Cataclysm and leapt into the fire.

Hand raised in the air, it was too late to stop herself when the dragon dissolved into dark mist, leaving a defenseless Gabriel in her path. She tried to pull back at the last second, but he grabbed onto her ankle, pulling her down onto him.

“Make sure he never knows,” he demanded, his breath searing her cheeks. “Remember the pancakes are still on the stove.”

Then, Gabriel Agreste disintegrated with a smile.

“Père! No!” Adrien’s voice shattered the glass across the gloom, leaving him bound and in tears. “Why did you do that, Ladybug?”

“I didn’t—” She scrambled to explain, desperate for Adrien to understand. A ringing sound burst into the dungeon as she spoke. “He grabbed me, I couldn’t— I never meant—”

“Why did you let him die?” Adrien whimpered. “Why didn’t you save him?”

“Adrien!” Marinette shot up in a cold sweat. Tikki yelped as she barreled towards the foot of the bed, followed closely by Marinette’s currently-ringing phone.

Marinette dove after it, narrowly preventing a collision between the screen and her bedroom floor meters below. 

“A nightmare again?” Tikki asked as Marinette snoozed her alarm and her racing heart.

Marinette threw herself back onto her pillow in despair, letting her arms collapse open at her sides. “I don’t understand why they’re still happening! Everyone else’s nightmares went away after Gabriel Agreste— after he— you know…”

She rolled onto her side, pulling a corner of her blanket up to her chin.

“Died?” Tikki supplied, relentlessly unbothered by human mortality. 

“That,” Marinette agreed. They’d had this conversation enough over the past week that Marinette no longer found Tikki’s response eerie, and Tikki had accepted what Marinette wasn’t able to vocalize (if Marinette were honest, Tikki had probably accepted that years ago).

“Are you sure it’s not because I never defeated Nightormentor?” 

“The Miraculous Ladybug you cast after the wish undid all the damage from that day,” Tikki answered, and despite her nonchalance about death, her unnaturally large eyes pooled with sympathy at Marinette’s pain. “Besides, if his power was still affecting you’d be having nightmares while you were still awake. That was just a regular nightmare.”

Marinette reached out a hand and Tikki flew towards her, past her outstretched arm to nuzzle at Marinette’s cheek. Cuddling Tikki was always a strange sensation, comforting and alerting all at once, as the buzzing energy of creation warmed her from the outside in.

She closed her eyes and let it wash over her, rinsing the memory of Gabriel Agreste’s dying smile from her mind.

As she stroked Tikki’s cheek, Marinette repeated the set of mantras she’d created for herself in her head. Just move forward. You did your best. The world didn’t end. Don’t dwell. You can’t change the past. Keep smiling, for Adrien.

“Your friends were texting you,” Tikki murmured after Marinette’s breathing slowed and evened.

Marinette rolled onto the arm still holding her phone to check. Sure enough, several messages from Alya and one from Adrien spanned her lockscreen, reminding her of their plans to meet for lunch at the Place des Vosges. Above them all, like an admonition, the time read 11:38.

She hopped up into a stand and shrieked. “Tikki! How long was my alarm going off?”

“You’d pressed snooze three times before your nightmare,” Tikki answered as Marinette raced down the steps and dashed to her wardrobe.

She really needed a shower—her bangs were matted to her forehead with sweat—but there wasn’t time. She’d have to settle for clipping her bangs back (and risk Adrien dumping her on the spot at the sight of her massive forehead).

She grabbed a kitten-shaped duckbill clip from her dresser, shoving it into her mouth as she hurriedly doffed her pajamas and threw on the canary-yellow sundress she’d chosen for the occasion. 

Her phone chimed again as she clipped her hair.

Alya

Nvm don’t panic about getting there on time. We decided to meet at your place

Marinette let her shoulders relaxed as she scanned the room for her shoes, only to realize—

Marinette

The boys can’t come in my room!!!!!1

I forgot to put the grimoire pages away last night

Alya

You’ve got 10 minutes

What do you have them out for anyway? You’ve finished rebuilding all the miraculouss

Marinette’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, poised to type a response explaining her continued investigations into the butterfly miraculous, before her eyes flicked back up to the time.

11:43.

She’d explain it to Alya later. Right now, she had some speed cleaning to do.

Luckily, Marinette’s experience with hastily shoving Adrien photos into a drawer translated well to swiftly hiding a set of top-secret photocopies of ancient mystical texts, and with the unintentional assist of Papa’s insistence on plying her friends with far more food they could possibly eat, she made it downstairs just in time to witness Nino scrambling desperately for a polite refusal.

Adrien turned with rapt attention at the patter of her footsteps on the stairs. Not for the first time, Marinette marveled at his ability to pick out the unique sound of her tread, even when the sound competed with her father’s booming voice.

“Marinette,” Adrien said, just for her, softer than all the noise, but with a smile louder than the whole room. 

She answered him with a kiss so quick it left his cheeks pink and his lips parted—a look that invited her to come back for seconds, had the rest of the room not noticed her entrance.

“Girl!” Alya greeted, swinging an arm around Marinette’s shoulder and tapping her on the head. “You finally wore it!”

Marinette ducked her head, embarrassed to admit that she’d only worn the clip to cover for her nightmare-chic hairdo. Why hadn’t she just grabbed a sun hat?

“You look beautiful,” Adrien assured her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Pawsitively enchanting.”

Cat puns sounded weird in Adrien’s gentle timbre—really, at this point, they sounded weird to Marinette in any voice but Chat Noir’s—but she supposed this one was topical. 

“Marinette!” Her father interrupted before she could dwell too much on Adrien’s pun. She mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ to Adrien and interlocked their fingers before turning her attention to Papa.

“You were raised to appreciate the importance of a full picnic spread.” Papa handed her a picnic basket as he spoke. “I even made tomato tarts!”

Marinette’s arm sagged with the weight of the basket, almost knocking her off her feet as her center of gravity shifted, until Adrien grabbed the other handle.

“Papa, a full spread is one basket,” Marinette tried to reason, but she knew it was a losing battle.

They managed to leave her house with no less than 5 picnic baskets (including the basket Alya had brought but not including the insulated, brand-embroidered tote slung around Adrien’s shoulder), two of which Adrien eagerly carried himself (Marinette suspected that if it weren’t for Alya and Nino, they might have ended up with a sixth picnic basket). 

Luckily, the Place des Vosges was just a short walk across the street from her house, so it was no trouble for any of them to carry their share.

They walked past the partially-tarnished bronze statue of Ladybug and Chat Noir at the nearest entrance without remark and headed to the opposite corner, where the carousel twinkled in the white-hot summer sun.

Nino made quick work of spreading Alya’s cotton blanket on one of the bright, grassy patches on the far end of the park. Marinette handed her and Adrien’s baskets to Alya to unpack and guided Adrien towards a seat with a view of the violet-and-cream colored unicorn. She sat beside him, angled towards the arcades, and Alya sat across from her, in the front of the ladybug chariot, stained garnet by the harsh cast of shadows. Nino settled on Alya’s left, facing the center of the park.

Their spread was decadent: croissants, a quiche, jambon beurre, gougères, cake salé, and the infamous tomato tarts baked by her father. Alongside these he’d packed them some gherkins, radishes with fresh butter, grapes, and a salad. Alya had brought a salad palmis alongside thermoses full of rougaille saucisse and gratin de chouchou.

The extraordinary amount of cheese brought by Adrien disappeared surprisingly quickly, despite the fact that Marinette never caught anyone besides herself touching the plate of charcuterie. Adrien’s other offering, a plate of still-doughy pastries with strawberries painstakingly pressed into them (his first solo venture into recipes), remained mostly untouched, though Marinette took one bite just to see him smile.

They spoke lightly of their summer adventures; Nino’s successful gig at Club Lagune and Alya’s trip to visit her extended family in Martinique. Marinette was enraptured with Adrien’s retelling of the Gorilla’s silent but successful prank war with Félix, but she’d sat too close to look at him directly; the goldenrod halo of his hair caught in the sun left her vision hazy around the edges. It was easier to watch his hands as they wove the tale; easier to keep her head down where things were clearer.

And if Adrien wondered why she didn’t have any tales of her own to tell, he didn’t ask, just as she didn’t ask about his trip to London or the contractors that had started renovating his basement.

Just move forward. The world didn’t end. Don’t dwell. Don’t ask.

As he finished his story, a family of five approached the carousel. The two boys split at the unicorn: one mounted the submarine and the other the airplane while their parents paid the attendant. The father folded his too-long legs into the ladybug carriage with a pained smile, which turned fond as the toddler climbed in beside him. The mother went to stand a few feet away, her phone set to record her children’s laughter as they spun round and round, flashing in and out of sight as the ladybug and unicorn chased them.

Adrien trailed off, a flash of something crossing his brow too subtle and quick for Marinette to decipher—but she didn’t need to, when she could see the affection between father and daughter on the carousel clear as day.

“Who’s ready for dessert?” Marinette burst into the silence, pulling out the final basket Papa had packed.

Keep smiling, for Adrien.

Marinette was tempted to suggest they leave out the back exit instead of the way they’d come in, but she had no explanation for this that would make sense to Adrien and Nino. Not only was cutting back across the park more efficient, but the streets of Paris were already being cleaned and roped off in preparation for tomorrow's Heroes’ Day Victory Parade, leaving the remaining streets even more crowded than usual.

So instead of the scenic route, she was forced to contend with a direct path towards Gabriel Agreste’s statue. They’d hurried past it the first time, eager to set down their heavy baskets and revel in each other’s company, but now, in the afterglow of the meal, with lighter loads and fuller bellies, their pace was slow and leisurely. Marinette kept her eyes trained ahead as they walked, fixed on the statue of herself and her superhero partner.

The city had begun polishing it a few days ago in preparation for the parade, though it seemed the workers had taken the afternoon off, leaving Chat Noir in the dark while the polished Ladybug glowed in the midday sun. The sight of it left Marinette with a quiet sort of unease, but the feeling paled in comparison to the nausea that roiled in her gut at the sight of Gabriel Agreste’s platinum likeness.

Unfortunately, the effect of his visage was not universal.

“It sure is nice having a picnic without worrying that an akuma will interrupt us,” Nino said, coming to a stop at the very last place Marinette wanted to stand still for any amount of time. 

Unfortunately, Adrien slowed to a stop as well, hand still clutching Marinette’s, so she had no choice but to take in the sight of the dozens of flowers littering the statue’s base—a sorry contrast to the dirty rags left at the base of her own.

She wished once again that she’d opted for a sun hat, one that could protect her from the blinding lies trying to sear their way into her retina. Gabriel Agreste outshone everything in the park, from the lofty Ladybug to the provincial charm of the carousel. Even Adrien’s glowing buttercup locks seemed dull in comparison.

She looked down at Adrien’s shoes, smiling at the familiar bright orange before remembering that these, too, were marked on the heel. 

She looked at Alya instead.

And Alya?

Looked annoyed.

“Yes, thankfully Ladybug,” Alya punctuated her statement with a helpful gesture toward the front of the park, “defeated Monarch, so we don’t have to worry about akuma anymore.”

“Ladybug and M Agreste,” Nino corrected, taking off his cap and placing it over his chest, where a gunmetal G logo rested in the center of his black shirt. “Dude gave his life to help her.”

Marinette felt Adrien’s hand clutch hers tighter, and she took a step closer so she could bring her other hand to shield the fingers they’d linked between them.

Alya’s lips pressed together tightly. Her gaze shifted to Marinette, piercing, pleading.  Marinette looked away, unable to explain the fresh wave of shame that washed over her.

Across the park, one of the boys from the family tripped and fell while playing chase with his brother. The mother, ignoring the way his face crumpled with pain, started yelling. Marinette couldn’t make out what she said, but it made the boy cry. His father rushed to help him up, admonishing the mother as he did.

The two adults started bickering as their son cried, neither noticing their daughter sneaking back to the carousel.

Alya’s despairing sigh drew Marinette’s attention back to her friends. Her shoulders fell as she spoke. “I suppose he did choose to do that.”

Nino nodded, apparently satisfied at this response, before turning back to the statue. “Comrade Tartar Sauce,” he intoned, his profile rimmed in silver light, “in the end, you were the heart of La Résistance.”

Marinette felt a little bit of the Camembert she’d eaten earlier threaten to come back up in retaliation. It burned her throat as she forced it back down. 

The flame of annoyance flickered back to life in Alya’s eyes.

She cleared her throat pointedly, and when this failed to gain Nino’s attention, supplemented it with a yank at the G-branded hem tag on his sleeve. 

He swiveled his head, brows raised, and followed Alya’s turn toward where Adrien and Marinette stood. Marinette craned her neck up at Adrien as well, briefly catching the grimace on his face before he sensed her gaze and looked back down at her with a small smile—one filled with real fondness, for her, but didn’t quite cover up his pain.

She’d been getting a lot of those smiles since his father passed: I’m glad you’re with me smiles and everything’s better now that you’re here smiles and it’s nothing an evening with you can’t fix smiles. 

He knew better than to try to fool her with his everything’s fine smile—the one he lifted to brandish at Alya and Nino.

“You must be so proud of him, dude.”

Alya gave Marinette a disbelieving look. Marinette gave her a helpless one back—what was she supposed to say to that?

Adrien had seemed proud of his father, last they spoke of him. As weird as it was to hear Nino say it, he wasn’t wrong.

But the smile on Adrien’s face was still too plastic, the corners of his lips pinned tightly to his dimples and his eyes too flat. His earlier glow had faded completely, a sudden overcast of shadow to his face, even as the sun above them shone in a cloudless sky.

But Adrien was her sun, even if sometimes he shone too bright for her to see. She wouldn’t let him grow dark.

So Marinette opened her mouth to say something—anything—that would spare Adrien the burden of answering—but then some flicker of understanding passed across Nino’s face as he took in Adrien’s expression.

Apparently Marinette wasn’t the only one who could recognize an everything’s fine smile for what it was.

“You don’t have to be strong for us, though,” Nino continued, a surge of tenderness lacing his words as he moved towards Marinette and Adrien. “I’m sorry I made us stop here, that was pretty thoughtless of me. I really killed the vibes, huh?”

Adrien’s responding chuckle manifested a surge of discomfort that swept through Marinette and sank into her toes, making them curl in her sandals.

“I’m afraid I’m the vibe killer.” Adrien’s smile loosened just enough to let a hint of feeling peek through. “It’s still hard for me to talk about him.”

“No, that was my bad,” Nino replied. “Too soon, I get it.”

With that, he wrapped an arm around Adrien’s shoulder and turned him toward the exit, guiding him away from his late father’s memory. Marinette looked back at Alya, searching her eyes for absolution that wasn’t there, but her hand was still clasped tightly in Adrien’s, and she couldn’t linger without letting him go—something she wasn’t willing to do. 

Just move forward. Don’t dwell. For Adrien.

She tore her gaze away from Alya to follow the person that needed her most.

But just as Marinette followed Adrien, Alya followed Marinette.

Adrien left the picnic in the Gorilla’s car—something about preparing for tomorrow. As far as Marinette knew, Adrien had opted out of being included in the Gabriel Agreste Memorial Float when offered, but his caginess on the details of what exactly he was preparing for was consistent with his behavior every time the topic of his father was brought up.

She hadn’t been surprised when Adrien declined. His grief was a private, painful thing: something that he wasn’t ready to share even with Marinette, let alone the rest of the city. He’d opened up to her once—the day she’d slipped his amoks onto his finger—and never again after that, the sliding of rings over bare skin the equivalent of a lock clicking into place. Maybe that was the gift of wearing his own amok: his emotions were entirely his own now, to share or to keep locked away. 

Or maybe it had been her fault, days later, when she’d reacted so poorly to his beautiful, terrible gift—when he’d trusted her with something precious of his parents, and she’d butchered her response, as clumsy with her thanks and her secrets as she’d worried she’d be with the machinery in the room.

She worried, of course, that he didn’t talk about it, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief every time he dodged the issue. She wasn’t sure how she could help Adrien process his grief, not when she’d been there, not when she knew, when she could have—

Just move forward. You did your best. The world didn’t end. Don’t dwell. 

“Girl, we have to tell him,” Alya said as soon as the hatch door shut behind Nino.

“How can I tell him if he doesn’t even want to talk about it?” Marinette bemoaned, collapsing onto her chaise. “Besides, I promised his father that I wouldn’t.”

Technically, she had made no such promise—not out loud—but he’d begged her in his final moments. How could she deny his dying wish, to preserve Adrien’s happy memories, when Adrien’s happiness was the only string connecting them—when Adrien’s happiness was the reason she’d hesitated, and let this happen at all?

“You don’t owe that man anything,” Alya hissed, eyes narrowed. Then, more casually, she added, “But I wasn’t talking about telling Adrien. I meant Nino.”

Marinette blinked. Twice.

She’d been prepared for the conversation about telling Adrien—the weight of her secrets hung too heavy on her shoulders for her to habituate to the burden of keeping them, while the vice-like grip of pressure kept him at the forefront of her thoughts.

But… “Nino?”

She hadn’t thought about telling Nino.

“Did you hear him today?” Alya threw her arms up in the air. “The heart of La Résistance? I thought I was going to lose my lunch.”

Alya started pacing back and forth as she spoke, getting more heated with each word. “And his shirt ? I don’t care how many gigs he’s booked this summer, Nino can’t afford to be buying Gabriel brand shirts. Not to mention those horrible G decals on his headphones. I can barely look at my boyfriend right now, Marinette.”

She came to a stop at Marinette’s desk, slamming a hand down for emphasis. Marinette winced as one of her organizer drawers—which she’d hastily filled before the picnic—flew open.

At least she had no secrets from Alya hidden in those pages. And Alya barely seemed to notice, anyway, continuing her tirade with both hands tightly gripping the back of Marinette’s desk chair now.

“And it’s even worse because it’s Nino! You remember, the guy who was M Agreste’s number one critic for years? Who was akumatized for the first time after M Agreste didn’t allow Adrien—oh my god, do you think Papillon did that on purpose just to akumatize Nino?”

Marinette had not considered that either. 

Learning Gabriel Agreste was Monarque had been a shocking revelation—but it was also a revelation that kept on giving, like an earthquake with a series of aftershocks. The first aftershock had come not long after Adrien’s official return to Paris, when Marinette had caught sight of the Gorilla toting Amelie and Felix’s luggage into the mansion. 

She hadn’t thought of the Gorilla since Monarque’s final day—but suddenly she was in the theater with Adrien again as Gorizilla’s massive purple hand erupted through the ceiling, hearing sound of people screaming as large chunks of concrete fell, slipping away in a cloud of smoke and chaos. 

“It’s certainly possible,” Tikki answered, popping her bright crimson head out of one of the remaining (and doubtlessly now empty) picnic baskets. Trixx floated out of the open basket too, still munching on a grape. “He akumatized  Simon Grimault right after refusing to participate in The Challenge and Audrey Bourgeois after putting her in the second row at his fashion show. And he was in charge of the commercial shoot where M Ramier was akumatized the 72nd time!”

More aftershocks. A sneezing Adrien transformed into a pigeon before she could save him. Adrien, golden and glittering and crumbling to dust on the Eiffel Tower as Style Queen demanded his father’s attention.

Marinette barely noticed the kwamis leaving the room as her mind replayed one of the most gut-wrenching battles she’d ever fought.

“He also funded the class movie we made so we didn’t have to go through with Chloé’s insane plan,” Alya added as she waved Trixx and Tikki off. “One of his better moves, actually, except for the part where he turned around and akumatized Chloé.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette mused, picking at the hem of her dress. Her eyes wandered to her trunk, where dozens of presents still waited for Adrien. She’d managed to give him a few since they started dating—but she’d never forget the first present she gave him, the very same day Nino was akumatized. “M Agreste never let Adrien celebrate his birthday. I don’t think that was about Nino.”

“Convenient for him that he got a bonus akuma out of it, then.” Alya took a seat straddling Marinette’s rolling chair and hugged her arms around it back, chin resting atop. “And so close to home, too!”

Marinette’s gut lurched at the realization—another aftershock. The Bubbler had been in his home. At least the Bubbler had no intention of hurting Adrien—but he hadn’t been the only akuma in the Agreste home, had he?

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember the despair on Gabriel Agreste’s face as he pleaded with her to make the Wish, so that Adrien wouldn’t have to be alone.

He had loved his son so much in that moment.

But what about all the others?

“Marinette?” Alya’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Girl, you okay?”

Marinette opened her eyes to see Alya wheeling toward her with a concerned look.

“How many times did Hawkmoth akumatize someone close to Adrien?” 

Alya’s eyes widened. “Just in our class alone… why would he do that?”

“He akumatized Adrien’s bodyguard.” Another aftershock. Marinette’s blood ran cold. “He akumatized Kagami when she was angry at Adrien. Kagami—with a sword! That she tried to run Adrien through with!”

“And Nino thinks he’s a hero,” Alya spat. 

Marinette flinched at the vehemence in her voice.

“Oh, girl.” Alya’s gaze softened. She spun her chair around so that her back faced the chaise and, with one hand on Marinette’s shoulder, plopped backward onto the cushion.

Marinette looked towards the chair as it rolled away in response, but she wasn’t really seeing it: instead she saw Adrien, hurtling towards the ground in freefall from 200m as she remained motionless above him, trapped in the iron grip of Gorizilla, struggling in vain against fingers the size of tree trunks. 

She was seeing Adrien running through the streets of Paris, taking her by the hand and dragging her into an empty fountain and tackling her in the metro—desperate to escape not from an akuma, but from his fans—fans of a modeling gig he’d never wanted.

But M Agreste had tried to protect him from those fans, hadn’t he? Maybe his efforts were misguided—Adrien had never appreciated the isolation or the bodyguard—but they were meant to keep him safe.

Safe from a threat M Agreste had created in the first place, when he’d set Adrien on high as his shining star on billboards and on television. A world where the crowd below was a threat, when all Adrien wanted was to be part of it.

And if he’d been trying to keep him safe, why did he let Adrien fall?

The heavy weight of Alya’s arm settled across her shoulders. “You know I don’t blame you for keeping Monarque’s identity a secret.”

“Why?” Marinette asked, but her mind was still stuck on the top of the Montparnasse tower.

She’d always wondered why Gorizilla had let her go.

“Well, for one, Adrien’s life as we know it would be effectively over.”

Marinette jerked back to face her. “What?” 

Had she been talking out loud?

“You know, if all of Paris found out his father was Monarque?” Alya’s face was scrunched in confusion. “He’d never get a moment’s peace. Isn’t that why you agreed to keep his identity a secret?”

Right now, Marinette wished it had been.

“I told you,” Marinette said, looking down at her hands. “I promised M Agreste I wouldn’t tell Adrien. So that Adrien would remember the times he tried to be a good father.”

So that Adrien would only remember the times he was caught, and never think too hard about the fall.

“Mmm.” Alya’s answering hum was loaded with disapproval. “You don’t owe M Agreste that. Besides, were there any times he was a good father?”

The next time she’d seen Adrien after Gorizilla, he’d gushed excitedly to her about how his father had sat down and watched Solitude with him. She remembered her disappointment over losing a chance at a movie date fading as she took in the joy radiating from Adrien as he described his father spending time with him.

“Maybe not very many,” Marinette admitted, looking back up. “But Adrien loved him.”

Believing that Gabriel Agreste loved him made Adrien happy.

And nothing was more important than his happiness.

“I guess he did.” Alya’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t imagine finding out Papa was a supervillain. Seeing him as Animan was hard enough.”

Not believing, Marinette corrected herself. Knowing. 

“Adrien would be devastated,” Marinette said.

Because Gabriel Agreste loved his son, didn’t he?

Maybe he hadn’t been a hero—but he’d still thought of Adrien, in the end. 

“I get it,” said Alya. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t tell Nino.”

“Alya.” Marinette looked her dead in the eyes. “If we aren’t telling Adrien, under no circumstances can we tell Nino.”

“Why not?” Alya’s brow raised, and she huffed. “I can’t stand watching him fawn over M Agreste like this. Letting him think that he’d misjudged him and beating himself up for being too harsh on him, when in reality Gabriel was even worse than Nino realized! He deserves to know the truth. He shouldn’t have to honor the memory of a man like that.”

“I know. I can’t stand it either.” Remembering all the times Papillon had put Adrien in danger just made it worse, each memory a seed of doubt burrowing deep in her heart. Marinette pulled her legs up onto the chaise, wrapping her arms around her knees. “But we both know Nino can’t keep a secret.”

Alya bristled. “He’s kept his identity as Carapace a secret!” 

“Not from Adrien,” Marinette reminded her. “Did you forget about him spilling the beans in the cafeteria?”

“That’s not fair.” Alya crossed her arms. “Nino thought it was okay since we weren’t heroes anymore.”

“Nino said Adrien already knew.” Marinette let her legs drop to the floor to place a hand on her hip, empowered by the conviction that her assessment of Nino, at least, was true.

“Marinette is right,” came Tikki’s voice as she and Trixx phased up through the floor, apparently done ransacking Tom and Sabine’s day-old pastry supply. “Considering how soon that was after Monarque stole the miraculous, it’s very likely Nino told Adrien while he was still Carapace.”

“Adrien is his best friend!” Alya stood and threw her arms in the air. “How is that any different from you telling me?”

“It’s plenty different!” Marinette jumped up to stand as well. “But that’s not the point! We’re talking about whether Nino can keep a secret from Adrien! And obviously he can’t!”

“And I can’t keep a secret from Nino!” Alya’s voice raised in agitation. “You know how I feel about keeping secrets from my boyfriend!”

“Keeping your secrets!” Marinette put her hands on her hips. “You were fine keeping my secret—my identity—how is this any different?”

“Because it’s not a secret, it’s a lie! Nino doesn’t believe anything about Ladybug that isn’t true.”

Marinette hadn’t meant for Nino to believe anything untrue about Gabriel Agreste, either. She’d only wanted his sacrifice to be recognized, not for him to be remembered as a totally different man.

She dropped her hands and her guard, reaching forward, desperate for Alya to understand.

“Alya, I—”

“If you weren’t going to let me tell Nino, you shouldn’t have told me Monarque’s identity in the first place!” Alya was fully yelling now, face flushed and eyes wet.

Marinette looked away, curling back in on herself.

Maybe Alya was right—maybe it hadn’t been fair to tell her. Maybe it’d never been fair to ask Alya to keep her secrets. 

“Alya, someone might hear you,” Tikki said. 

“Maybe they should!” Alya did not lower her voice. “Maybe the whole world should know that Gabriel Ag—” 

Marinette swiveled her head just in time to see Alya’s attempted announcement interrupted by the presence of four kwami arms pushing her jaw shut. 

“Shhhhh!” said Trixx, lowering his arms. “Alya, you know there are times when illusions are necessary.”

“I thought you were on my side.” Alya pouted. “You didn’t want me to lie to Nino the first time I was Scarabella.”

Marinette’s heart twisted. On her side?

“That was different,” Trixx said, looking flustered.

If Trixx was supposed to be on Alya’s side, did that mean… Marinette wasn’t?

Alya was always on Marinette’s side. The thought that Alya didn’t feel like Marinette was on hers… Her chest was suddenly too tight.

Alya didn’t seem to notice, continuing to address Trixx. “How was it different? It was still me, keeping secrets from my boyfriend— and from Cha—”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette whispered so loudly it stopped Alya in her tracks. “I just… I had to tell someone.” She squeezed her burning eyes shut. “I had to tell someone, and—”

“You can’t tell Adrien,” Alya said, softening.

“—you’re my person,” Marinette finished, head hung. 

She couldn’t tell Adrien. But that wasn’t why she’d told Alya first. 

Should it have been?

Shouldn’t Adrien be her person? The first person she went to when something happened?

Did it matter, when she couldn’t tell Adrien anyway?

Marinette opened her eyes to Alya’s worried look. She hastily wiped her cheeks, but they were still dry, to her surprise.

“Nino’s my person,” Alya admitted, so quiet Marinette barely heard her. 

Something inside Marinette cracked. Adrien should be her person, if Nino was Alya’s.

Right?

“But you’re my person too.” The warmth of Alya’s voice was a balm for Marinette’s troubled heart. “I just don’t like having to choose between you two.”

The fissure inside her eased and halted its spread. She was still Alya’s person.

And Alya had more than one person, which meant Marinette could too.

“I don’t want you to have to choose either,” Marinette told her.

“I know.” The smile Alya gave her was a sad thing. “But I guess it’s not much of a choice, is it? Now that I’m thinking about it, I shouldn’t make Nino choose between me and Adrien, either.”

Marinette furrowed her brow. “But we are keeping the secret for Adrien.”

“For Adrien, from Adrien.” Alya waved her hand. “The difference wouldn’t matter to Nino. Keeping it from Adrien would eat him alive.”

Marinette stood, frozen, as Alya stepped forward to wrap her in a hug. Her arms were surely warm as ever, but Marinette only felt cold.

“Lighten up, girl,” Alya said, pulling back just a fraction, but keeping her hands on Marinette’s shoulders. “I’ll keep your secret.”

But Marinette didn’t lighten up.

In fact, Marinette stood frozen long after Alya left the room.

Because she wasn’t worried about Alya keeping her secret anymore.

Keeping it from Adrien would eat him alive.

What would keeping it from Adrien do to her?

To them?

Adrien returned later that evening.

Some time after Alya went home, Tikki had finally managed to rouse Marinette enough to check her bugphone messages. She’d transformed briefly to see what Chat Noir had sent—a message confirming their plans to meet up tomorrow during the parade—and had only just replied when her cell dinged with a message from Adrien asking to come over.

She’d had just enough time to shower and change before he arrived. They spent a couple hours playing Mecha Strike with Tom before coming up to her balcony to watch the sun set. Adrien had carried up what was left from their picnic—some cold quiche and croissants with butter—while Marinette grabbed a bottle of mint syrup and some lemon sodas for them to drink.

She’d gone all the way down to the boulangerie kitchen for the mint syrup, so by the time she pushed open the skylight, Adrien was already seated on the blue folding chair she’d added to her balcony last week. In the spring, once she’d grown comfortable enough with him, she and Adrien had always ended up sharing her pink lounger, but by the time he’d gotten back from London, the summer temperatures had risen too high to cuddle comfortably.

She’d had to rearrange the entire patio to accommodate the new chair, naturally. If anyone asked, she’d only moved her plants to the opposite ledge to balance out the space, and the fact that they just so happened to obscure the view of Gabriel Agreste’s memorial statue was a mere coincidence.

It was only after she’d settled into her own seat, stirring bright green syrup into her lemon soda, that she realized that meeting Chat Noir for the parade meant she wouldn’t be there for Adrien.

She still didn’t know what Adrien was planning to do instead of attending the parade, but the thought of him at home, alone, while the rest of the city celebrated… she couldn’t let that happen.

Chat Noir would understand. 

She set her drink down. “Did you… did you want me to be with you tomorrow, during…?” She trailed off, unsure.

Adrien lowered his own lemonade and cocked his head.

Apparently he did need her to be direct. “During the parade. Since you’re not going?”

“Oh!” Adrien’s smile reached his eyes. “I have plans, actually.”

His face was too open, too genuine for him to be lying, but this did not put Marinette at ease. Maybe it was the way his fingers curled around the arm of the chair or the square set of his shoulders.

Or maybe it was the doubt that Marinette had been swimming in, all afternoon.

“Plans?” Marinette prompted, hoping he’d be forthcoming with the details.

He wasn’t.

“Yes, I just confirmed them this afternoon. So don’t worry about me! You go enjoy the celebrations with your parents. Wave to Alya and Nino on their float for me.”

“But I—” I’m not planning to go with my parents, she almost said. 

I’m worried about you , she wanted to say. I wish you would talk to me.

I wish I could talk to you.

She wondered what he’d do if she told him the truth—all of it. She wondered whether she’d even be able to tell him part of it without every other secret spilling out her lips.

She wondered what it would feel like to not have any secrets from him.

But her identity was a secret she still had to keep—until she found the butterfly, it wasn’t safe for Adrien to know. So it was easier, just for tonight, to go along with the lie. She couldn’t tell him where she’d really be tomorrow, after all.

Which meant that she couldn’t push him for answers either.

“I don’t know if Alya and Nino will be able to see me.” 

“Well, we can’t have that! You deserve to be recognized,” Adrien said with an inexplicably cheeky grin. “You’ll just have to wear something distinctive. Maybe put your hair up into twin buns.” 

And then he giggled, sweet and unassuming and so infectious that Marinette found herself laughing too, even though she didn’t get the joke—maybe it was an anime reference? 

It didn’t matter—what mattered was that Adrien was laughing, and he was beautiful, and precious, and heat be damned—she wanted to hold him, and savor his joy, and draw it out just a bit longer.

She pulled him into her chair with her, still laughing, and she was glad that Adrien had foregone the bright green mint syrup when a bit of his drink sloshed onto her shorts. She took it from him, setting it down on the wooden spool table next to her own, and then curled into the chair with him, reaching an arm across his chest to pull him closer. 

Adrien smiled down at her, eyes sparkling even as their laughter faded, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

But as Marinette relaxed into his arms and let his steady heartbeat warm her fingertips, Alya’s voice echoed in the quiet of her thoughts. He deserves to know the truth. For Adrien, from Adrien—what was she really keeping this secret for?

“I love you,” Adrien said, moving to kiss the tip of her nose.

Marinette replied with a kiss to his right cheek, and then his left. “I love you too.”

Her heart felt full to bursting when he leaned down to kiss her on the lips. She couldn’t help but marvel that they could do this now, whenever they wanted, without his father—

She froze.

Without his father trying to pull him away from her.

Anger burned in her gut at the reminder of all the times Gabriel Agreste had tried to tear them apart.

“You’ll have nothing more to do with my son.”

Adrien ended the kiss. “Marinette?”

She had to tell him.

Adrien deserved to know what his father was really like. He deserved to stop making excuses for a man that had tried to separate them. He deserved to know, even if it hurt.

But when she opened her mouth, no words came out.

Just move forward. The world won’t end. You can make it better.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, and she mourned the stars that started to die in his eyes. 

She had to tell him.

But she didn’t have to tell him tonight.

Just for one more night, she’d keep the stars in his eyes. She’d cherish this moment and map out all the constellations in her memory to hold on to until they all return.

Just for one more night, they’d enjoy the sun before it dipped below the horizon.

One more night, then she’d tell him, and she’d be his moon, carrying them both into the dark.

“Everything is fine.”

Chapter Text

The mute shock of sixteen miraculous holders hung heavy as the night over Ladybug’s head. 

They were gathered on a secluded rooftop beneath a smoky sky, the prolonged silence peppered only by the sounds of paper hats rustling and plastic party beads clacking together. Viperion and Tigresse Pourpre frowned at each other, faces smeared with neon paint, and neither the flashing Eiffel Tower tiara on Carapace’s head nor the purple feathered boa around Argos’s neck could mask their wide-eyed outrage. Rena Rouge and Ryuuko stood side-by-side, decked in glow stick circlets as they stared at Ladybug beneath light-up versions of their masks. Pigella clasped her hands to her chest, beaded bracelets jingling, while Minotaurox and Polymouse shifted toward each other, barely recognizable beneath all the glitter. Bunnyx, shoulders draped with the French flag, turned to grimace at Pegasus, who wore a pair of glowing shutter shades as well as a T-shirt with Roi Singe’s face. Roi Singe, somehow, had arrived bare-chested and covered in beads and feathers of every color. A Ladybug-patterned party horn fell from his mouth as he gaped. 

The need to break the silence was suddenly overwhelming. 

“So!” Ladybug said, straightening into what she hoped resembled a more composed stance. “That’s where we’re at. I’ve been looking for the butterfly miraculous since the day it disappeared, but there haven’t been any leads until now.”

The team continued their wordless stares. Ladybug rubbed her suddenly heavy eyes, giving herself an excuse to avert her gaze. If this was how they looked at her after hearing she’d lost the butterfly miraculous, what would they think if they knew she’d let her own fall into Monarque’s hands? 

She looked to the sky for a star to wish on. Moments like these were when she would turn to Chat Noir. He was always good about knowing exactly what to say; she could almost hear the soft confidence in his voice as he’d tell her, “We’ll find it together,” or “There’s nothing you can’t do, my lady.” But the stars in the sky were missing, and so was Chat Noir. The place beside her where he’d normally stand felt oddly cold, like he was still giving her his back from wherever he’d gone.

He’d never looked at her quite like that before. Her team—her friends—had never looked at her quite like this, either. She surveyed the group again. Even Rena Rouge, who’d already known about the lost miraculous, was watching  Ladybug as though fearing she would crumble to bits where she stood. And though there was sympathy in Polymouse and Vesperia’s eyes, it was not enough to cushion the weight of the ongoing silence. 

She could practically hear the steam blowing out of Argos’s ears—but for once, he was the least of her worries. 

“Anyways,” Ladybug stammered, when she realized no one else was going to speak, “I’m sure Chrysalis will show her face again soon. She wasn’t above victimizing an innocent civilian tonight…” Ladybug swallowed through the sudden tightness in her throat as the memory of the woman’s terrified, confused face flashed in her mind. “Which makes her no better than Monarque ever was. And unless we want the whole city to panic, we should keep this as much to ourselves as possible.”

The team exchanged looks for several lengthy seconds more. Then a scramble of voices clambered over each other all at once. 

“How do you plan to track her down?” Pegasus asked, pulling the shutter shades off to look at her through the dark lenses of his miraculous.

“When do you think she’ll attack next?” Polymouse asked, expression fraught beneath her glittering face paint. 

Carapace gripped a Rena Rouge-themed soda can tighter in his fist. “How did she even get the butterfly?” he asked, jaw clenched. 

“Does she want your miraculous?” asked Vesperia, eyeing Ladybug nervously. 

“Did she do something to Chat Noir?” Pigella asked, stepping backward with wide blue eyes. “Is that why he’s not here?”

Ladybug’s stomach dropped, her skin prickling hot beneath her suit, her palms suddenly clammy. The questions didn’t stop, the onslaught of voices building to a din across the roof. 

Then Rena Rouge stepped forward, raising her flute in the air. 

“Guys, listen,” Rena said, her voice ringing over the rest, bringing the questions to a halt. “Ladybug’s working on it, okay? She doesn’t have all the answers right now, but I’m sure she’ll tell us when she does.” She turned halfway around, fixing Ladybug with a reassuring look. “And we’ll be here to help as much as she needs.”

Ladybug nodded at her, throat suddenly burning. “Thank you, Rena,” she managed, hoping she knew it was meant not just for tonight, but for everything. 

Rena Rouge nodded back, not quite smiling, but features softening nonetheless. The other holders fell quiet, their gazes expectant, but the silence was not so heavy as before.

“In the meantime,” Ladybug told her team, “please let me know if you see anything. I promise Chat Noir or I will contact you as soon as we have a lead.”

Viperion was the first to go, leaping off the rooftop where they’d gathered without a backward glance, Tigresse and Pigella following close behind. The rest of the holders began to disperse, vanishing off the roof in varying directions. Caprikid and Rooster Bold sent Ladybug small smiles over their shoulders before they left, while Bunnyx threw her an encouraging nod before disappearing into a Burrow. 

Ladybug watched them leave, one by one, her heart sinking further each time they went without a parting word. She clutched her yo-yo at her hip like a lifeline, ready to dial Chat Noir as soon as the roof was clear. 

She shouldn’t have let him leave like that. If she could just reach him, if he’d just hear her out… she didn’t know what she’d tell him, only that this wouldn’t be so hard with him by her side.

Her grip slackened on her yo-yo as she noticed Argos and Ryuuko still on the roof, heads bent together in a whispered exchange. Behind them, Rena Rouge paused on the ledge to send Ladybug a concerned look. 

“Go on,” Ladybug mouthed, waving her forward. She brought her yo-yo up to her ear, gesturing between it and Rena. “I’ll call you later.”

Rena frowned, then narrowed her eyes toward the back of Argos and Ryuuko’s heads. As their whispers rose, Ryuuko broke off with a short breath and a sharp, “Fine.”

“Do you two need something?” Ladybug called, stepping toward the couple. 

Argos and Ryuuko turned toward her, both wearing identical grim looks. Then with a flash of red and violet, Félix and Kagami took their places.

“Hey!” Ladybug hissed, panic lifting through her as Rena’s eyes widened. She stomped forward, gesturing for Rena to go, though Rena stayed frozen with one foot on the ledge. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Marinette,” Félix said, crossing his arms. “Is there a reason you left out the part about how we’re all now living in Gabriel’s Wish?”

Behind him, Rena Rouge’s jaw dropped. And though Ladybug knew she would get an earful later for not telling her best friend about someone else knowing her identity, she gestured furiously for her to leave. Félix and Kagami eyed her strangely. Mercifully, the tips of Rena Rouge’s ears disappeared over the edge of the building the moment Kagami turned around to look.

Ladybug crossed her arms. “The whole city is celebrating Monarque’s defeat,” she huffed. “How am I supposed to tell them he won? That he got his Wish? Nobody but us even knew about that to begin with.” She kicked a pebble across the roof, a bitter taste in her mouth. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Nathalie’s healed,” Félix said, crossing his arms, green stare boring into Ladybug’s. “The world thinks he’s a hero. They’ve built him a statue and put his face on a float. Next thing you know, they’ll have entire musicals dedicated to how Gabriel Agreste defeated Monarque. They’ll probably give Adrien front-row tickets for every show, and it’ll all be because you lied!”

A burst of anger bloomed in Ladybug’s chest, tinting her vision red. “Gabriel is the reason Monarque’s gone,” she snapped, taking a step toward him. “I don’t know exactly what he Wished for, but I know he gave his life for it. That’s more than you did to help me defeat him, and I don’t hear you complaining about the city believing you’re a hero!”

Félix stepped forward too, expression contorted with anger. Then Kagami was there, placing a hand on his arm. 

“Calm down,” she said, looking between Félix and Ladybug with dark, unreadable eyes. “Perhaps it’s only that she intends to tell Adrien first, before anyone else.”

Ladybug bit her lip, looking again toward where Rena Rouge had disappeared. “The thing is,” she said, now only slightly regretting making Alya leave, “Gabriel asked me not to.”

Félix’s expression shadowed. “Of course he did.”

“Adrien deserves to know,” Kagami said, her tone a note sharper than before. 

“I know. I know, and I—” Ladybug broke off, her voice in sudden danger of breaking. “I’ll tell him, okay? It’s just— at first, it seemed better not to say anything. The truth would hurt him so much, and— I know I should, but there hasn’t been a good time. And I don’t know how to start, or what I’d say. I don’t even know how to do it without revealing my identity.”

Kagami and Félix looked at each other, then again at Ladybug. Félix’s stare was unyielding; Kagami’s was unimpressed. 

“Marinette,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry to say it, but I must: exerting so much control over what Adrien does or doesn’t know makes you no better than M. Agreste.”

Ladybug recoiled, a dreadful pang within her chest turning the air in her lungs to lead. “I—” She swallowed tightly, though her throat burned against the motion. “No. That’s not— I’m not like him. Not at all!”

“Then stop honoring his wishes,” Kagami said flatly, unaffected by Ladybug’s look of horror. “He forced Adrien to leave Paris, all his friends, you. He conspired with my mother to lock Adrien and me in isolation rooms for days. But it was all in Adrien’s best interests, of course. And surely Adrien was happier not knowing what his father was doing while he was protected in his cage.”

The words were point-blank, merciless in the way they ripped holes through Ladybug’s chest. Adrien’s room in London had been awfully bare, like a hospital room, or a lab. It had been hard even for Bug Noire to get in; she hadn’t considered how hard it would be for Adrien to get out. Had he really been trapped in there? Had she really not noticed? 

She took a step back, stomach twisting. Kagami neither blinked nor looked away.

“It’s not like that,” Ladybug said, her own voice faint in her ears. “I’d never trap him, or— or force him to do anything against his will.”

Kagami placed her hands on her hips. “No,” she agreed. “My accusation  was too harsh. I apologize. But you are making decisions ‘for his own good’ by not telling him, aren’t you? Just like his father.”  

“No!” Ladybug’s throat swelled tight. “Gabriel wanted to keep this from him forever. I’m just… waiting for the right time.”  

Félix let out a sharp breath, expression pained as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I hate to say it,” he began slowly, “but… Gabriel might’ve had a point. If Adrien found out, especially now… he wouldn’t react well at all.”

He spoke like he knew Adrien better than any of them. Better than Ladybug. But then Félix looked up, meeting her gaze with his tired one, and she realized with a flash of dread that they might end up agreeing on something tonight after all. 

Kagami turned to him, lowering her voice. “You said you were sick of seeing him pretend.”

“I am,” Félix said, scowling. “But think of how he’ll react. The father everyone’s suddenly hero-worshiping, despite the shit way he always treated Adrien, turns out to be Monarque.” With a sigh, Félix glanced out over the rooftop, vaguely in the direction of Agreste Mansion. “He’s already doing such a bad job of pretending everything’s fine. This could be what makes him snap and do something really stupid— like get himself akumatized.”

A prickle of fear inched down Ladybug’s spine. Adrien had never been akumatized while his father was the butterfly holder—proof enough that Gabriel really had loved him, deep down. 

But Chrysalis would have no such conflict of interest.

Kagami’s frown deepened. “You can’t base this decision on what Adrien might do,” she said, looking between them with obvious disapproval. “Besides, he has us. Which is why I think we should all be there when one of you tells him.”

“I said I’d tell him, and I will.” Ladybug squared her shoulders, hoping she spoke with more conviction than she currently felt. “Just… now that Chrysalis is active, it might actually be safer to wait until after.”

He deserved that much. To learn the truth in a world when nothing could hurt him except what she’d already fixed.

Kagami shook her head with evident displeasure. Félix looked at her, then at Ladybug again, his gaze calculating. Finally, he uncrossed his arms. 

“As long as he never knows about the amok,” Félix said at last, his eyes never leaving Ladybug’s. “He can handle everything else. Just not that. Not ever.”

Ladybug started, a fresh pang of alarm ringing through her. Félix merely stared back, his pointed look merciless. She’d assumed she’d have to tell Adrien everything at once, but… maybe Félix was right. The amok was its own bombshell, one that didn’t have to be detonated at the same time as Monarque’s identity. Maybe Adrien wouldn’t be able to endure both together—or at all. 

“The trials of a Guardian,” said a new voice, making the three of them start, “never truly end.”

Ladybug whirled around, hand ready on her yo-yo as the shadows in the corner converged into the form of a man. She relaxed slightly as he stepped forward, his red tunic ruffling in the light breeze, moonlight shining on his bald head. 

“You are making the wisest choice,” the man continued, stepping deftly toward her in orange sneakers. “It is better to keep all information about the past butterfly holder from the public until the current one is caught— else she use the city’s panic and distrust to create more akumatizations.”

He came to stand before them, arms crossed behind his back, bushy brows knitted. Félix and Kagami, who had lowered into matching defensive positions, slowly rose. They looked from the newcomer to Ladybug wordlessly, expressions guarded. 

She cleared her throat.

“This is Su Han,” Ladybug explained, straightening. “The Celestial Guardian.”

“There’s a Celestial Guardian?” Félix asked. 

Ladybug shot him a look. 

Kagami shook her head, unfazed. “I’m not saying the public needs to know about Monarque,” she said, addressing Ladybug again. “Only Adrien. He deserves that much, at least.”

“I can’t burden Adrien with this knowledge if nobody else knows,” Ladybug said, toying with her yo-yo in her hands. Every reminder of Adrien’s father was already so painful for him. How much worse would it be to see Gabriel Agreste honored by the city, if he knew the truth?  

“And if Paris discovers their dear beloved hero was Monarque all along,” Félix said, turning to Kagami, “Adrien will still be one of the most at risk for akumatization.”

Kagami crossed her arms. “It’s a risk worth taking.”

“Is it?” Félix asked. He leaned close, meeting her eyes. “And what if she puts the akuma in his amok? Is it worth the risk then?”

Sudden, cold dread spiked through Ladybug’s chest. Kagami said nothing. They all knew there were certain things her Miracle Cure couldn’t restore, and a broken amok was one of them. 

Would the world ever be safe enough to tell Adrien the truth? She couldn’t place that burden on him when Chrysalis was lying in wait, ready to attack his grief at any moment. He could forgive the lies and secrets in time, maybe—if Ladybug gave him enough. He couldn’t forgive her if he was dead. 

“Does Chat Noir know any of this?” Su Han asked, retrieving Ladybug’s attention. Félix and Kagami’s stares bored into her once more. 

The parting look Chat Noir had given her just hours prior still burned like ice in her mind. He’d been angry with her before, deserted her too, but he’d never looked at her like that. Like they were strangers. 

Like he didn’t even know her at all. 

“No,” Ladybug said, mouth dry. “I haven’t told him anything.”

It felt wrong to be here without Chat Noir. But maybe it was better that he hadn’t come back, lest he realize how much she’d kept from him. She’d been so close to telling Monarque’s identity that last day, as she’d crouched hidden in Nathalie’s room. But then Plagg had come without him and she’d fought alone and lost. How could she explain she’d lost not just the miraculous he’d trusted her with, but the years-long war, because she’d looked into Monarque’s dying eyes and seen Adrien’s father, crumbling to ash? 

Maybe it was even some small mercy that Chat Noir hadn’t been there to see Gabriel make his Wish. That he’d never know Adrien would have been orphaned by Chat Noir’s hands instead of Monarque’s, if the Cataclysm had run its course. It’d been easier to give Chat Noir the same story as everyone else; to let him believe that she’d won. Easier not to tell him about the empty slot in the Miracle Box when she still thought she’d bring Nooroo home soon.

She’d learned tonight that was the wrong decision, when she’d had to pull her team from their celebrations and look into their disappointed faces as she confessed to her lie of omission. When she’d turned to her partner for support and he wasn’t there. How could she possibly tell him the rest of the truth when his faith was already so shaken? When he, too, could be akumatized?

She shuddered to herself, the flash of white haze and blue eyes stabbing at the corners of her memory. 

Su Han observed her for a solemn moment. Then he gave a single nod. 

“Fine,” he said, waving a hand. “You do not know his identity anyway. Correct?”

Ladybug nodded, trying not to think of how Chat Noir’s expression had shuttered when she’d decided to keep it that way. How disappointed he’d been even before learning why. 

“Good,” Su Han continued, stroking his chin. “These matters are not to be discussed with someone you have not let in your inner circle.”

His words wrenched something deep in Ladybug’s chest. Félix gave her no chance to recover. 

“I think you ought to tell him,” he said, turning to Ladybug and matching Kagami’s unimpressed look. “Tell the rest of the team, too. You don’t want to risk them finding out some other way.”

“What other way? From you?” Ladybug let out. The team’s shocked faces flashed through her mind again. How much worse would it be if they knew the rest? Would they have any faith left in her at all? Would they lose hope? “We can’t tell them while Chrysalis is active, either. They’re already targets for akumatization! Most of them don’t even have protective charms yet. And Chat Noir would be the worst of all of them. We can’t, under any circumstances, let him be akumatized.”

Félix threw his hands up, frustration taut in every line of his face. “Right, of course! And I’m sure your judgment’s not at all impeded by the fact that he isn’t here to moon over you, for once.”

“What?!” The clap of Ladybug’s voice echoed around the rooftop, both out of her control and care. “What are you talking about?”

He brought his hands to his chest, features twisting in a mockery of distress. “Chat Noir’s mad at me. Chat Noir hates me! Chat Noir left me because I let him down and I don’t know when he’s coming back.” He stepped forward, expression darkening as he flicked his brooch. “You certainly have a lot of feelings for someone who isn’t your boyfriend.”

She looked him dead in the eyes, mustering as much calm as she could manage. He had helped her before. He cared about Adrien, about her friends and her city. 

But that didn’t make him any less of a prick.

“Now’s your chance to leave without a black eye,” she told him flatly.

His expression flashed, furious, only for Kagami’s hand to slap over his mouth. 

“We understand, Marinette,” she said, resting her chin on Félix’s shoulder and shooting him a look. “An akumatized miraculous holder would be a serious threat. Both of you should take some time to cool off— neither of you have a charm, either. Félix and I will keep your secrets, for now.”

Ladybug inhaled, a strange churn of guilt and shame turning in her stomach. “It’s only for the time being,” she told Kagami. “I’ll tell them when I get the butterfly. And Adrien too, when it’s safe.”

“Sure,” Kagami said. She peeled her hand carefully from Félix’s mouth, then when he said nothing, laced their fingers together. “That’s your prerogative.” 

She held Ladybug’s gaze for several long moments, mouth flat, then turned and dragged Félix after her toward the stairwell. Su Han moved to leave as well, looking slightly more satisfied than before.

“Watch out for them,” he advised. “They know more than you or I would like them to.”

Ladybug exhaled slowly, the sound not nearly enough to fill the sudden silence. 

Adrien’s fingers were in her hair, her head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat drumming low within. The row of plants against her balcony railing were a ridge of prickly shadows sectioning off the late-night sky. She decided she liked them better that way anyway; the glow of the city lights painted the base of the firmament with golden haze, a dome of darkness encircling them from above.

Everything felt quiet. Safe. Surreal. The city was out of sight and the stars missing from the sky hung in Adrien’s faraway eyes. She adjusted her position in the chair beside him, shifting her head from his chest to his shoulder where the view of his face was better. He pulled his gaze away from the distance he was staring to look at her. A smile slotted over his face. 

“How were your plans?” Marinette ventured, curling their fingers tighter together. 

“Fine,” he said, still smiling. 

The tightness around her lungs eased the slightest bit. The world didn’t end. Just move forward. Keep smiling, for Adrien. 

“How was the parade?” he asked, brushing patterns across her palm with his thumb. 

“Fine,” Marinette breathed. He looked up at her, green eyes bright, and the lead in her lungs returned. “Good! We saw the fireworks and the floats— oh, and Alya and Nino too.”

He nodded gently, and though his expression remained unchanged, he pulled his gaze from hers. “That sounds nice.”

She bit her lip as silence settled, his warmth suddenly too warm against her, his hand suddenly too heavy in hers. She had been wrong to leave him tonight; it was written all over his face. She should have offered to go with him, to be at his side whether or not he needed her, to know and be more involved in what he’d been doing, like a good girlfriend. Not sitting on a rooftop with Chat Noir. 

It was Adrien who was the priority right now. Adrien was the one who needed her, and who she would put first from now on, like she should have to begin with. 

But then again, if she hadn’t left him tonight, she would have missed Chrysalis.

She ducked her head into his chest again, winding her arms around him. His arms went around her too, weighing on her like secrets. But they stayed there, silent, his heartbeat drumming evenly against her ear once more. 

She couldn’t tell him anything. Seeing his father praised as a hero was one of the only comforts Adrien had—albeit a false one. And the world was still unsafe for him because of her failures. As long as Chrysalis was active, Adrien would never be able to know the truth. And if Marinette had it her way, he wouldn’t even know Chrysalis had been a threat until after she recovered the butterfly miraculous. 

Just move forward. Don’t dwell. The world didn’t end. Keep smiling. For Adrien.

She chanted the mantra in her head to the rhythm of Adrien’s heartbeat, willing all else from her mind. But the voice in her head was different now—alien, though not completely unfamiliar. Even wrapped in Adrien’s embrace, she couldn’t stop the tiny shudder running through her as she realized the voice sounded very much like Gabriel.

Chapter Text

“Girl, what are you doing?”

Marinette froze, fingers crimping the top edge of the paper she’d been about to tear off the wall. Slowly, she turned her head until she could see a bemused Alya out of the corner of her eye.

Marinette whipped her head back to her bulletin board.

“Nothing!” she yelped, quickly tearing several more papers off the wall and crumpling them into a wad. Mission complete, she whirled to face Alya fully.

Alya pointed at Marinette’s hands. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

Marinette looked down at the wad of paper she was still holding. “This? Oh, it’s just, ah…” She scanned the room for an explanation. Finding none, Marinette settled for the easiest solution. “Trash!” And then she threw it away.

Well, she threw it, anyway.

In a direction that was probably toward the trash can, but, well— she was looking at Alya. So really it was Alya’s fault that the wad of paper’s wayward arc took a detour straight up to the ceiling and back down onto the floor, in between Marinette’s feet and where Alya stood in front of the hatch door.

Marinette dove for it.

Alya dropped her book bag to the ground and dove farther, her palm coming to claim it just as Marinette’s fingertips scraped uselessly at the edges.

“Aha!” Alya crowed, unwrapping her prize triumphantly. Her brows  furrowed a second later when she took in the contents of the first paper. “Girl, why were you trying to hide photocopies of the Grimoire from me? I thought it was something juicy.”

Marinette threw herself back into her office chair, defeated. “It’s my research on the butterfly miraculous. I was translating a spell Su Han mentioned, that could be used to contact Nooroo while the brooch was inactive. A waste of time, apparently, since the brooch isn’t making its way from the Agreste underground river to the sewers like I’d thought.”

Alya raised a brow. “The Agreste mansion has an underground river?”

“River, pond, underground detention system— I don’t know, I was just hoping it connected to the public sewer system or Nathalie had some way to drain it.”

“Is that why you put up a giant map of the Parisian sewer system on your wall two weeks ago?” Alya pointed her thumb behind her, where Marinette’s new decor hung accusingly. “I thought you were just looking for date night spots to meet Chat Noir.”

Marinette glared. Alya knew very well Chat Noir wasn’t interested in that, these days.

“Right, sorry.” Alya’s eyes softened. “You still haven’t heard from him since Magpie?”

Marinette let out a heavy sigh, letting her misplaced frustration seep from her body. “Not a peep. I don’t know if he’s even transformed since then.”

Alya frowned, and Marinette looked away, shame burning the tips of her ears. It seemed lately all she did was make Alya worry.

And now Alya knew that she’d wasted months chasing a missing miraculous that had probably been in the clutches of evil the entire time.

“Maybe we can still use some of this,” Alya offered. “That spell might not work, but I bet if we put our heads together we could find something.”

Marinette looked up.

“I wish you’d told me sooner you were working on this. I might not be able to translate ancient Tibetan, but I could have helped with researching the sewers.” Alya had discarded the spell page in question, moving on to smooth out the next paper in the bundle as she spoke. “Or even interpreting! Remember how I found the page that helped you unlock the anti-akumatization charms? After you’d spent weeks locked in your room tracking akumatizations on your own?”

“Researching the sewers wouldn’t have helped, because the butterfly miraculous isn’t in the sewers!” Marinette couldn’t stop her voice from turning into a wail. “It’s with Chrysalis! I was wasting my time all along.”

For a second, Alya looked stricken, but she gathered herself quickly— quicker than Marinette could ever hope to manage herself. “And if you’d let me help you, instead of doing it alone, maybe you would have wasted less time. Or we could at least have enjoyed each other’s company in the time we wasted.”

Marinette bit her lip, looking down at the discarded paper on the floor. Alya was right—it would have been more fun to have her here.

But finding the butterfly was Marinette’s responsibility. Losing it was her mistake to fix. Asking Alya to come help her, when she could be out reporting on the world or enjoying time with Nino, seemed selfish.

“What does this have to do with the miraculous?” Alya asked, drawing Marinette’s attention back to the present. She flipped the paper over for Marinette to see.

It was a photocopy of one of the designs from Gabriel’s sketchbook—the one Adrien had given her. She hadn’t had the heart to deface the actual pages, but…

The designs were just awful.

“M Agreste made a lot of mistakes that I had to fix,” Marinette defended, crossing her arms. This particular bright orange disaster featured a V-neck so deep it may as well have been an unbuttoned blouse, sleeves cuffed with feather boas, a striped knot belt, and a skirt long enough to intentionally drag on the ground. To top it all off, he’d added a giant orange carnation to serve as a hat. “That was one of the worst atrocities ever committed to page.”

Alya shrugged, tossing the paper to the floor. “Whatever helps you relieve stress, girl.”

Marinette let her head fall forward into her hands. “It didn’t help,” she mumbled. “The stress is impenetrable.”

“Would my notes from literature today help?” Alya offered, pulling her book bag from the floor. 

Marinette peeked through her fingers.

“I noticed that someone was a bit distracted today,” Alya continued, rifling through the bag to produce a maroon spiral notebook.

“It’s not my fault,” Marinette protested, balling her hands into fists. “Adrien wore a black turtleneck today, Alya. A sleeveless black turtleneck.”

Alya paused, looking thoughtful. “Okay, valid. And I assume you will do the same for me should he ever lend that shirt to Nino. But still, girl, it’s only the first week of school! You can’t get started on the wrong foot with Mme Durand.”

“I know,” Marinette groaned. “Adrien and I have already discussed this. He agreed to wear only crew necks with sleeves for the next 3 weeks.”

“Glad you guys have such an open and communicative relationship,” Alya remarked, strolling over to lean on the edge of Marinette’s desk. “Speaking of open communication—”

“We talked about this, Alya, you can’t tell Nino, especially now that Chrysalis is at large,” Marinette huffed. She’d been more sympathetic when they discussed it the day after the fight with Magpie, still fresh from the realization that she’d have to continue to keep secrets from her own boyfriend, too. But she didn’t have the energy to rehash the same points again.

“I wasn’t going to bring that up, actually,” Alya said primly. “I was going to ask if you’d ever managed to get Adrien to talk to you about his father.”

Marinette slunk down into her chair, planting her chin in her chest and her ankles on the floor.

“Still nothing, huh?”

“He gets so uncomfortable, Alya!” Marinette turned, reaching across her body to grab Alya’s shirt and bury her face in it. The familiar scents of pine and cinnamon filled her nostrils. “I never realized how good he was at changing the subject until his father died. Did you know that Father Francis, the ornamental hermit at Hawkstone in the 1780s, was replaced by a stuffed automaton when he was asleep? Because I do, now, and I didn’t even know ornamental hermits existed until last week!”

“Girl, you could just change the subject back.”

“But he was so excited to talk about it!” Marinette released Alya’s shirt to clasp her hands together, remembering how Adrien’s eyes lit up as he described 18th century English landscape gardens and the development of the picturesque aesthetic ideal. “It made me feel excited about it too.” 

Alya let out an exasperated sigh, but gave Marinette a reassuring pat between her shoulder blades.

“Anyways.” Marinette stopped to collect herself, straightening out in her chair and spinning to face Alya. “I asked Violette about it and she said this was totally normal.”

Alya frowned. “I didn’t realize you were so close with Violette. Are you sure she’s someone you can trust with this kind of thing?”

“Her mother died 3 years ago,” Marinette explained, recalling the way Violette’s normally bright smile had dimmed and her blue eyes turned wistful. “So she knows more about it than either of us. She said it took over a year before she was willing to talk about it, so I shouldn’t worry about Adrien. It’s just part of the grieving process.”

“I guess.” Alya was clearly unconvinced. “I doubt her mother was anything like Gabriel Agreste, though. Pretty sure your parent being a colossal dick makes a difference. Not to mention a giant platinum eyesore in the park by your girlfriend’s house reminding you of him every time you walk to school.”

Marinette winced. “He doesn’t need to walk to school for that when there’s a giant oil painting looming over the staircase at his home.”

Alya shuddered. “That thing is revolting.”

“It’s not that bad,” Marinette tried to defend. “It’s a… um.” She racked her brain trying to think of something nice to say. “A very accurate likeness of Monsieur Agreste. And Adrien looks handsome!”

“Girl, you’d think Adrien looks handsome—”

“Alya!” Trixx interrupted, his voice carrying from the chaise where he and Tikki had been playing Candy Crush on Alya’s phone. “Your boyfriend needs you.”

Marinette swiveled her chair to watch Alya cross the room in several long strides, meeting Trixx in the middle where he held her phone up for her to read. After a moment, Alya turned back to Marinette, apprehension etched across her features.

Marinette’s heart rate picked up. Had something happened to Nino? She vaguely remembered him mentioning staying late at the school this evening—it’d been hard to pay attention to him, too, when Adrien—

Adrien was at school too.

She stood, heart beating faster still. If anything happened at the school, Adrien was in danger. Maybe already hurt, if Nino had texted and he hadn’t.

Then Alya said two words Marinette hadn’t heard in months, and hoped she’d never have to again.

“Akuma attack.”

Marinette’s heart stopped, and fell all the way into her stomach.

Classes had ended hours ago, but the after-school clubs and teams still held sessions late into the evening (the fencing team finished exactly at 17h30—which she was now allowed to be hyper aware of). Yet when Ladybug arrived at François-Dupont, the school was empty. 

Chunks of roof and brick were torn away to reveal patches of afternoon sky. The halls were silent but for the footsteps trailing her and the occasional crackle of electricity sparking from the overhead lights. Lockers were open and desks were overturned, loose papers and pamphlets scattered across the tiled floors. It was as though the whole school had evacuated in the few minutes since she’d received the alert—though it shouldn’t have been possible. 

“Where is everybody?” Ladybug asked, peering through an open door into an empty classroom.

“Heat signatures indicate numerous people in the building,” Pegasus said, checking the glowing screen filling the space between the two branches of his horseshoe. “But there’s no precise location.”

Ladybug’s heart sank. Adrien was somewhere in here—probably already a victim. She hadn’t told him the butterfly miraculous had been stolen, wanting to wait until the right time, and now he’d found out anyway in the worst way possible.

“What about the akuma?” came Rena Rouge’s voice from above. Ladybug looked up to see her dropping lithely down from an open chunk in the ceiling, just as she and Ladybug had planned. Carapace slipped in after her, landing at her side.

“She’s here somewhere,” Argos said. He grazed his brooch with his fingertips, frowning slightly. “She’s not very happy.”

A shaky sense of relief surged through Ladybug. If this akuma hadn’t left the school, she and the team could still contain the knowledge from the public at large. Maybe. If she could somehow convince everyone affected not to talk. 

“Who—?” she began, only for a woman’s angry voice to ring out over the stairs. 

“What are you doing here?!” The lean figure standing on the landing was vaguely familiar, her long red coat flapping about her ankles, matching the color of her suit and hair. Her face, half-covered by enormous lab red goggles, twisted with sudden anger. “You should all be studying!”

In one red-gloved hand, she extended a familiar-looking laser pointer. The light shot out from the end of the glowing bead, slicing through the main hall, widening like jaws as it stretched. 

The team scattered, leaping in every direction to avoid the red light. Though the stair railings and floor tiles in its path remained unharmed, Ladybug wasn’t keen on finding out what it would have done if it’d hit them. 

“Mme Mendeleiev?” squeaked Polymouse, peeking out from behind a square pillar. 

“You may address me as Detention!” the akuma shouted. She fisted the pointer in hand, her scowl fierce as her laser light. “Kids your age don’t think about the consequences of your actions anymore. I’m here to make sure you do!”

She swiveled around, aiming the laser pointer at Ladybug once again. The light cut a path straight toward her, swallowing all it touched until, with ringing force, something long and silver collided with Detention’s head. She stumbled back, dropping the laser pointer and disappearing behind a pile of concrete chunks. The red light vanished in an instant.

“Personally, I try to be like a proton,” Chat Noir said, dropping down from the rafters to land in front of Ladybug. “You know, stay positive?”

Ladybug’s already-pounding heart leapt high in her chest. “Chaton!” she cried, stepping toward him. “You came!” 

He angled his head back, sending her a small smile over his shoulder. The weight in the pit of Ladybug’s stomach lessened at the sight. Maybe he would finally give her the chance to clear the air.

“We were in the area,” Chat Noir said, glancing at something above. “Came to make sure you weren’t all out of your element.”

Ryuuko dropped down next, giving Chat Noir a look of mild unamusement, then went to stand beside Argos. 

“Listen,” Ladybug said lowly, dragging her attention back to her partner. It’d only been a week since she’d seen him, but it felt like so much longer. “About the other night—”

“Don’t worry,” Chat said quickly, retracting his baton and stepping back. He slung one arm each around Carapace and Argos’s shoulders, odd familiarity warming his gaze. “With the whole team here, there won’t be any more close calls. Not like last time.”

“Oh,” Ladybug said, her heart sinking. “Well that’s, um, not really what I meant.”

But Chat Noir didn’t seem to hear her, busying himself with greeting the rest of the team as though he’d just arrived at a party rather than an akuma fight. Stuck at his side, Argos sent Ladybug a look, as though it was her fault Chat Noir practically had him in a headlock. Carapace, on the other hand, raised his hand to meet Chat Noir’s in a high-five. 

“Hell yeah, mec!” he said. “It’s Mendeleiev versus all eighteen of us! I like those odds.”

“I like your attitude,” Chat Noir said, grinning back. 

Ladybug stared after him, but he turned to Vesperia and Tigresse Poupre, saying something about the cat’s meow and the bee’s knees that sent an unpleasant twinge through Ladybug’s chest. Maybe he wasn’t ready to hear her out after all. There was an akuma, and he was Chat Noir, so of course he’d be at the scene even if he didn’t want to be around her. 

Which, given how his back stayed facing her, seemed very likely.

The ground suddenly felt uneven beneath her feet. But that was likely due to Detention leaping off the top of the pile of rubble and landing hard at the base, shaking the tiled floor with brute force.  

“Watch out!” Pigella cried, her small hands pushing into Ladybug’s back.

Ladybug stumbled, nearly taking Polymouse with her before she regained her balance. Then with a flash of red and a cry of surprise, Pigella was gone.

“No!” Ladybug whirled back around to face a smirking Detention. “What did you do to her?”

“I helped her,” Detention snapped. She twirled the laser in her hand, tapping it smartly against the heel of her palm. “There’s no discipline for kids your age anymore. All these new ‘policies’ made sure of that! Well, I’m here to make sure every teenager learns exactly the lesson they need, and if I have to put all them in detention to do it, then so be it!”

“The akuma must be in that thing,” Chat Noir said lowly, his face angled toward her, eyes fixed ahead. “The usual tactic, my lady?”

She glanced sidelong at him, heart taking another nosedive as he turned to charge Detention. “Chat, wait!” Ladybug said, grabbing his tail to keep him there. She couldn’t let him go without talking. Once the fight was done, he’d leave, and who knew when she’d get another chance?” “I— I wanted to say I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about the butterfly from the start.”

Polymouse let out a yelp as Detention’s laser light missed Ladybug, striking her across the cheek. She disappeared in a flash. Ladybug and Chat Noir winced, and then he whirled on her, expression frantic as Pegasus took another hit meant for Ladybug to the stomach. 

“I get it,” Chat Noir said hurriedly, brushing Ladybug’s hand off. “Really, it’s okay. Maybe we can talk about it when we’re not in the middle of something?”

She reached for him, but he was already lunging forward, aiming his baton into the ground to propel himself into a vault. 

“Chat!” Ladybug called, reaching out as the red light swiveled in his direction. She tossed her yo-yo, curling the wire around Detention’s wrist, only for Detention to pass it into her other hand. “Stop!”

“I've got you, mec!”

A shimmering wall of green light materialized around Chat Noir, who was now crouched atop one of the railings on the upper floor, smiling. Despite the relief easing through her lungs, Ladybug silently cursed. Carapace hadn't unlocked the unlimited usage of his power yet. His Protection was out of the game until he found a place to recharge. 

And Chat Noir didn’t want to talk to her. 

“Aw, mec,” Chat Noir drew his hands to his chest, clasping them over his heart. “I always knew we had good chemistry, but I never thought you’d have that reaction!”

Carapace grinned, though the timer on his bracelet sounded its first warning. “I’ve always got my ion you!”

Ladybug glanced toward Rena Rouge, who stood silently beside him, watching the exchange with her mouth slightly agape. She sent Ladybug a look too, bemusement coating her features.

Ladybug shook her head, a knot tight in her throat. Chat Noir was back to his usual self, and there was no hint of anger in his face as he crouched there, watching and waiting for Ladybug’s instructions. It was nothing like the last time she’d seen him; the brief flash of hurt in his eyes and the awful blankness after. 

Maybe… he really was okay now. Maybe the reason he didn’t want to talk was because nothing was actually wrong. He was the same as ever, after all. Maybe she was the one acting strange. 

With a rough pull on her yo-yo, Ladybug dragged Detention down on one knee, making her wobble as she caught her balance. 

“Vesperia!” she called, and Vesperia ran forward obediently, trompo raised to strike. But Detention recovered fast and, with a flick of her wrist, struck Vesperia with the beam of light too.

Ladybug gritted her teeth. That was four members of their team down, with Coq Courage and Capri Kid still unaccounted for.

“Find out where the others went,” she said to Bunnyx, who nodded and disappeared through a Burrow. 

“I can show you where!” Detention spat. “A few hours spent reflecting on your choices will only do you good!”

She threw her hand out, directing the laser beam toward Ladybug once more. Minotaurox stepped forward, catching the light in the palm of his hand. Though he remained unaffected, blinking where he stood, his timer began to chime in time with Carapace’s. 

Another holder’s power, used up. Only ten left. 

“I think this might take us a few tries,” she said to Viperion, who met her gaze and nodded in silent understanding. He twisted the ouroboros bracelet around his wrist, locking the loop in place. Five minutes didn’t seem like sufficient time, but it was enough of a safety net to proceed with caution. 

“You know,” Ladybug said, turning to glance at Chat Noir beside her. “You have every right to be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Chat said. Detention shot out again, just missing Ladybug as Chat Noir yanked her roughly out of the way. Ryuuko let out a soft gasp and then she was gone too, catching the blow meant for Ladybug square in the chest. 

“Sorry!” Ladybug said to the empty space where Ryuuko had been just a few moments prior, as well as to an outraged Argos across the way. Then she rounded on Chat Noir. “I mean, sorry to you, too. When you left, you just seemed—”

“Ladybug!” Chat’s voice was urgent, his posture tensed. “It’s fine, I promise. The only thing I need from you now is a little luck. ”

“Right!” Ladybug scrambled for her yo-yo, nearly fumbling it before tossing it up with a “Lucky Charm!” 

A compact mirror fell into her hands; a familiar talisman—one that had won her victories before. 

With a grunt, Detention charged forward, flicking the laser light straight at Ladybug. She reacted quickly, angling the compact toward the path of red light. It bounced off the mirror’s surface like a flare, hitting Detention square in the chest. Red light enveloped her and, with a gasp, she vanished, leaving the ruined hall in silence. 

“Perfect timing,” Bunnyx said behind her. Ladybug whipped around, finding Bunnyx’s head poking out of a Burrow in the floor. “I’ll take you to them. Come on in.”

The Burrow began to widen, a circle of light swallowing the floor tiles, letting each holder fall into its light as it grew. Ladybug’s stomach lifted as she dropped, the rush of air and light filling her senses until her feet met solid ground. When she looked around, the other holders were already regaining their balance, all of them congregated in Mendeleiev’s classroom. 

There were several people sitting at a row of desks; Marc and Nathaniel were right at the front, heavy textbooks open before them and pencils in their shackled hands. Pegasus, Pigella, Ryuuko, Polymouse, and Vesperia occupied the front row in similar positions, struggling frantically against their bonds. On the board at the front of the room, the word “DETENTION” was posted in large, angry letters. 

The sound of manic laughter sounded from the teacher’s desk. Ladybug whirled around to find Detention there, feet on the table, narrowed gaze darting between each of the remaining holders with glee. 

“So you decided to come!” she said, rising from her rolling chair and tapping the laser pointer in her palm. “I’m impressed to see you owning up to your choices. That’s the first step to becoming more responsible!”

Minotaurox and Carapace’s timers sounded for the second and third time respectively, tightening the knot in Ladybug’s chest. But she didn’t have time to worry; Detention lurched forward, shooting a line of red light across the room, and Ladybug flipped back, springing off the face of one of the desks with the heels of her palms and landing crouched behind one of the unoccupied chairs. 

The others followed her lead, ducking swiftly behind overturned chairs and tables. But then Traquemoiselle cried out, her silhouette glowing with red light before she vanished and reappeared behind one of the desks, wrists shackled like the other prisoners and an enormous science book open before her. Bunnyx followed suit, grunting in annoyance and letting out a muttered curse as she materialized in one of the second-row seats. Then it was Minotaurox, his hulking frame compressed into the too-small seat beside her, the chains barely fitting around his wrists. 

Six holders left. They’d have to finish this fast.

“I think I can cloak us,” Rena Rouge said as the sound of Detention’s footsteps approached, her red heels clicking visibly closer toward them beneath the bottom of the desks. “We’ll be able to see her, but she won’t be able to see us.”

“Good idea,” Ladybug agreed, and the air shimmered and curled around them like the wall of bubble. Detention’s footsteps slowed, then continued again, bringing her to the end of the row where she stood, peering through the seats in confusion.

“You should do this more periodically,” Carapace whispered to Rena Rouge. Then he turned and knocked his elbow into Chat Noir’s ribs. “Get it? Periodically? ”

Chat Noir snickered and leaned close, his voice low. “This is one of my new favorite solutions.”

“Hey!” Ladybug said, reaching out to grip Chat Noir’s arm. He glanced down at her, smile falling, and her chastisement died on her lips. She was being the weird one again. Maybe if she just treated him normally, like Carapace was doing, they could go back to their usual dynamic. 

“Enough with the bad chemistry jokes,” she decided on instead. “All the good ones Argon.”

He gave her a strange look, raising an eyebrow in silence. Ladybug’s face warmed; he really was upset with her. She should have just stuck to telling him to stop joking around—but then she caught sight of Argos crouched by Ryuuko, and the smug, knowing look he sent Ladybug made her swallow her words.  

“Roi Singe,” Ladybug hissed, craning her neck around Chat Noir to look for him. “Can you get a hit?”

Roi Singe aimed a thumbs-up her way, then pulled his jingu bang from his back, bringing it expertly down to his side with an excited grin. At the same time, Carapace and Minotaurox’s timers sounded once more, and Detention whirled around, her eyes locking straight on Roi Singe, then sweeping over the team until she found Ladybug.

Ladybug’s heart dropped. The illusion was broken.

“Up—” Roi Singe began, only for a beam of red laser light to strike him directly between the eyes. His yelp cut off as he disappeared, then reappeared behind Traquemoiselle, cuffed to one of the desks.

“You can’t hide!” Detention cried, and Ladybug leapt out of the way of her laser, the sound of Rena Rouge’s timer joining Carapace and Minotaurox’s as they scattered. “The only way to learn is the hard way. Anything else is a lie!”

A jet of red light hit Carapace in the leg just before he leapt, only for him to materialize seconds later in one of the desks. Then Argos earned a shot to the back as he ducked for cover; he reappeared in a desk behind Ryuuko moments later, looking sullen. Rena Rouge went next, caught in the beam as she tugged at Carapace’s chains, reappearing in the seat beside Argos as Detention laughed.  

Chat Noir leapt forward, calling “Cataclysm!” and caught the beam of red light in the bubbling blackness pouring from his palm. Then he swiped at Detention, who stumbled back to avoid his claws, only to direct the beam of light straight at Viperion, who lifted his lyre to deflect it, too late. 

The red light hit him on the wrist, directly on the band of his miraculous. He vanished in a haze of light, then reappeared beside Roi Singe at a desk, his eyes wide as he glanced toward Ladybug. 

She froze, as did he, and his miraculous beeped rapidly for several seconds before his transformation gave out. With a flash of blue, Luka was left sitting there, stiff and pale in his seat. 

The other holders started, their jaws dropping and eyes widening in mutual shock. Then with a laugh Detention shot another beam of red light at a frozen Tigresse, who reappeared in the seat behind Luka, still gaping at the back of his head. 

“I guess we’re all out of second chances, my lady.”

Ladybug jerked around to look at Chat Noir, though his expression was grim. She didn’t realize she wasn’t breathing until he placed a hand on her shoulder, and then the panic blazed through her like fire as she gulped. 

It was one thing for the rest of the team to know who Viperion was. It was something else when Chrysalis knew now too, through her akuma. The butterfly mask hovered over Detention’s face, a look of concentration momentarily smoothing over her features. Whatever happened now, Chrysalis would know Luka was the holder of the snake miraculous. And because of that, he couldn’t be anymore. 

They really wouldn’t have a second chance. 

“I don’t think you’re one of my students,” Detention said, and Luka turned his attention to her, struggling in vain against his bonds. “No matter! I’m here to enforce discipline on all of Paris’s teens. I’m sure your teachers will thank me.”

Chat Noir knocked his hand against hers—the one holding the yo-yo. Ladybug glanced at him, finding his green eyes bright on hers. Then she understood.

“Lucky Charm!” she called for the second time, at which Detention's features twisted with anger. She swung her laser pointer out again, only for Chat Noir to lunge at her, a Cataclysm aimed straight at the laser. A heartbeat later, a red and black-spotted switch magnet landed in Ladybug’s hands.

Detention froze, her finger resting on the button. The butterfly insignia reappeared over her face, which twisted into a smirk. Slowly, she aimed the laser pointer at Ladybug. 

“Do I have your attention now, Chat Noir?” she asked.

He tilted his head. Standing behind him, Ladybug couldn’t see his expression. 

“Chrysalis?” he asked. Detention’s smile widened, and Chat Noir’s shoulders tensed. “What do you want?” he demanded, his voice different now. Colder.

“I already told you,” Detention said, her smile widening beneath the light of the butterfly mask. She gestured around the classroom, at the cracked tiles and overturned furniture. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

His tail gave the smallest of flicks, and Ladybug knew from the clench of his free hand that he was bracing himself. 

“You’re right,” he said, making the tightness in her chest ease the slightest bit. “And it won’t be for much longer. Now, my lady!”

Detention’s scowl deepened, the laser flicking on for the briefest second. But when Ladybug switched the magnet on, it shimmied out of her hand, sailing fast out of her reach. 

“Chat!” Ladybug called, ducking to avoid dozens of flying pens and paperclips. 

He leapt forward, catching the laser pointer in a fizzling Cataclysm. The metal crumbled to ash, a dark butterfly lifting from the ruins to flutter frantically above the dust. Ladybug lunged for it, capturing it in her yo-yo, and exhaled sharply as she released a gleaming white butterfly from within. 

When she looked at Chat Noir, though, he was helping a disoriented Mme Mendeleiev off the ground. 

“Good job,” Ladybug said, taking several cautious steps toward him. After a second, he glanced her way. Her fingers twitched, the words, “Pound it?” heavy on the tip of her tongue. If he decided not to reciprocate it, she’d know he really was angry, and she had no idea how to even begin fixing that.  

“You too,” Chat Noir said. He held her gaze briefly, then dropped his gaze to her hand. Without hesitation, he held out a fist. “Pound it?”

Ladybug blinked at him, mind momentarily blank. Her heart drummed in her ears as she watched him, and then she brought her own fist up to knock against his. 

“Pound it,” she mumbled, still staring at him. He flashed her a quick smile, then gestured toward the rest of the team, still chained to their desks. “How about that cure, my lady?”

“Oh!” Ladybug stepped back, pulling her yo-yo into her grip and managing a rather high-pitched laugh. He was back to normal. He was fine. She knew that now, and she was still being the weird one.  “Right! I’ll do that now.”

She tossed her yo-yo into the air, watching the light wash over the classroom, restoring it to normal. The other holders leapt out of their seats, rubbing their wrists and turned to each other with animated chatter. Tigresse and Pigella closed in on Luka, who was nervously feeding Sass something from the palm of his hand. 

Ladybug edged toward him, throat tight. But Luka pointed behind her, mouthing something unintelligible, and she turned to see Chat Noir dropping from the ledge, the click of his baton fading into the wind. 

Her gut sank as she watched him go. He’d said everything was fine—fought by her side and bumped her fist, just like always. And if he didn’t want to talk, Ladybug owed him whatever space he wanted. But the weight in her chest grew heavier the longer she stood there, waiting for him to come back. 

The Agreste Mansion greeted her with blooming color as she landed on the stoop, vines and flowers covering stone and metal. Gone were the foreboding security cameras covering every inch of the property and the shuttered windows fronting the facade. But the strange chill that had always lingered over it remained even still, and the same foreboding note that played every time she rang the bell sounded once again as she did the same.

“Nathalie,” Ladybug muttered, taking the wait for the door to open to rehearse. “We need to talk about the butterfly miraculous. I need to know everything you know about it. No— I need you to tell me everything you haven’t—” She broke off as the handle turned and the door creaked open, backing up to avoid being hit. 

Adrien stood in the doorway, blinking into the twilight as he regarded her. He’d showered and changed into sweatpants after the attack, the faint scent of soap wafting into Ladybug’s nose. She stared at him for a moment, caught in his eyes like green beacons, and he stared back, mouth slightly agape.

“Adrien!”

“Ladybug?” he asked, incredulous. 

“Hello!” Her voice was a pitch too high; she cleared her throat to amend it. “Hello, Adrien. How are you today?”

She winced internally at the forced formality in her tone. Even Adrien seemed to catch on. With a strange look, he returned, “Fine. …How are you?”

“Fine!”

They stared at each other again, the silence straining. Ladybug’s cheeks began to hurt, and only then did it occur to her that maybe she shouldn’t be smiling, given the last time she’d technically spoken to him had been while delivering news of his father’s death. 

“So, uh,” Adrien said, regarding her carefully. “What brings you here?”

“Gabriel,” she blurted out, at which his eyes widened. “I mean, Nathalie! I mean, I—I wanted to ask Nathalie… about Gabriel.”

Adrien continued staring. Ladybug’s cheeks filled with heat. The unstated question—why she was asking questions about Gabriel at all—hung heavy in the silence between them. 

But then he stepped back and opened the door wider. “Nathalie!” he called, his voice reverberating through the entry. “You have a visitor.”

Tentatively, Ladybug followed his beckon inside. And though she’d been to the Agreste mansion countless times since Monarque’s downfall, it still felt like standing in an entirely new place—especially with all the changes Lady Graham de Vanily continued to make. 

Nathalie appeared in one of the doorways beyond the central staircase. The gleaming white walls and light fixtures no longer hurt to look at as Ladybug walked through, taking in the many paintings and family photographs coloring the foyer, the scent of fresh flowers and leafy plants in bright vases lifting through the air. 

But the portrait of Gabriel with his arm around Adrien’s shoulder remained centered over the entry like a dark void. Ladybug tried not to look at it as she ascended the steps toward Nathalie, who stood straight on her own legs, a tablet tucked under her arm and her hair in the same neat bun as always. 

“Hello, Ladybug,” she greeted, her voice just as subdued as her expression. “I wondered when you’d be coming.”

A rustle sounded close behind, and Ladybug turned to see Adrien coming up the steps to stand beside her. He looked at her, expression unreadable, then sent a questioning look up at Nathalie. 

“Is this about the documentary?” he asked.

Ladybug started. It had only been a couple of months, and they were already filming a documentary? Adrien hadn’t mentioned that.

“Yes,” Nathalie lied with such ease, Ladybug almost believed her too. “Would you like to join us, Adrien?”

He stepped to the side, raising his hands as he ascended toward the landing. “No, no,” he said, flashing a small smile. “I already told them I’d, uh… work on my part.”

Ladybug caught the look he sent her—one of carefully concealed emotion. He looked away just as she met his eyes, ascending the steps hastily. 

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” he called back to them, with a note of false cheer that Ladybug knew very well meant he hoped they wouldn’t need him at all.

She stared after him, the pit in her stomach dropping lower as he went, shoulders hunched, head ducked, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Then Nathalie recalled her attention, gesturing in the opposite direction.

“This way,” she said. “We can talk in my office.”

Much like the rest of the mansion, the atelier was nearly unrecognizable from the days when Gabriel had occupied it. Gone were the dress mannequins, the checkered floor tiles, and the carved-out trench in the center of the room—replaced with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, wall-mounted screens, and an occasional potted plant. The desktop screens across the long table by the windows were set to the standard blue-sky image, but there were framed photos of Adrien and Emilie on the shelf above, as well as something that looked like an antique pickaxe and a child’s drawing. 

“The butterfly miraculous,” Ladybug said as soon as the door slid shut behind her. “I never recovered it on the last day, and now somebody’s taken it. She’s already attacked. Twice.”

Nathalie sank into the chair behind her desk, her expression hardening. She removed her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose, letting out a heavy sigh. 

“Two akuma attacks?” she asked. Ladybug nodded. “I hadn’t heard.”

“We—” Ladybug cut off, remembering the way Chat Noir had left before she’d even been able to really talk to him. “I’ve been, um… keeping it within the team.”

“Gabriel was a powerful holder in his own right,” Nathalie said, replacing her glasses again. “I hate to think of this new one even coming close to his level of prowess.”

“Me too,” Ladybug said. Her throat grew tight at the memory of the battle—the way Detention had picked off her team members, one by one, like flies. “That’s why I came here. You were with him. You’re the one who knows the most about the butterfly miraculous. If there’s anything you can tell me about it… anything at all…”

She trailed off, watching Nathalie’s expression flicker. Finally, Nathalie leaned back, drumming her fingers on the desk. 

“If you’ve already seen the Grimoire,” she said at last, “there isn’t much else I can tell you.”

Ladybug stepped closer, setting her hands on the table and peering into Nathalie’s face. “Surely there’s something,” she said, the beginnings of desperation beginning to heat in her blood. “The multiple akumas—there was nothing about that in the Grimoire. And the megakumas, too! That shouldn’t have been possible.”

“He found ways around his limits,” Nathalie said, a shade of bitterness coloring her voice. “Sometimes I found them for him. He was so desperate to stay one step ahead of you; he would make akumas to amplify his own powers, like Scarlet Moth. And he always looked for ways to use your powers against you. It was your magical charm that he used to make the megakuma.”

Ladybug slid her hands from the table, biting her lip. Chrysalis didn’t even have to be as powerful as Monarque had been. All she had to do was find the same cheat codes he had, and Paris would be thrown into a new reign of terror exactly the same as the last.

She sighed and thumbed her yo-yo, trying to stop the invading thought that this would have been a lot easier with Chat Noir here. 

“Was there anyone else who knew who he was?” she asked, meeting Nathalie’s gaze again. Her ensuing frown made Ladybug’s heart drop. 

“Félix, I believe,” Nathalie said. “Although as your teammate, I assume he already told you what he knows.” 

Ladybug pressed her lips, holding Nathalie’s gaze for a beat before nodding. “He did,” she said carefully. “He and Kagami told me everything.” 

If Nathalie understood what everything included, she gave no indication. She simply nodded once, then folded her hands on the desk, her voice dropping a tone lower. 

“And there was also Mme Tsurugi,” she said. “She worked as Gabriel’s accomplice when I no longer could or would.”

Ladybug crossed her arms, turning their faces over in her mind. Félix had no interest in the butterfly miraculous—not to mention he’d been with them during Chrysalis’s latest attack. And Kagami, his only other confidant, had been with him as Ryuuko. 

As for Mme Tsurugi… 

“Even if she knew about the brooch,” Ladybug began slowly, “how would she have found it? It was dark in that repository. Even I couldn’t see where it went.”

Nathalie raised a brow at her, but Ladybug looked back at her steadily. 

“She creates tools to do for her what she can’t,” Nathalie explained, as if Ladybug didn’t already know. “Gabriel learned that the hard way. Your friend Kagami, too.”

Ladybug chewed the inside of her cheek, biting back a retort. Kagami had no problem defying her mother now that she wore her family crest on her own hand. But surely Nathalie knew that. Just as surely as she knew about the rings Adrien wore on his hand, too. 

She waited, but Nathalie didn’t continue. 

“Well,” Ladybug said. “Whoever this Chrysalis is, I doubt it’s Mme Tsurugi. She was still in London when it went missing.” And she had been at the parade during the attack, Ladybug remembered. She’d driven through in a Tsurugi Tech convey, clearly visible in a black convertible, dressed in mourning clothes like she had something to mourn, even though she all but owned half of Gabriel now.

“What does she want?” Nathalie asked. “This Chrysalis person.”

“The same thing. Mine and Chat Noir’s miraculous.”

“Ah,” Nathalie said darkly. “So she knows about the Wish.”

Ladybug swallowed, looking down at her feet. She had the Grimoire, so Chrysalis must have learned of the Wish from Gabriel or Nooroo—unless there was something else Ladybug was missing.

“Maybe she doesn’t know what the consequences are,” Ladybug said, knowing even as she spoke how hopeless the notion was. “Nobody knows about… about what really happened. Except us, I mean.” And Alya. And Félix and Kagami. And Su Han. And maybe even Mme Tsurugi, which did not bode well at all.

Not that Nathalie needed to know all that. 

“Or maybe she’s like Gabriel,” Nathalie said, turning her head slightly to look at the window, gaze turning distant. “Maybe she thinks the ends to her Wish are worth the means.”

And why wouldn’t she? As far as Chrysalis knew—as far as anyone knew—nothing had come to pass. The most Chrysalis had to go on was the word of her kwami, just as Ladybug had only had the word of the Guardians and Tikki.

The world didn’t end. 

Her stomach gave another harsh lurch, and she looked up to meet Nathalie’s gaze. “For as long as I’ve been Ladybug,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, “I’ve been told the Wish was wrong. That there would be… consequences. But I— I don’t know what he Wished for. I don’t know what price he paid. I thought it was his life that he exchanged for yours, Nathalie, but…” She closed her eyes against the doubt, and the last image of him embracing Emilie’s body before being swallowed by the light burned there at the forefront. “But what if that’s not the only thing he changed? What if the consequences are bigger? What if it’s Chrysalis, or— or something even worse that we don’t even know yet?”

“Ladybug,” Nathalie said gently. Ladybug looked up to meet her calm eyes. “I have read the Grimoire too. I know how the Wish works. The exchange was equivalent. I am here. I can walk.” Her face softened, her expression lifting with a faint trace of pride—or maybe relief. “He finally accepted Emilie’s wishes. More than that, he has left a legacy for Adrien to be proud of. His father learned to let go. He can finally be happy and free.”

“But if Gabriel really had a change of heart,” Ladybug said, wrangling back the swelling heat in her throat, “wouldn’t it be better for Adrien to have his father?” Wouldn’t the Wish need to be undone to really, truly, fix all of this?

Her voice echoed louder than she intended throughout the atelier. Nathalie tensed and Ladybug flinched, and both of them looked to the door for the sound of approaching footsteps. None came.

“Gabriel was already dying,” Nathalie said, her voice low, her gaze careful. “It would only have happened slower, if not for the Wish. And despite what he chose in the end, you didn’t know him like I did. His change of heart would not have lasted.”

Ladybug stood back, thumbing her finger where she felt the cool line of Adrien’s rings whenever their hands were intertwined. Maybe the best thing, the right thing, was simply to let the Wish stand. The only way to reverse it was to make another Wish—and what would be the consequences of that? Gabriel had given his life to keep everything else intact. Whose life would the Wish take in equivalent exchange? Nathalie’s? Or would Ladybug be forced to choose between letting her die, or someone else entirely?

Ladybug stared back at her, throat tight. Nathalie looked so alive again, as if she had never been gaunt and breathless and weak as she slipped away. Adrien had been so happy when she recovered. How could Ladybug take her away from him? How could Ladybug sentence her to that fate?

And she’d have to ask Chat Noir for his ring. She would have to tell him about the first Wish, and she’d have to see the look on his face when she confessed her failure. What would he think of her if she told him? If she asked him for his miraculous?

Suddenly, he sound of footsteps scuffed toward them down the hall, and the doors to the atelier were thrown open to reveal a panting, wide-eyed Adrien. 

“Ladybug!” he said, breathless. “The news— quick! It’s on Face to Face!”

Nathalie blinked at him, mouth slightly parted, then reached for the remote. The screen on the opposite wall switched on to reveal a familiar studio setting; red couches set against blue-paneled walls, Nadja Chamack sitting across from an interviewee, as she did every Saturday night. 

But the girl on the couch was masked, her long, violet hair in a high ponytail and her purple suit shining beneath the bright, beaming lights. One leg was crossed over her knee, the silver heel of her boots flashing at the camera, light glinting off the tiara-like headpiece framing her face and the butterfly miraculous gleaming at the base of her throat. 

No, was all Ladybug could think. No, it couldn’t be.

“Is this live?” Nathalie asked, turning up the volume.

“Yeah.” Adrien’s throat bobbed as he stared at the screen, his expression slowly turning to horror. “It only just started, too.”

“... call yourself Chrysalis,” Nadja was saying, leaning forward in her seat, eyes fixed on the girl across from her. “Can I ask what inspired the name?”

“I believe in new beginnings,” Chrysalis said, taking a filled glass from one of the stagehands and raising it to the camera. “As the new butterfly holder, I wanted something that suited the message I’m trying to convey. I’m nothing like Monarque or Ladybug, you see! I have nothing to hide.”

“Am I correct in assuming you’re here to reach Ladybug and Chat Noir? ” Nadja asked. A mic lowered from the top of the frame, hovering just above Chrysalis’s head. “Assuming they’re watching right now, what do you have to say? ”

“I have something they want,” Chrysalis said, winking at the camera. Ladybug’s blood turned cold as the shot closed in, narrowing on the glittering brooch before panning back up to Chrysalis’s face. “Come and find me, if you can! I promise I’ll make it worth your while. ”

The audience in the studio broke into mutters, and Nadja leaned forward again, gripping her tablet and pitching question after question. In the atelier, Ladybug turned away, Adrien and Nathalie’s voices scraping to be heard over the white noise filling Ladybug’s ears. 

The truth was out. There would be no hiding it from anyone now. Chrysalis had made certain everyone knew there was a new butterfly holder. 

She had made sure they knew Ladybug had failed. 

Chapter Text

Adrien hadn’t expected Ladybug to contact Chat Noir anytime soon after Chrysalis’s self-scheduled interview with Nadja Chamack. Even if they’d been chatty beforehand—which they hadn’t—Ladybug’s reaction to the broadcast hadn’t left her in any place to send messages. Pale and shaken, she’d hastened out of the mansion, presumably to go collect herself at home.

Part of him wanted to be able to comfort her, the way he had so many times before. To pick her up when she was down, to help her get back on her feet every time she stumbled. He’d itched to do that while she watched Chrysalis talk, but she hadn’t responded to anything Adrien said—and he knew it wasn’t his place, as Adrien.

But he wasn’t sure it was his place as Chat Noir, either.

At least Chat Noir had a place now, though, even if it wasn’t as Ladybug’s confidant, or even her partner. He was still part of her team, and the team had a purpose again: fighting Chrysalis. He could even offer something his other teammates couldn’t, now that he and Ladybug had come into their adult powers—something the battle with Detention illustrated well.

Not to mention, his teammates valued him. Even Carapace, who’d been so critical of Chat Noir to Adrien before, matched him pun for pun and had his back in combat. 

(Nino seemed to have changed his tune about a lot of things lately. Adrien wasn’t sure how to feel about Chat Noir and Gabriel Agreste both being in that category.)

Chat Noir was needed again. And there was nothing now that could stop him from being at his lady’s side in battle: no press conferences, no promotional tours, no white walls pressing down from all sides. He had another chance to prove himself, another villain to defeat, and this time, he wouldn’t miss the final act, even if he’d been downgraded to an ensemble player instead of a lead.

(How could he be a lead, anyway, when he’d lost the role of love interest before he could even audition? No matter; he was Marinette’s leading man by day, and just one of Ladybug’s many heroes by night.)

(It was better, anyway, that Ladybug had so many heroes on her team. She’d never have to face that white cat all alone, and he’d be dust before he had to hold her broken body under a red sky.)

So he didn’t expect to hear from Ladybug, who didn’t need his comfort or his insight. She’d contact him with the rest of the team, he expected, once she’d collected her thoughts and made a plan on her own—or with Rena Rouge.

But for some reason, some misguided sense of hope and habit, he transformed and checked his messages anyways.

To his surprise, there were several, most of them dated over the last week. He felt a pang of guilt as he remembered how relieved Ladybug had looked when she saw him earlier that night. He knew he hadn’t missed any battles—Luka would’ve texted Adrien if Chat Noir hadn’t shown up—but if Ladybug had called him that many times, she’d been more worried than he’d realized.

“Chaton,” she greeted him in her most recent message. She sounded as fervent as a call for battle. “I don’t know if you saw the news—or when you’re listening to this—maybe the Ladyblog has posted a recap by the time you hear this, but—” Her voice broke, here, and when she continued, she sounded smaller, more like the Ladybug he’d last seen fleeing the Agreste manor. “Chrysalis announced herself, publicly. The whole world knows now, and— she’s taunting us, Chat. She’s trying to draw us out. I need— we need— please, Chat, we have to talk about this. I can’t—” She cut off again, just long enough for Chat Noir to process her words.

This message was from tonight. She’d called him after all. She hadn’t told him she’d lost the butterfly, or that she’d planned to question Nathalie, or a hundred other things—but she’d heard Chrysalis and she’d called him that same night.

“Will you meet me for patrol tomorrow night, at the usual spot?” She was all business again, but her words tugged Chat Noir’s heart strings up, up, up all the same. “Just you and me, this time. We can debrief the rest of the team once we’re on the same page.”

Maybe it was his fault, too, that she hadn’t told him about her plans to visit Nathalie. She had tried to talk to him during the battle, after all, and he’d shut her down, unwilling to lose his focus in favor of half-apologies, but maybe she’d had more to say than that.

Maybe she’d tell him tomorrow, if he gave her a chance. She couldn’t undo weeks of hiding the truth any more than she could take back the secrets Chrysalis exposed, but it was never too late to give Chat Noir her trust—or for her to earn his back.

He sent her a quick text, agreeing to meet, before detransforming and getting ready for bed.

Sleep was long-coming, his mind busy with the possibilities of tomorrow, but once his tired eyes finally fluttered shut, he slept better than he had in weeks.

For the first time in a month, he didn’t dream of his father.

School lunch was… different, this year. Not that Adrien had much to compare it to: he’d only been allowed to dine in the cafeteria with his friends for a few months before school had ended last year. Still, those few months had lived up to the Lycée Experience™ he’d been promised by every French teen movie he’d ever watched, and hadn’t been too far off from the Hollywood films he’d seen either.

But Mayor Bustier’s education reforms extended to the lunchroom, too. Half the tables had been taken out to make room for alternative seating, in the spirit of offering more choices to the student body. In the center of the remaining tables, an extra long one with individual stools attached had been added—reminiscent of an American high school cafeteria. Couches featured in every corner, along with bean bags and low tables with floor cushions.

Over the course of the first week, everyone had experimented with the different seating options, still searching for that best fit. But this afternoon, no matter where you sat, everyone was talking about the same thing: Chrysalis.

Of course, Chrysalis wasn’t news to Adrien. She wasn’t news to Alya or Nino, either. But Marinette seemed pretty shaken up by the topic—a fact that both he and Alya cottoned onto pretty quickly.

“Let’s find a quiet corner today,” Adrien suggested, just as Alya started speaking.

“It’s only been a day and I’m already tired of talking about Chrysalis.” She nodded to Adrien, a clear go-ahead to scour the cafeteria for a safe space. “Probably because I was up all night moderating comments on the Ladyblog.”

“Or because we’ve known—” Nino started as they walked, before Alya cut him off.

“Nino,” she hissed, gesturing to Adrien, then the rest of the cafeteria, and finally to an alarmed-looking Marinette. “Not in public.”

“Right, sorry,” Nino said, then dropped his voice to a low whisper. “Since we’ve known for a week—”

Marinette let out a strangled noise. 

“Which I didn’t include on the Ladyblog for a reason,” Alya replied.

Adrien longed to reach for Marinette’s hand and offer comfort, but her fingers were gripping the edges of her lunch tray, and he knew better than to let Marinette carry a tray of food one-handed. He settled for placing a guiding hand on her back and leading her through the cafeteria. Violette tried to wave them over to her crowded table as they passed, but Marinette only moved closer to Adrien, letting him shield her as they headed towards towards a partially-occupied table near the corner.

Mylène might have had some time to adjust to Chrysalis’s appearance, but Adrien knew she’d be sympathetic towards Marinette’s nerves. And Ivan wasn’t much of a talker.

(Adrien wouldn’t miss Violette’s company at lunch, either, though he could feel the daggers she sent into his back when they passed.)

“Ladybug probably doesn’t want you telling us anything that isn’t public knowledge, Nino,” Adrien added as they approached the table. 

Marinette shot him a grateful look before turning to Mylène, who was deep in conversation with Ivan. 

“I just worry Cerise is going to get her heart broken,” she was saying. “I mean, just a few months ago Zoé had feelings for—oh, hi Marinette!”

“Hi, Mylène. Are these seats occupied?” Marinette asked.

Alya gave him a thumbs up as they set their trays down.

“But you guys are members of La Résistance! You’re practically part of the team,” Nino continued, taking a seat next to Ivan. Alya, Marinette, and Adrien settled into the remaining empty seats, and Adrien slid his right hand into Marinette’s open palm.

“I don’t know if I was a very good member,” Ivan mumbled into his pasta. “I just caused Ladybug more trouble in the end when I agreed to be Miraculized.”

Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand tighter, pressing his Miraculous into his finger. His own Alliance had never sent him the alert that ended up Miraculizing people, but he’d given into Alliance in the end, all the same.

Would he have been Miraculized too, if he had received the ping? Would he have let his father’s lies turn him against his lady in his efforts to escape letting Monarque do the same thing?

“That’s not true!” Mylène slammed her fork on the table. “You helped take down Monarbug when Scarabella and Kitty Noire lost their Miraculous! And fought off Queen Mayor’s robots when Ladybug and Chat Noir were trapped!” She reached over to place a hand on top of Ivan’s. “It’s not your fault that Gabriel Agreste took advantage of your pain. Even I was tempted by the Alliance, and you know how much I hated those things.”

“Whoa, dude, I agree that it’s not Ivan’s fault, but you can’t blame M. Agreste,” Nino said through a mouthful of potato. “The rings were hijacked by Monarque when he realized M. Agreste was helping us all chillax so much we were unakumatizable.”

Chillax from the nightmares he’d caused, Adrien wanted to say, but bit his tongue. His father technically wasn’t at fault for Nightormentor’s actions any more than Ivan was at fault for being Miraculized.

“He wouldn’t have been akumatized into Nightormentor to begin with if he hadn’t been so intent on keeping us locked up,” Kagami had said during fencing one day, when Adrien admitted he’d been off his game because the nightmares had been disrupting his sleep. “You don’t have to forgive your jailor. I haven’t forgiven mine.”

It was easier for her to hold a grudge, though, when her mother still drew air to breathe down her neck. Tomoe poured fuel on Kagami’s fire every day, while Gabriel’s lifeless statue just left Adrien feeling empty.

“M. Agreste took advantage of our stress to turn us into zombies!” Mylène insisted. “That man never cared about anything besides his profits.” Then, as if just now realizing who else was at the table, she added, “Sorry, Adrien.”

Adrien shrugged, unsure how else to respond. How could he argue, when he’d been locked up so his father could better sell the tale of his perfect romance with Kagami? Kagami was right: that had been all Gabriel, no matter what Monarque ended up using it to do.

“Oh, I think he cared about plenty besides his profits,” Alya said, darkly.

He supposed that was why he’d never gotten the Miraculize alert: his father knew Adrien wouldn’t believe he and Kagami had been kidnapped by Ladybug and Chat Noir, since he’d done the job himself.

But his father hadn’t sent the Miraculize message. Monarque had.

“He cared about Adrien,” Marinette added. “He loved him.”

Hadn’t he?

“Marinette’s right,” Nino agreed, spearing another potato. “Dude was a little overprotective sometimes, but his heart was in the right place.”

Adrien pushed back the memory of banging fruitlessly on the doors of a white room, begging to be let out, only to be answered by a faceless robot offering to trap his mind along with his body. He tried instead to remember the times he’d felt loved by his father, but even the memory of the first time he’d woken up to his father making pancakes was tainted by their final breakfast together: “You know I'm doing this for your happiness,” Gabriel had said, as he tore Adrien away from everything in his life that made him happy. 

Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand again.

“His heart’s in the right place now,” Alya muttered. “Six feet under.”

“Alya!” Marinette exclaimed, blood draining out of her face.

“Finally, some good fucking fertilizer,” Mylène agreed, toasting Alya with her glass.

“You guys are sick.” Nino stood, grabbing his tray. “He was a great guy. That’s what the G stands for.”

“I thought it stood for Gabriel?” said Ivan.

“Nino, Alya is just joking,” Marinette said, looking a bit like she was about to vomit.

Adrien was pretty sure Alya wasn’t joking, but…

“It’s fine, Nino,” Adrien said, grabbing the pitcher at the center of the table to pour Marinette some water. “My father was a complicated man.” 

Nino looked doubtful, but sat back down anyway.

Adrien handed Marinette her glass, which she took eagerly, taking several long gulps without stopping for breath. When she finished, Adrien poured her some more, and then grabbed her orange to peel it for her.

“Sorry, babe,” Alya said, turning Nino’s cap backwards so that the Gabriel logo faced the walls. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Adrien.” Marinette’s eyes were trained onto his fingers as he dug nails into the orange’s peel, releasing its scent. “Have you eaten anything?”

“Oh, um,” Adrien’s eyes flicked to his tray, which was still full, save for the cheese he’d gotten for Plagg. “I was going to, after I made sure you were okay.”

Marinette’s eyes softened, and some color returned to her cheeks. “Put your own oxygen mask on first,” she told him, taking her orange out of his hand to peel it herself.

“The pair of you, I swear.” Alya shook her head. “How about you both eat and I change the subject? Can you all believe that Mme Mendeleiev is still trying to assign homework after being written up for it? That woman never quits, I swear.”

“I can’t believe Mayor Bustier let M. Damocles rehire her,” Mylène agreed. “Iris and I tried to ask her about it during Environmental Club, but all she said was that everyone deserves a second chance.”

“I can’t believe M. Damocles wanted to rehire her, after she took his job.” Nino shook his head, turning his cap back around.

The conversation flowed naturally after that, everyone agreeing that Mme Mendeleiev was unreasonable, but Adrien didn’t miss the way that Alya didn’t look at Nino again for the rest of lunch.

She confronted Adrien in the art room later, during their Food Styling and Photography elective. It was a studio-style course, which meant there was plenty of time to chat.

They were styling fraisier gâteau today, using day-old cakes donated from local bakeries and strawberries from the school’s new garden that had to be harvested too early due to a sap beetle infestation. Adrien appreciated the school’s initiative to find new uses for waste products, but he still wasn’t comfortable with the food styling portions of the course.

Neither was Alya, despite both of them excelling in the class.

“I know the cakes are stale anyway, but this just feels wrong,” she huffed as she mixed food coloring and pepper into a bowl of shaving cream. Real creme mousseline would melt in studio lights, so Alya’s job was to approximate the color using something that wouldn’t melt, while Adrien applied red lipstick to the strawberries to make them photo ready.

Some of the less meticulous students simply covered their strawberries in glossy scarlet, leaving an even but unrealistic finish. Their instructor had already loudly praised Violette’s perfectly lacquered fruits, leaving her preening as she moved onto arranging them on the cake. But Adrien had learned from his own time in the makeup chair that letting some natural skin show through was better—there was a reason he’d been locked into a 12-step skincare routine by the age of 13, and it wasn’t because his skin was going to be slathered in foundation.

So he blended two colors of lipstick for natural variation and painstakingly traced around the seeds as he worked, trying not to think about the way the deep red he’d chosen was the exact shade of Ladybug’s suit, or the way she’d carefully let bits of her own skin show beneath the mask.

“I’m still looking,” she’d said, about the butterfly miraculous, letting just enough truth peek out that Adrien didn’t look too closely at the picture she painted.

“It’s all lies to make everything look palatable, when it’s rotten underneath,” Alya muttered as she prepared to spread the unholy shaving cream mixture onto the cake. “No one can eat this.”

They’d both been disillusioned by the class, which they’d signed up for together hoping to learn about photography. 

“Marinette said her parents had to do the same thing for their catering menu,” Adrien replied.

“Just because Marinette says it's necessary doesn’t make it any less of a lie.” Alya’s palette knife slipped, knocking one of the strawberries they’d placed yesterday askew. With a half-hearted sigh, Alya set the knife down and pressed the strawberry back into place.

“By the way,” she added, picking up the knife again before looking up at Adrien. “I’m sorry for talking trash about your father in front of you.”

It wasn’t what would be considered a good apology, by most people’s standards. The meaning between her words was clear enough: Alya meant everything she’d said in the cafeteria and only regretted that he was there to hear it.

It was the kind of apology Adrien was used to getting, mostly from Chloé before she’d stopped trying, and occasionally from his father, when he could be bothered to make time for apologies.

But Alya’s words were carried by the sincerity in her eyes, and Adrien knew this wasn’t just an attempt to mollify him, or something Nino and Marinette had put her up to. She genuinely regretted her actions, but was too honest to take back her words entirely—too honest to cover a strawberry in lipstick when she knew it was rotten.

Maybe that was why Adrien said what he did next. 

“I’m glad you did,” he admitted. “Because sometimes, I agree with you.”

Alya’s jaw dropped.

“Is that—?” He stopped, words suddenly thick in his throat, but at Alya’s worried expression, he forced them out. “Is that okay? That sometimes I’m— I’m glad he’s dead?”

He’d never admitted it out loud before. Not even to Plagg.

Maybe the words should have come as a relief, but instead, he just felt sick, like he’d eaten something rotten and it’d bubbled back up his throat, coating his tongue with its putrid aftertaste.

But then until Alya barreled into him, almost knocking him out of his chair with the force of her hug. 

“Adrien,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Anything you feel about your father’s death is okay.”

“Even if it’s anger? Not at his death but… at him?”

She nodded, and there it was: the relief, and with it, the willingness to admit what he hadn’t been ready for when Kagami confronted him at fencing.

“Some days I hate him, Alya,” he whispered. “Some days I wish he’d died sooner. That he’d died instead of maman.”

“Oh, Adrien.”

“And other days I think I’d do anything to bring him back.” His voice broke at the end, strained under the weight of unshed tears, and he turned back to his strawberries with burning eyes. He braced himself, ready for whatever judgment Alya would grant his confession.

But all she said was: “You need to tell Marinette that.”

“I can’t,” he said, remembering the way her face had grown pale at the sight of his father’s notebook and how quickly she’d changed the subject. “She’s not…” 

He hesitated, unsure how to explain his reluctance to confide in Marinette.

“She’s not comfortable with it,” he settled on. It was true enough, at least, even if there was more underneath, something deeper that Adrien couldn’t dig for without cracking something fundamental in his foundations.

He needed everything with Marinette to be okay more than he needed to tell her—Marinette was his sunshine and his moonlight and his life-raft, and he’d do anything to keep her aloft. Better to leave her at the surface of the waters, where he could still reach for her and feel the sun on his face, than to drag her into the depths to hope she could provide some dim illumination.

Alya gave him a flat look. “I don't care if she’s comfortable with it. And neither would she, if she knew how you were feeling. Please don’t underestimate how much she cares about you.”

“I’m not,” Adrien protested, though doubt stirred in his stomach. “I just… don’t want to burden her. Especially now, when she’s already stressed about Chrysalis.”

“Don’t underestimate the number of burdens Marinette is able to bear,” Alya advised. “Especially for your sake.”

Adrien didn’t want to be a burden to Marinette. He wanted to carry her burdens, not pile more on her shoulders.

“Don’t overestimate them, Alya,” he warned. “She could be akumatized, now.”

“Oh, we’re all fucked if that happens,” she agreed, with a bitter smile. “But that’s what she has me for. What happens if you’re akumatized?”

A red sky. Paris on fire. Ladybug, lying limp in his arms. Ashes and the scent of burning flesh filling his nose. Marinette, nowhere to be seen.

“I won’t be,” he settled on. “Not as long as I have Marinette.”

He reached into his pocket to run his thumb over his lucky charm, and wished that it was true.

A shriek jolted Adrien out of his thoughts. Heart racing with purpose, he looked towards Alya, knowing he could latch on to whatever excuse she used to go transform—only to be met with disappointment when he realized the yelp hadn’t been akuma-related at all.

Alya was glaring at Violette, who Adrien belatedly identified as the source of the shriek. 

“Oh my gosh, Alya, I’m sooooo sorry for knocking into you!” Violette gushed as she pushed the sides of their gâteau back together with her hands, leaving finger-shaped indents in the faux-mousseline. Alya’s palette knife served as evidence for what Adrien had missed: a smear of shaving cream and sponge cake had been torn from the gateau. Violette looked over at Adrien, addressing him. “You really shouldn’t leave your bag on the floor like that where someone might trip on it.”

Alya swatted her hands away. “That’s my bag, actually, and it was right next to his chair. You shouldn’t be walking so close to other people’s desks.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I was too close,” Violette admitted, casting her eyes plaintively towards the ceiling with a hand over her heart, before looking back at Alya. “I was just so enamored with your work, I didn’t realize how close I’d gotten. Still, that’s no excuse. I’ll help you fix it, of course.”

She reached for Alya’s palette knife, but Alya drew her hand away before Violette could reach. “We can fix it ourselves, thanks.”

“But—”

“If you’d really like to help, we could use another can of shaving cream,” Adrien suggested coolly.

“Oh!” Violette blinked, the barest hint of surprise in her crystalline blue eyes, before she once again addressed Alya. “Would you like me to go with you to the supply closet?”

“I really need Alya’s help here,” Adrien answered. “We really appreciate you going to grab it for us so that we can focus on repairing our work.”

“Alya can speak for herself,” Violette insisted.

“Adrien wasn’t speaking for me,” Alya cut through Violette’s attempt at appealing to her outspoken sensibilities. “He said he needed my help.”

Violette, seemingly recognizing a lost cause, gave in. “Of course, if he needs you, you should stay here! I’ll be right back.”

Her neat blonde bob bounced as she strode across the room towards the supply closet, far away from the table in the corner where their instructor had set out the extra cans of shaving cream.

Click.

He turned back to Alya, who was pointing her camera at the floor where a bunch of grapes, amongst other items, had spilled out of her bag. They were half-eaten, with several bare stems, and an empty gum wrapper was nestled between two grapes.

“Sorry,” Alya said. “I just needed to take a picture of something real.”

Patrol had never really been about fighting Monarch. They had little hope of stumbling on his evil lair while gallivanting across rooftops, and rarely did akumas happen to pop up while they were already out. Sometimes they’d stop a minor crime or rescue a kitten from a tree, but mostly, patrols were spent either checking in on frequently akumatized civilians or practicing with their weapons. 

Yet even though patrols never were about fighting Monarch, Ladybug and Chat Noir had met on less than a handful of occasions since his defeat. The first month or so had been Chat Noir’s fault—Adrien had been stuck in London, helping Aunt Amelie and Félix prepare to move. After that, Ladybug had mentioned being busy restoring the miraculous, and he hadn’t felt comfortable pushing her to resume their weekly meetups without reason.

Despite how long it had been, though, the journey to their usual meeting spot was as familiar as an old childhood book his mother had read to him again and again, to the point that he could recite it years later, though the book itself was lost to time.

Chat Noir landed on the roof with a comfortable thump a quarter til the hour they were supposed to meet. He’d never managed to break the habit of arriving earlier than agreed (Adrien had a similar bad habit, much to Marinette’s chagrin and the delight of her parents, who were happy to have a third in UMS III while he waited for her), and without his father’s demands on his schedule, his time was now all his own.

To his surprise though, Ladybug was already waiting, her silhouette framed by the sunset as she paced across the far side of the roof, muttering to herself.

“Bonsoir, fair lady,” he greeted. “Something bugging you?”

She jumped mid-stride and spun to face him, face breaking out into a smile. “Chaton! You made it!”

He cocked his head. “Of course. When have I not made it for patrol?”

“Well…” She bit her lip. “I mean, there’s been a few times…”

Chat Noir winced. He’d forgotten the patrols he missed back when they were fighting Papillombre. And the patrols he’d sat out on earlier than that, licking his wounds after a rejection from Ladybug. Maybe she’d expected something similar today, given how their last meetup ended.

“Not that I’m upset about those!” she rushed to reassure him. “After all, I’ve missed some too. But we’re here now!”

“We’re here now,” he agreed, and really, that was what mattered, wasn’t it? Not the things that came before.

He never liked being at odds with his lady, after all. If she was ready to let him in, he’d come gladly. Maybe she did have an explanation for keeping things from him, or maybe she didn’t—Ladybug had always taken failures and setbacks hard, and while it hurt that she hadn’t leaned on him, he could forgive her trying to hide that she’d lost a miraculous. He’d failed that night too, after all, his own shoulder too weak and far away to lean on.

Maybe if he was supportive enough now, the next time she made a mistake, she’d feel comfortable enough to tell him.

“So, what is your brilliant plan, Mlle Guardian?”

Ladybug’s face fell, and he rushed to salvage the situation. Implying that she always had the answers probably wasn’t the supportive vibe he should be going for right now. “Or purrhaps you have called me here for my feline wisdom?”

Her small answering smile told him he was on the right track, so he took a seat on the rooftop and gestured for her to take the spot next to him.

She did, drawing her knees up to her chest and looking out at the city.

He leaned back on his hands, waiting for Ladybug to speak.

After a few moments, she did.

“It’s a trap, right?” She turned towards him, brows knitted together. “The whole ‘I have something they want’ thing. It’s not like she’d just hand over the butterfly miraculous if we found her and asked nicely.”

“Maybe it’s something else.”

Ladybug hummed. “I don’t know what else she thinks we want.”

That was true. Chat Noir wanted a lot of things, but none that Chrysalis could guess, and even less that she had the power to provide.

“Whatever it is, I doubt she’ll keep quiet long,” he said.

Ladybug nodded, looking out at the skyline again. “We’ll need to go public, too. Make a statement to the Ladyblog, maybe even go to Nadja Chamack ourselves. I’ll explain that I— that I lost it.” She curled in on herself at that, hugging her knees tight to her chin.

“And that we’re committed to getting it back,” Chat Noir added, offering a comforting hand to her shoulder. “Any leads on that front?”

Now was the time she’d divulge what she’d gone to Nathalie for, what she suspected and what she planned. Now was the time for any post facto explanations, any details on how the butterfly had been lost and why she’d never said anything about it.

But Ladybug just shook her head.

“Nothing? No one you might talk to or places you might go?” He withdrew his hand from her shoulder but twisted his body towards her, still hoping that he’d find her turning towards him in kind.

She didn’t.

“I talked to Luka,” she admitted, still looking at everything in the city except his eyes. “He’s going abroad again, now that his identity is revealed, to keep us safe.”

Chat Noir wondered if that was Luka’s decision or Ladybug’s. He wondered if Luka had considered that Adrien might like to hear it himself, or if he thought hearing it from Ladybug second hand would be enough. He wondered if Luka would even stop to say goodbye before he left.

He couldn’t ask.

“Will you be finding a new snake holder, then?”

When had the night air gotten so cold? It was only September.

“No. Luka’s taking it with him. One less miraculous within Chrysalis’ reach.”

He supposed that decision was Ladybug’s prerogative, as the Guardian. She didn’t owe him the chance to weigh in.

But if she didn’t want Chat Noir’s advice, what had she called him here for?

“Sounds like you have everything figured out.” He stood up. “Let me know when you are ready to make a statement. I’ll be there with bells on.” He gave the one at his neck a flick, for emphasis, and to hide the strain in his voice.

At the sound, she looked up, eyes wide and brows drawn. “You’re leaving already?”

Just for a second, he hesitated. The girl looking up at him, wide-eyed and pleading in her strawberry red suit, was the same girl he’d reached out a hand to lift up, months and a lifetime ago in the rain, when she’d lost everything and everyone but him.

The same girl that, for a single moment, had trusted Adrien Agreste enough to detransform in his bathroom.

But that moment had been too late.

“Goodnight, Ladybug,” he told her, and left her aloft on the roof as he vaulted into the depths of the city.

Chapter Text

He didn’t want to go home, but there was nowhere else to go, really. 

Except to Marinette.  

They had already said goodnight, and she was probably getting some well-deserved sleep after the long week, like he’d made her promise. Like they’d both promised. His had been a lie, of course, but a necessary one, since he’d planned to go meet Ladybug. 

Though considering how that had gone, maybe the lie hadn’t been necessary at all. He felt foolish now, with all his high hopes for the evening turned on their heads. How he’d thought there was a chance she would open up, instead of once again telling him everything except what he wanted to know.

He wondered what she would’ve done if he’d stayed—if he’d demanded answers. But their partnership still felt too fragile for that; like an invisible boundary he’d break by trying to cross.

He’d never be able to sleep if he went home right now.

He could finish patrol on his own—stop a few robberies, rescue lost pets, or chase off some vandals before turning in. But then he’d risk running into Ladybug once more, and he didn’t have it in him to see her again tonight. Everything between them was silence and secrets and things left unsaid, scraping him raw in a way only being with Marinette could soothe.

Marinette. 

It would be selfish to wake her. But as he trekked through the nearly empty city, paying no mind to the heaviness of his footfalls or the metallic drag of his baton along the sidewalk, he could think of nowhere else he’d rather be than the dark safety of her room. 

Put your own oxygen mask on first.

His feet carried him in the direction of her street of their own accord, his shadow leading the way beneath flickering street lights. There weren’t many people out—only a few tourists and night-shift employees, as well as the occasional car rolling by. It was dark enough that he didn’t see any of their stunned or starstruck faces. 

But not dark enough that he missed the glint of wings in his peripheral.

Chat Noir stopped in place, stepping back until he was flat against the wall of the nearest building, and caught the fluttering outline of a dark shape curving around the corner toward the park. He shifted forward, sliding to the edges of the shadows to look out into the open street. The night was clear, the sort of dusky blue and violet of a bruise, speckled with distant stars. The butterfly flitted across the constellations in a soundless dance, fanning and fluttering, exposing the traces of violet light forking across its wings like lightning.

An akuma.

He gripped his baton tighter, fingers burning on the metal. Ladybug couldn’t have gone far, even if she’d left right after he did. If Chat Noir called her now, she could capture and purify it before it found another victim, ruining whatever Chrysalis had planned for tonight.

Unless he got to it first.

The butterfly swayed back and forth like it was searching for a place to alight. But there were no signs of life on the darkened street, save for Chat Noir. Maybe it had come for him, called by the flurry of anger and resentment and guilt he could barely contain, but that he had to control, because giving in to any of it would lead far beyond what Ladybug’s miracle cure could fix.

Yet the akuma hung there, fluttering and flapping, almost as though the air it treaded was water. As though it wanted to be seen—or knew it had been already. 

Slowly, Chat stepped out from behind the wall, flexing his fingers to ready for a Cataclysm. If the akuma came for him, he would strike, letting Chrysalis know just how much of a fight he was ready to give. If it moved along, seeking another victim, he would crumble it to dust, then call Ladybug to…

To what? To scrounge around in the darkness, looking for a villain they would never find? To spend another painful hour or two walking on eggshells in her wake? 

He would destroy the akuma now, before it had a chance to find its champion. Before he had to see Ladybug again. 

He had to be cautious, though. If Chrysalis was as much like Monarque as she had made herself out to be, she wouldn’t prance out into the open to confront them without some kind of trap.

The drum of his pulse sounded in his ears as he stepped forward, sliding out into the open street, treading carefully forward until it was within reach. He lowered into a crouch, stomach churning, muscles tensing as he prepared to launch. Still, the butterfly did not approach. Instead it fluttered there as though watching him, then turned in a graceful arc, moving deliberately toward the end of the boulevard. 

Chat Noir stared after it, the night breeze whispering across his face. “Cataclysm,” he whispered, feeling the electric guzzle of power pour into his hand. Then, silent as a shadow, he slipped after it. 

The butterfly continued forward, past closed shops and quiet bars, circling back every minute or so as though to ensure Chat Noir was following. He kept pace, charting it like a star, holding the violet wings in sight until it flitted over the tall iron gate of a fenced-off garden in the middle of a dark neighborhood, a heavy chain and padlock blocking his way. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he pressed his palm to the lock, letting the Cataclysm seep into the chains and climb the iron spikes. The bolts split with a dull crack, the hinges giving way to the broken weight. Chat Noir pushed through, stepping into the newly lush air, the scent of dew and flowers descending over him like the fog coating the ground. 

And there on the far side of the garden, seated on the wooden steps of a cracked, white-painted gazebo, was a girl. 

She smiled at him, her amethyst eyes luminous even through the mist, her form shining with violet and moonlight as she stood and stepped down to meet him. Chat Noir gripped his baton, holding it ready as she came into view, only for her to feet to still and her hands to raise in surrender. 

“Bonsoir, Chat Noir,” the girl said, the moon hanging high above her like a spotlight. The akuma circled once around her head, then fluttered toward her outstretched hand, landing silently upon her gloved fingertip. She brought it deliberately into her cupped hands and, with a glimmer of light, released a newly purified butterfly into the air. 

“Chrysalis,” Chat Noir said. 

She smiled wider. 

“I want you to know, I’m not here to hurt you.” She plucked a rose from one of the nearby bushes, lifting it to the butterfly. It came down, settling within the petals, white wings gleaming as they rose and fell. “I never wanted to hurt anybody.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Chat Noir replied. 

There had been Magpie, up on the roof, the night of the parade. There’d been Mme Mendeleiev that day at school, along with all the holders she had taken with her. Viperion, who was gone now without so much as a goodbye. And there’d been Ladybug, who had not quite reached the same low as when she’d first lost the miraculous, but who hadn’t been the same since Monarque’s defeat.

Chrysalis stepped closer. Chat Noir extended his baton in warning, the tip stopping short just before Chrysalis’s throat. She raised her hands in surrender, lifting her chin to him. 

“I was only trying to get you away from Ladybug,” she said softly. Unblinkingly. The butterfly miraculous gleamed at the base of her throat, its white wings pale like the moonlight shining on her silver headpiece. 

Chat Noir frowned, though kept his baton locked in place. “Why?”

The brooch was just within reach. He could grab it now, while Chrysalis was unarmed. It would only take a moment. Ladybug would have a complete miracle box, Nooroo would have rest, and Paris would finally have no more akumas to fear.  

But Chrysalis hadn’t akumatized him. The akuma she’d sent… it had led him here to where she waited, unarmed. And instead of attacking, she’d withdrawn its power before his very eyes. 

“I believe in new beginnings," she had told Nadja Chamak as the whole world watched. Was that what this was? A twisted sort of restart, even though she’d already stained the page?

“To talk.” She fluttered her dark lashes, a mix of hope and wariness draping over her expression. “You’re the only other person I can trust, you see. The only one who can help me undo the Wish.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy as storm clouds, a roar like thunder shuddering in the distant echoes of his mind. 

“What are you talking about?” Chat Noir asked, forcing his voice to keep steady. “What Wish?”

“Monarque’s.” Chrysalis’s eyes were clear as the amethyst on her brooch; he could see himself in each glossy facet of the gem’s face, each horrified reflection more distorted than the next. “The one he made before Gabriel Agreste died. The one we’re living in now.”

Chat Noir shook his head. It was too serene in the garden for the insanity of her words; the lie too bright for the darkness of their surroundings. 

It was a trick. A mad invention, designed to make him question everything. He would have known if it was true. The world would have stopped turning, or Ladybug would have told him. Ladybug, who had come out of the battle the victor.

“Ladybug never said there was a Wish.” The baton felt cold beneath his grip—colder than the air had been up on the roof beside her, when all the rest she hadn’t said had rattled through the hollows within him. 

Chrysalis’s gaze stayed locked on his as she raised a gloved hand, pressing a slender finger to the tip of his baton and moving it gently aside. He didn’t stop her, didn’t move as she stepped in close. She studied his face for a few silent moments, then offered a small, sad smile. 

“It’s okay, Chat Noir,” Chrysalis said, reaching for his hand. “You’re not the only one she’s lied to.”

He jerked away, withdrawing from her touch. Chrysalis pulled back, brows drawn with obvious hurt, but he couldn’t muster the willpower to care. 

His father had died saving Ladybug from Monarque. Monarque had taken Gabriel with him in defeat. Paris was rid of both of them now, and what did they have to show for it? A platinum statue and a missing miraculous? A new butterfly holder and a lying Guardian?

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Because even if Ladybug had lost the brooch, Gabriel hadn’t died for nothing. He had been instrumental in Monarque’s downfall—the sole reason Ladybug was still protecting Paris today. 

But if Monarque had made the Wish before he died… If this was all as he’d planned it…

“Why should I believe anything you’re saying?” Chat Noir asked. 

“I have the brooch, don’t I?” Chrysalis thumbed the white wings laid against her suit, looking up at him through her lashes. “I was there that day, hiding. I heard everything.”

He shook his head, drawing back when she reached for him again. He shook his head harder as she hesitated, pulling his baton in front of him—whether for defense or escape, he didn’t know. 

“Ladybug and Gabriel Agreste defeated him,” he managed, his voice sounding strange and hollow in his ears. “That’s why he’s gone. That’s why you’re here.”

“He’s gone because he made the Wish,” Chrysalis said softly. “And he sacrificed M. Agreste to do it.”

Chat Noir stared at her, the chill seeping through his skin down to his bones. Chrysalis looked calmly back, her mouth turned slightly down, her expression open with unguarded relief, like she had been waiting too long to tell him this.

“He didn’t have to die, you know.” Chrysalis pulled her hands in front of her, lacing her fingers tight. “He didn’t want to. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, and he paid the price for it. ”

He wouldn’t have called his father an innocent man. But if what Chrysalis said was true, Gabriel had been innocent in this, at least— innocent in Monarch’s machinations. He’d paid the price of the Wish and that was why he was not here, why Adrien could and never would face him again, even though his face was everywhere he turned. 

He stabbed his baton into the ground, steadying himself onto its weight. Ladybug would never have told him of the missing butterfly miraculous if Magpie hadn’t attacked—he knew that now. But wouldn’t she at least have told him about this? 

“I don’t know what he Wished for,” Chrysalis said, dragging his gaze back to her. She tugged at the end of her long ponytail, twisting a coil of hair around her finger. “There was a fight, and this blinding light… and I— I ran. I only found out after that Monarque was gone and M. Agreste was dead.” She swallowed thickly, her bottom lip trembling. “His poor son. It isn’t fair. He begged for his life— for Monarque to let him go back to his son. He said Adrien Agreste would be alone if he died, that he’d have no one. But I guess that didn’t matter.”

That was why Adrien hadn’t been given a body to bury. That was why Gabriel’s tomb was empty and his image was plastered in every available space. A reminder of the price of Monarque’s Wish at every turn.

“You said you had something we both wanted,” he said, his throat dry as he met Chrysalis’s gemstone gaze. “But you’re telling me Ladybug didn’t want me to know this.”

“No, I don’t think she does,” Chrysalis said, raising her chin again. She brought a finger to her brooch again, tracing a circle around the gem. “She wants me to stay away from you, I’m sure. She’d take my miraculous— keep us apart so you never learned the truth. But that’s what you’re here for. Isn’t it, Chat Noir?”

“You tell me,” he said coldly. Chrysalis tilted her head and smiled. 

“Those akumas,” she said, looking down at the flower in her hand and twirling it gently. “I was trying to get her miraculous. I thought, if I could only take the earrings from her, then I could get you to listen. And the two of us… if you agreed… we could make things right again. We could undo the Wish.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Why not?” Chrysalis’s smile glinted like her silver headpiece, like the point of the brooch’s wings. “M. Agreste was no hero, but he didn’t ask to be Monarque’s sacrifice. It’s our duty to undo it, don’t you think? If we make a Wish to reverse the last one, we’ll be undoing all the damage he caused.”

Chat Noir stepped back, ribs tight around his lungs. Chrysalis eyed him, still fingering the rose, still watching him with her clear, unmarred gaze. 

“I… need to think,” he said at last. 

A smile bloomed across her face, soft as the petals in her hand.

“You can call me anytime,” Chrysalis said. “Or message me, if you’re more comfortable.”

She reached over her shoulder, holding his gaze. Chat Noir tensed, readying his baton, and she hesitated a moment before slowly drawing a thin, purple cane from behind her back. The crystal head glittered as she clicked it open, bathing them both in the same glowing screen light as his and Ladybug’s communicator functions. 

She tapped something out, the sound of each pressed key reverberating in his skull. The new message ping on his baton echoed in his ears, stinging like a burn.

“I’ll be waiting,” she told him.

Chat Noir turned to go, hairs raising on the back of his neck as he stepped away. He waited, listening, tensed and ready for the attack that would come as soon as he took his eyes from her, as soon as he thought he was in the clear. 

But she stayed in place, serene as the silent garden, growing smaller as he launched into the air and sailed away. The weight of her gaze bored into him, lingering even when she was long out of sight. 

“Did he do it?” Adrien spoke into the dark. 

Plagg’s eyes were fathomless, green and ancient and almost too bright, like galaxies full to bursting. 

“Kid,” he began. “You can’t trust her.”

“Did he do it?”

“She’s using the brooch the same way the last one did. She’s attacked civilians— your team—”

“Did he do it?”

“Dying is the only good thing your father’s ever done for you. The world’s better off for it, and no matter what anybody says—”

“Plagg.” Adrien’s jaw ached, his fists straining as he clenched them on his knees. “It’s either yes or no.”

The kwami said nothing, hovering in the air before him like a dark star. The shadows of Adrien’s bedroom were suffocating as they closed around him like a vice, squeezing the remnants of air from his lungs. 

Plagg would have told him if it wasn’t true. It would have been the first thing out of his mouth as soon as Adrien detransformed, rather than railing against Chrysalis and Gabriel and Monarque. Now, he stayed silent, watching Adrien with a solemnity both ancient and familiar that hurt more the longer he looked. 

“It’s because he was the black cat holder, isn’t it?” Adrien asked. “That’s why you can’t say anything. Because he used my miraculous to make the Wish.”

Plagg held his gaze, whiskers twitching. Then his tiny head dipped like the dark side of the moon, the roar of his silence rushing over them both. Adrien watched him several moments longer, then dropped back on his bed to stare into the shadowed depths of his lofty ceiling. 

It was a new darkness, contained in a new city, wrapped in a new universe. All those years spent fighting, lying, dying—all for Monarque to wipe it away in a single day. No wonder he had discarded the butterfly miraculous. He was roaming free and content somewhere, all of reality rewritten around him, while Adrien’s came undone. 

“So,” he said finally, his voice strange and hoarse in his own ears. “What did he Wish for?” 

“Adrien.” Plagg’s sigh was tired, his voice a frayed note. He floated closer, green eyes slitted with guilt. “Just talk to Ladybug. Tell her what happened tonight. Tell her what Chrysalis said.”

“What for?” Adrien asked, raising his forearms to cover his eyes. “She’s never told me anything in her life.”

The coolness of the twin rings around his finger pressed against his skin, lingering until he pulled his hand back to look. They gleamed even in the darkness, watching him like the moon beyond the window. 

“He saved me,” Ladybug had told him, the day she’d come to get him from that awful, padded white room. She’d pressed the rings into his hand, looked him in the eyes, and said, “He saved us all.”

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Chrysalis had said. 

He pressed his palms flat over his eyes, lights and spots of color dancing before his darkened vision. Chrysalis had the miraculous that Ladybug hadn’t bothered to tell him she’d lost. Chrysalis had been there that day his father died, along with Ladybug, and only one of them had told him of the Wish. Chrysalis and Ladybug both knew Gabriel hadn’t died a martyr’s death, and yet it was only one of them who was trying to bring him justice. 

Why would Chrysalis lie about that? She had no way of knowing Gabriel Agreste meant anything to him. She had no idea that hearing his dying words would grind Adrien’s heart to bits in his chest. Gabriel was nothing to Chat Noir but a victim. A wrong that needed to be righted.

It didn’t matter that the world was better with Gabriel gone. It didn’t matter that the thought of hearing his footsteps echo down the mansion’s hallways once more made Adrien’s stomach turn. It didn’t matter that Adrien was free. He’d been a pawn in Monarque’s final play; the price of something surely awful. Something that surely made the world worse, in equivalent exchange. 

And if reversing the Wish Monarque had made meant restoring Gabriel to life, then what else could Adrien do? Something good had been taken from someone else, somewhere, while Adrien reaped the stolen benefits. It would be selfish to do nothing. It would be wrong to keep things as they were. 

It would make him like Monarque.

He turned over, facing the window, watching the soft lights of the city glisten through the shades. The man who’d been Monarque could be out there somewhere, with Gabriel’s death on his hands, and Ladybug had done everything to keep it from Adrien and Chat Noir alike. Sleep would be hard to come by until he had a chance to ask her. Until he heard it from her lips—the very truth that would rewrite reality all over again.

He really should have just gone to see Marinette.

Chapter Text

The encounter with Chrysalis had him in such a tailspin that he'd almost forgotten his earlier conversation with Ladybug—not the things she didn't tell him or the secrets that she kept, but the thing they had actually discussed: going to the press.

Ladybug didn’t forget, though, and had taken the liberty of arranging it herself in his absence. To his surprise, she’d gone with Nadja Chamack after all, which he assumed meant Rena Rouge had also been left out of the decision making process.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

(Not that anyone had asked.)

A day ago, maybe he would have been relieved that Ladybug wasn’t weighing Alya’s word over his. After last night, though…

He wondered if Alya knew the truth.

Had Ladybug told her about the Wish? Did Alya keep the same secrets his lady hid from him, or was she fed the same story as everyone else? Alya had seemed certain yesterday that Gabriel Agreste was no hero—perhaps because she’d known even then his death was in vain?

“I just needed to take a picture of something real.”

He’d thought he and Alya shared the same distaste for beautiful lies.

“Chaton?” Ladybug’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Do you want to practice what we’re going to say?”

He turned. She sat in the director’s chair next to his own, pulling apart one of the cotton balls she’d found in the cosmetics tray. 

A day ago, maybe he would have attributed this to nothing more than nerves over public speaking. After all, most people weren’t used to being on national television. There was nothing suspicious about being nervous before going live on the air.

A day ago, he would have agreed to practice with her. To run line by line until she shed all her fears and spoke without stumbling.

But a day ago, he hadn’t known how many secrets she had to keep from speaking.

“Actually,” he said, slowly, evenly, carefully, “I think we should get our story straight first.”

“Right, of course.” Ladybug nodded, and turned to face the mirror, her spine pulled tauter than the chair’s fabric backing. The edges of her hair glowed violet under the LED bulbs that lined her reflection. “Well, like we said yesterday, I’ll start by explaining how I lost the butterfly miraculous after the battle, when it fell in the water, and then our efforts to find it so far—”

“I’d love to hear about these efforts. Tell me, when did we start looking? I can’t seem to recall any of our efforts.”

Ladybug’s eyes snapped to him. “Oh, um— well, that is—”

“And how exactly did you lose it, again?” He should stop. This wasn’t how he planned to ask her. It wasn’t the time, or the place, to have this discussion. He knew that.

But he couldn’t go onto that stage and help her tell more lies.

Chat Noir stood up.

“Was it before or after Monarque made his Wish? Did he discard his brooch as soon as you gave him your earrings, or did he wait until later?”

Ladybug’s face went white. “I didn’t— I never—”

“Never wanted me to know?” he spat.

“Never gave him the earrings,” she answered, voice so small it hardly carried up to him. Then, louder, “I never gave him my earrings. How did you— who told you that?”

She wasn’t denying the Wish, then.

Good.

He walked past her, towards the bulletin board near the door, putting the space of several shining mirrors between them. 

The notice on the board reminded him their interview was at 18h on the dot—five minutes to go.

“She didn’t say how Monarque got the miraculous from you. Just that he did,” he admitted, willing himself to stay calm. If Ladybug wasn’t denying it, maybe they could talk things through, like Plagg had said.

“She? She who?” Ladybug demanded.

He craned his head back to look at her. “Chrysalis.” 

She stood in a rush, knocking the director’s chair over with a clatter.

“Chrysalis? Chrysalis?” she shouted, waving her arms in the air before bringing them to a righteous landing on her hips. “Is there another Chrysalis that I don’t know about, because the only one I know is a supervillain who stole the butterfly miraculous! You can’t trust her!”

He whirled back to her. “The butterfly miraculous that you forgot to tell me you lost?”

“I didn’t forget, I just—” She let her hands fall with a sigh. “I’m sorry, okay? I should have told you. I made a mistake. But that doesn’t mean you can trust Chrysalis.”

“So she’s lying, then?” He took a step towards her. “There was no Wish?”

Ladybug’s silence was answer in itself.

“I don’t want to trust Chrysalis. Not after what she’s done.” He took another step closer, and then another, and another, until they stood toe to toe. “I want to trust you, Ladybug.”

“Then trust me,” she entreated, eyes shining up at him as she reached for his hand.

He knew he couldn’t let her take it—couldn’t let the warmth of her fingertips over his melt away his resolve, just as he could not leave his father buried.

“Give me something to trust.” He stepped past her, the backs of their hands almost brushing as he moved.

Behind her, he found a mustard-colored vending machine boasting Brasso fans, the Morpho’s biodegradable successor. Like the original line, his own likeness was featured amongst a slew of celebrities. The Brasso line, however, had added another face in the wake of Monarque’s defeat: his father’s, an austere headshot on a stark white background, chin risen with defiance at the monster he’d supposedly slain.

Chat Noir scowled at it.

“Chat Noir, please,” she pleaded to his back. “You know me. You know I’d never try to trick you. Not like she is. Whatever she told you—she’s trying to manipulate you!”

He’d thought so, too—and really, he didn’t know Chrysalis well enough to be sure she didn’t have an ulterior motive.

But how well did he really know the girl behind him, either?

He knew the warmth of her hand, hovering over the spot between his shoulder blades, would never raise a knife while his back was turned.

But he’d never know what her other hand was doing.

“At least she’s telling me something!” Chat Noir kicked the fan dispenser, knocking a laughing Adrien fan from the top and watching it clatter to the bottom.

“I’m sorry,” Ladybug repeated, while his father’s sainted visage mocked him from the middle row.

Lies to make everything look palatable, when it’s rotten underneath.

He turned back to face her instead. Her hand, still raised, hovered a beat above his heart. “And you’re right— I do know you, Ladybug. I know how much you love your secrets.”

She let her hand fall; quiet pain flashed across her face.

“That’s not fair, chaton, I—” She looked past him, for just a second, and he wondered if Gabriel’s face haunted her too. “I don’t like the secrets. They’re necessary.”

He helped me save Paris, she’d told Adrien Agreste. He died a hero.

What had been necessary about that?

“Maybe secret identities are.” He moved back towards the vanity, letting the weight of his arms fall on the flimsy stiles. “But this isn’t. What reason could you have not to tell me about the Wish?”

He wondered if he applied more pressure, whether the chair would collapse as designed—or if it would break.

“I— I’m sorry,” Ladybug repeated, moving to the chair next to him—the one she knocked over earlier. Her voice was brittle as she spoke. “I was ashamed. That I’d failed.”

She reached down to the fallen chair. Chat Noir released the wooden posts on his own.

“You could have told me.” He reached, too, pulling her chair’s armrest up as she lifted. “I would never judge you for that.”

The chair weighed five kilograms at most—she probably hadn’t needed his help. He wondered if she even noticed he gave it.

“I know, of course you wouldn’t, I just—” Ladybug squeezed her eyes shut, collapsing into the rescued chair. “I don’t know how to explain.”

Which meant no explanation would be forthcoming. He could live with that, though—with some vague apology for why she hadn’t told him, some irrational fears that kept her quiet.

He could live with that, as long as she told him the rest of the story.

“I want to trust you, Ladybug,” he said again, taking the seat next to her. “You know I’d take your word over Chrysalis, but I can only do that if you give it. So, please: did Monarque make the Wish?”

“Yes,” she whispered, frowning at the untouched snack tray resting between two mirrors. “Yes, he made it.”

Apparently Chat Noir would need to pull answers out of her, one by one.

“I believe you didn’t give him your earrings. Will you tell me how he got them?”

She nodded. “He used Venom to immobilize me and took them—along with your ring. He waited until after he’d summoned the power of the Wish to remove the other miraculous. By the time I could move again, there was a magical barrier that kept me from interfering.”

As she spoke, Ladybug turned the tray of snacks, moving the dish of mints into view and pushing the pile of small, underripe berries out of sight. 

He could tell she wasn’t lying—but she wasn’t showing him everything, either. “When he took your miraculous, did he recognize you? Is that when the butterfly was lost? Did you recognize him? How did you recover the other miraculous?”

“Oh, um—” Ladybug grabbed a mint from the dish, but made no move to eat it, instead staring at where it rested in her palm like it held the answers she should give him. “He put them on the floor. After the Wish, I— I gathered them.”

“But not the butterfly?”

She hadn’t met his eyes since they sat down. “Not the butterfly.”

She didn’t even attempt to answer his other questions. Each word she granted was so carefully measured, like she could ration just enough truth to satisfy him and no more.

But Chat Noir was an empty vessel, hollowed by loss and loneliness. A taste of truth could never fill him up when he knew there was an untouched feast. “Where was Gabriel Agreste during this?”

“He was… there, the whole time.”

Chat Noir crossed his arms. “Helping you?”

Ladybug rolled the mint from one hand to the other and back again, inviting them both to watch it dance across her fingers. Chat Noir watched, spellbound by anticipation, until the mint slipped from her hands.

Ladybug caught the mint before it fell to the ground, clenching it tightly in her fist before she met Chat Noir’s eyes. “He didn’t help me fight. I was using your miraculous as well as my own.”

That much matched Chrysalis’ story, at least—Gabriel had been just a bystander, after all. Still, Ladybug’s tightly-rationed words left too many blank pages in her story.

“You told everyone he helped you defeat Monarque. That he died a hero,” he reminded her.

“I—” She looked away again, training her eyes on her clenched fist. “He did.”

None of it added up: how could he be a hero if he didn’t help her fight?

And how could Gabriel have helped her with something she hadn’t done?

“But Monarque won. You didn’t defeat him.”

Ladybug flinched. Chat Noir forced himself not to care.

“I know,” she admitted, so quietly it would have broken his heart if it’d been full enough to shatter. “He did, but… he’s not a threat anymore.”

“Because he got what he wanted?” Chat Noir pulled and pulled at her words, like a chain of silk squares hidden in a magician’s pocket—like if he pulled hard enough, he’d uncover the secret of the trick. “Or because Chrysalis has his powers now?”

But secrets weren’t silk, and if you pulled too hard at something, it was liable to snap.

“Because he’s gone!” Ladybug’s words struck him on the rebound as he lost his grip.

Two people are gone.

“And he took Gabriel Agreste with him!” His own voice burned from the impact, leaving his throat raw and cheeks hot.

“I—” Ladybug gathered herself again, wrapping everything they’d broken into silks and silence. “I know.”

“A man is dead, Ladybug.” His father was dead. “Because of Monarque.”

Ladybug looked stricken.

He let his own fire cool into embers, into coal that could crumble at her touch.

There was one truth he knew without pulling it from her: Ladybug would never have let Gabriel die if she could’ve stopped it.

“I don’t blame you for that.” Ladybug would never stand idly by while someone was in danger. She’d never lay sleeping in a room an ocean away while someone she loved fought for their life. “You shouldn’t have had to fight Monarque alone. But letting the world believe Gabriel Agreste was a martyr, instead of a random victim? Letting him stay dead, when we could fix it? That was your choice. And I don’t understand it.”

Ladybug shook her head. “We can’t fix it, Chat. What’s done is done.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “Why can’t we undo what Monarque did? We have everything we need, right here in this room.”

“There’d be a price.”

He thought about his life with Gabriel Agreste alive, lonely rooms and empty tables and cold midnight plane rides. He thought about how he could see his friends—his Marinette—whenever he wanted now. He thought of her laughing in the sunlight by the pool his father would have never allowed to be built.

“Gabriel Agreste’s life is the price,” he said. 

“The price already paid. To undo that, we’d have to pay something else.”

Chat Noir didn’t know how to explain to her that bringing Gabriel Agreste back would be cost enough, to him. She’d said herself that there would have to be balance. For everything fixed, something else would be destroyed. For every life, another life would be lost. Bringing Gabriel Agreste back would surely mean the end of Adrien Agreste’s current life—wasn’t that balance?

He supposed the Wish was more literal than that, though.

“Why not pay what Monarque wished for?” Surely that was a price easy enough to pay—a villain’s happy ending.

“No!” Ladybug shouted, jumping to her feet, this time knocking a pile of paper plates askew with her clenched fist. “We can’t.”

That’s all she said— we can’t. Another dose of truth, meant to satisfy him.

It wasn’t enough.

And though he knew it would only hurt, Chat Noir pulled again.

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s—” She paced the room in fits and starts, her whole body thrumming with the tension of his pull. “I don’t— we just can’t.” She came to a stop, letting her hands emphasize a point she couldn’t say.

“You know what he wished for, then.”

She must know. Why else would she be so sure?

“And it’s worth more than an innocent man’s life, to you?”

Was it a life for a life? What monster had Monarque raised in exchange for Gabriel Agreste’s soul?

Ladybug gaped. “I—”

The door clicked open. Ladybug jumped with a startle. The mint she’d been holding clattered to the ground, unnoticed.

“Ladybug? Chat Noir?” A young man in a headset poked his head in the room. “You’re on in five.”

He flashed the man a quick smile. “We were just getting our lines straight.”

“And did you? You’re all clear now?”

The man shot a worried look at Ladybug, whose whole body was still pulled tight as a bowstring.

“All clear!” Ladybug confirmed with a too-wide smile. “Let’s get this show on the road!” She shot the man a pair of frenzied finger-guns, with an enthusiasm that knocked her elbow into the chair behind air.

And with barely a second to spare to nurse her battered ulnar nerve (or a backwards glance for Chat Noir), she marched past the man and into the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” Chat Noir reassured him. “Ladybug is very practiced. And I know how to follow her lead.”

And he would, tonight. He’d tell the story they agreed upon.

Chat Noir knew how to follow Ladybug’s lead.

The question was whether he could learn not to.

The man in the headset nodded. “Both of you, follow me.”

Chat Noir started counting as they made their way to the studio.

Five.

He followed Ladybug out the door.

Four.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Three.

Down a narrow hallway.

Two.

Into the bright studio lights.

One.

“It’s showtime.”

The sounds of the audience’s scattered applause and the studio’s signature theme song carried after him as he exited through the front doors, launching himself into the night. He pulled his communicator out as he went, eyes blurring in the momentary adjustment before he landed solidly on a separate street. 

The screen on his baton glowed like a beacon, melting the surrounding night into shadows as he stared. 

A butterfly blinked purple in the top corner of his screen, the gap between it and his own glowing paw print lessening with every step he took in its direction. This part of the arrondissement was only a block away from the studio, but the shops and businesses, mostly tourist traps, were all closed for the night. The hum of motors and buses faded behind him as he turned a corner into the row of hotels lining the next street over, where the butterfly icon aligned with his location.

His baton beeped, breaking the silence of the street with another incoming message from Ladybug. Chat Noir slid the notification away without opening it, then switched his GPS function off. 

“I saw your interview,” said a voice. 

He turned to see a shadow separate from the darkness in the gap between the closed laundromat and souvenir shop. Moonlight slid over Chrysalis’s slim form as she came to the mouth of the alley, the wash of street lights slipping over her suit like water. 

“Rough night?” she asked, lingering just at the edge of the darkness. 

“She admitted it,” Chat Noir said. “She lied. About the Wish—about what happened that day. About Gabriel.” 

He thought of the way she’d ducked her head when Chat Noir brought him up—the way she’d fiddled and looked anywhere but at him. Even the way she’d seemed relieved for the interview to start—relieved she no longer had to answer to him.

“And I think she’s still hiding something, too,” he finished.

Chrysalis stepped forward, a flat, round object clutched in her hand. She pulled something from her lips, setting it on what he saw now was a paper plate, its diamond-patterned rim identical to the ones from his studio dressing room. As she neared, he saw an array of strawberries and stems on the face of the plate.

“I’m so sorry, Chat Noir.”

He started when her fingers skimmed over his forearm, but she pulled away before he could step back. “I know she’s your partner,” Chrysalis continued, her voice just as tentative as her touch. “I can’t imagine how you must feel, being lied to like this.”

“Yeah.” He stood there, the scent of strawberries lifting around them in the otherwise abandoned street. “You were right. She won’t let us undo the Wish.”

“You asked her, then?” Chrysalis’s lips pursed, her grip tightening on the plate. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Her enemy is dead and Paris is free. So what if that comes at the cost of an innocent man’s life? She’s only doing what heroes do.”

A pang seared in his chest, leaving a hollow kind of heaviness in its wake. “It’s not right.”

Chrysalis stepped closer, the scent of strawberries sharpening around her. He hadn’t noticed the fragrance in the dressing room; hadn’t managed to get quite close enough. “Did you tell her that?” she asked, lamplight glistening in her wide eyes. 

“She won’t listen,” Chat Noir murmured. “She thinks the price to pay would be too great.”

“Maybe,” Chrysalis mused. “I suppose if we should trust anyone’s judgment on whether or not upholding Monarque’s Wish really is for the greater good, it should be hers.”

Something coiled in the pit of his stomach as he looked at her. But Chrysalis only gazed back, serene. Trusting. 

Had Ladybug ever looked at him that way? He couldn’t remember. 

“The akumas,” he said, his voice coating thickly in his throat. “You can’t akumatize people the way he did. Weaponizing their emotions, forcing them against their will. Using them to get what we want would make us just as bad as Monarque.”

Chrysalis tilted her head, blinking long lashes up at him. “We?”

“And the price,” Chat continued. “It has to be what he wished for. We’re only putting back what he took from the world.” 

And taking what Adrien had gained in return. 

He thought of these past few weeks spent with Marinette and all their friends; of the sun beating down over picnic spreads and the late-night laughter echoing through the marble halls of the mansion. It had been one, perfect summer. His only true summer, which was already more than he’d ever hoped to experience in his life—as long as his father was alive. 

“Oh, Chat Noir.” Chrysalis’s expression filled with relief as she tilted her face toward him, bringing a hand to his shoulder. “I knew you would understand.”

She squeezed his shoulder softly. Again, he didn’t stop her—only looked at her, held in place by the smile blooming over her face. 

Here was someone who had known since the final day. She’d known almost as much as Ladybug, and she’d tried to do something, despite what all the world thought of her methods. Maybe she hadn’t considered how using akumas would affect Paris; maybe she had, and it hadn’t mattered to her. She’d been planning to reverse a Wish, after all. Would the universe keep any record of her actions once it was reset? Was it all worth it, even so?

Monarque must have certainly agreed.  He hadn’t even stayed to find out if the memories of his reign still haunted Paris after the Wish. 

“It’s going to be…” He swallowed through the heat in his throat, forcing his voice to keep steady. “It’ll be difficult, getting Ladybug’s miraculous. She still has the team’s loyalty. And she’s usually ten steps ahead of me at any given time. But we can’t do this the way Monarque did. No attacking the city. No civilian victims.”

Chrysalis stepped closer, mouth curling in a small smile. “Now that there’s two of us,” she said, watching him with gemstone eyes, “it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I’m serious,” he told her, holding her gaze. “If you involve any other innocent victims, the deal’s up.”

“Of course,” she whispered, bringing her free hand to her heart. “I swear to you, Chat Noir, I won’t akumatize anyone who isn’t willing. I’m not like Monarque, you know. I’m not a monster.”

She’d been close enough to take his miraculous several times already. She was close enough now, with every opportunity to betray him. Instead, she only stood silently, watching and waiting and understanding exactly what needed to be done. 

He still didn’t quite trust her—not the way he’d once trusted Ladybug. Now he could only trust Ladybug to keep her secrets; to maintain the victory Monarque had won for a cost Chat Noir could not, could never, pay. 

At least he knew Chrysalis would not pay it, either. 

“I know,” he said, offering her a smile, small and weak and shaky as it was. “That’s why I’m here.”

She smiled back, the sight gleaming in the shadows. Wordlessly, she held out the plate of strawberries. 

He thought of Ladybug and their blunder of an interview, of the way every glance she’d thrown at him beneath the studio lights had been fraught with panic. He thought of the way the audience murmured and the spots on her suit and the glow of fireworks on her face. He thought of the unread message waiting on his baton, of how long it would stay that way. He wondered if, after this, he’d receive any more. 

Saying nothing, Chat Noir plucked one of the fruits from Chrysalis’s plate, and bit in.

Chapter Text

Even after he’d left the studio in a huff and ignored her messages, some part of Ladybug still expected Chat Noir to show up for patrol the next evening.

When have I not made it for patrol? he’d asked on Friday, like it was a silly question, like he’d always be there, like he hadn’t abandoned her before.

Like he wouldn’t ghost her the very next time they argued.

She kicked a rock and watched it skid across the pavement of the Place du Panthéon.

Patrol had been a mistake.

Alya had advised as much—had offered to go with Nino in her place—but Marinette was stubborn. Besides, if Chat Noir had shown up for patrol and found Rena Rouge and Carapace when he’d been expecting Ladybug, he wouldn’t take that well.

She couldn’t let him down again. 

Of course, he hadn’t shown up, so it was a moot point anyways, and now Ladybug had to deal with the stares and whispers alone.

She’d been at it for about 20 minutes already—swinging through the streets and perching on rooftops, doing her best to keep busy. As the sun died in the west, so too did her hopes that he’d arrive, out of breath and with a smile, eager to reconcile. 

Maybe it was better that he didn’t show. She couldn’t stand to be at odds with him—she never could, not for long, and neither could he—but she wasn’t quite ready to answer his questions, either.

How could she explain the price of Gabriel Agreste’s life, without confessing he was Monarque? How could she tell Chat Noir why Nathalie Sanceour deserved to live, without revealing her own attachments?

How could she explain that she’d let her guard down, just for a second, because she wanted to believe in Adrien’s father? How could she tell Chat Noir that her weakness—her love—had lost them the butterfly miraculous? That once again, she’d let her feelings for this boy compromise her judgment?

It was bad enough that he knew she’d failed. She couldn’t bear the shame of telling him why. Of telling him that over time, she’d lost every miraculous but Chat Noir’s, all for a love Ladybug could not name.

She collapsed on a bench in a huff.

The woman occupying the bench—a redhead with a baby in a stroller—shot her a worried look.

She’d been getting a lot of those, today. Ladybug wasn’t comfortable with interviews on the best of days, and yesterday, she’d been far from at her best. Usually, Chat Noir was more than happy to make up for any awkwardness on her part—he’d ham it up in front of the camera, acting so over the top that no one noticed her fumbled words or twitching thumbs.

He hadn’t done that yesterday. He’d stayed cold, and silent, and left her to hang in the spotlight in shame. With each question Nadja asked, he’d turned to Ladybug and waited for her answer.

And no matter how long she took—or how many words she bungled—all he did was wait. He never spoke against her, never broke their confidence—but his silence was enough to damn her.

All of Paris could see she was falling apart.

And all of Paris knew she’d failed.

She couldn’t let them worry, though. Not when a stray butterfly could slip in at any time, massaging their fears into something grand and terrible.

Ladybug gave the woman next to her the most enthusiastic thumbs up she could muster.

The baby started crying.

Great job, Ladybug. The public will be so reassured.

As the woman hurried her baby away, Ladybug’s yo-yo buzzed against her hip. She pulled it out, and there was the bright evening star she’d been waiting for since the sun set: a message from Chat Noir.

It was nothing more than a set of coordinates: 48° 50' 35.592'' N 2° 19' 35.472'' E. Just a string of numbers and letters. Not even a “meet me” or a time to keep them company as they glowed on her screen.

It wasn’t what she’d hoped for: it wasn’t the thump of his boots followed by a playful bow or an apology for being late. It wasn’t even a request to talk or work things out.

It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but it was enough.

Without a backward glance, she left the bench in pursuit of the paw print blinking green in the top corner of her screen. Each step she took closed the distance between them, but not fast enough. Eager to reach her partner before the night fell, she pulled out her yo-yo and casted it towards the nearest tall building, letting it pull her from roof to roof like a magnet seeking its opposite pole.

Traveling by rooftop, it wasn’t long before Montparnasse Tower loomed into view, growing larger and larger as the sky darkened around her. When its massive figure eclipsed the horizon, Ladybug confirmed she’d arrived.

On her yo-yo, her spotted red circle peeked out from under his paw print. Just 200 meters between them, give or take the height of the roof she stood on.

She drew her yo-yo back, stepped to the far end of the roof, and let it pull her toward her other half.

When she landed on the rooftop, she found herself alone.

The sun hadn’t fully set, but it was far below her now. The sky was cast in the somber blue haze of dwindling daylight; light as quiet as the lonely roof and just as unsettling.

The moon was faint and not yet full, but looking up, she could see it was intact, and took comfort in its polished edges.

She let her gaze fall from the sky down into her palm, where her yo-yo still glowed with Chat Noir’s coordinates. He was there, somewhere in Montparnasse, but the echo of her footsteps on the rooftop remained unanswered. Something almost forgotten stirred in the depths of her stomach, and the taste of ash filled her mouth.

Something’s wrong.

She stood silent in the twilight fog, listening for danger and praying for a glimpse of her partner.

When she finally spotted him, though, a shadow at the edge of the world with his back facing her, she only prayed harder.

“Chat Noir?” she called out like an invocation.

He turned, but the evening was already too dim to make out his features. “Hello, Ladybug.”

She couldn’t read his expression, but his voice was flat in a way it had never been, and it should never be.

Something was wrong. She was sure of it now, but the moon was still whole and hearts were still unbroken. 

“I should have told you about the Wish,” she admitted with a tentative step toward him. “I should have told you that the butterfly was missing, too. I’m sorry.”

As she moved closer, his head turned back toward the moon, leaving only his words to hint at her reception: “Apology accepted,” he said, and that was good, right?

Right?

She ventured another step. He’d accepted her apology without a trace of anger in his voice, so where was her relief? Why was his back still to her, without an invitation to stand beside him?

“I’m ready to talk now,” she added, willing him to turn around, to smile at her, to reach out his hand.

But when he finally turned, she almost wished he hadn’t.

“Are you ready to undo the Wish?” he asked with a casual patience that left her cold.

She shook her head. She’d already told him they couldn’t undo the Wish, but she understood he needed more explanation. She just didn’t know what explanation she could give without giving away Monarque’s identity, and her own besides.

His already blank expression shuttered, transforming from empty to closed in less than a blink. “Then we don’t have anything to discuss.”

“Just— give me a second, okay?” She stepped closer again, but he didn't move. He was so still that she could barely make out the rise and fall of his breath. She had to tell him something, but where would she even start? With Nathalie, who could walk through the halls of a mansion brought back to life? Or with Adrien, who couldn’t be hurt by his father as long as he kept Gabriel only in loving memory? 

Chat Noir didn’t wait for her to decide. “If you won’t help me undo the Wish, I’ll do it without you.”

Ladybug frowned, her brow pulling tight with confusion. Chat Noir couldn’t undo the Wish without her—not unless he’d found some way to do it without her earrings, and she couldn’t imagine him finding a way without access to the Grimoire or Su Han.

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know, Ladybug,” he said, voice like a boulder rolling down a hill. When it hit the bottom, the full weight of his words slammed into her.

He stepped forward.

Ladybug stepped back.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d never.”

He nodded. “I won’t, if you give them to me.” His hand reached out, the dark leather of his palm shining in invitation.  “Just hand them over, and I’ll take care of it. Please, I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t.” She raised her hands to her heart, clasping them together in a plea. “Please, Chaton, we’re partners. You and me against the world, remember?”

For just a second, she saw him hesitate, some old longing flickering behind his eyes before he shook it off. 

“You haven’t needed a partner in a long time, Ladybug.”

“That’s not true!” she protested. “It’s not true, it’s not—it’s not!”

“Stop!” He ground out, eyes hard as gemstones. “I don’t want to hear more of your lies. You haven’t needed me, and it’s time that I stop needing you.”

“Chaton,” she choked out. The boulder pressed against her heart now, the pressure wrenching out a frantic beat for survival as she felt it crack. 

His lips pressed into a determined frown as he sauntered forward. “I can’t let you protect Monarque’s world. I’m sorry, Ladybug, but you leave me with no choice.” 

Quicker than her splintered thoughts, he lunged.

She narrowly dodged the swipe of a clawed hand at her ear.

“Give me your miraculous!” demanded a voice she recognized, a voice that wasn’t Chat Noir’s. But the boy grappling at her ears was the same black cat she’d crossed.

She dodged several more breathless swipes, but she wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever.

She had to get him at a disadvantage.

Ladybug dropped to the ground, pushing her weight through her wrists as she swung her legs towards him, hooking his ankles with her feet.

He lurched forward, unsteady. She was quick to crawl away before he hit the ground.

When she looked back, he was already back on his knees. She stood, reaching for her yo-yo. She gave it a ready whirl as he rose to oppose her.

“This isn’t you, chaton.” It wasn’t him—it couldn’t be him—and yet it was.

“I’m not the one who isn’t acting like themselves,” he countered. “You’re supposed to be the hero, but you’re letting Monarque win.”

A choked cry fought its way out of her throat.

How could she have let Monarque win, when she’d lost?

You’re supposed to be the hero.

“I’m sorry, Ladybug. I don’t want to fight you.” Chat Noir rose to stand, his full height a towering shadow lined in silver moonlight. “But this is wrong . You know that. Please, just give me your miraculous. Let me make it right, if you can’t.”

His hand blurred at the edges as he reached out to her. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting her yo-yo fall with her tears.

When she opened them again, he’d turned back toward the moon, which shone brighter now against the darkened sky. “If you won’t work with me, I have no choice.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that there was always a choice, there were so many choices, too many choices—but his hand was raised high in the air already and his eyes were trained onto her yo-yo where it had dropped, and there was no time left to say anything.

She grabbed for it, gloved fingers barely making contact before he charged. 

Without time to call a Lucky Charm, she only had one plan: escape.

She scanned the rooftop.

Nothing.

Nothing but him, seconds away now.

As he closed in, her mind replayed his words from a lifetime ago, before the world had been torn apart and built anew: You know I love battling by your side, my lady. But I could never bring myself to fight you.

She closed her eyes, inhaled, and fell back.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been in freefall from the top of Montparnasse. She knew she’d survive it, that she had before, that even if she didn’t catch her yo-yo on the next building, Tikki would cushion the impact.

But the human brain has an ingrained reaction to hurtling towards the Earth face first from 200 meters, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s brain was no exception. The speed at which she fell and the way the harsh night air whipped against her cheeks told her you’re going to die, you’re going to die soon, you need air you need help you need rescue you need to say goodbye.

Her lungs constricted and her eyes closed shut to stave off the sight of rows and rows of windows passing, but even without looking, she could feel his shadow at her back.

It took every ounce of rational thought left in her head to keep her grip tight on her yo-yo, to will her panicked hands to act instead of react.

Somehow, though, she managed. She swung her yo-yo blindly at the next building they passed on the way down, and caught onto something solid. 

Ladybug pulled herself up in an arc, heart racing. She hit the top of the building in a roll. For a second, she allowed herself the luxury of embracing the solid chill of concrete, but when a thud sounded just meters away, her second was over.

He’d landed on his feet, somehow. A dark Cataclysm was already bubbling in his hand.

He strode towards her with heavy steps; she skittered backwards on her hands and feet.

“Chat, please, let’s talk about this.”

If he’d just stop—if he’d just listen—

“Now you want to talk,” he snarled, but stopped walking. The light from the billboard next to them casted harsh planes across his twisted features, transforming her silly chaton into a phantasmagoric nightmare. “Fine, let’s talk.”

She had only a second to register what the billboard was—who it depicted—before he slammed his hand into Gabriel Agreste’s heart. 

With horror, she watched helplessly as Adrien’s father crumbled into ash in front of her—again. As Chat Noir dropped his hand with satisfaction, her mind replayed the night at the Musée Grévin; the way he’d begged Monarque not to make him do it, the panic in his eyes as Monarque pulled his hand down, the way she’d been useless to fix him or to offer comfort as Chat Noir fell to his hands and knees.

He could never know. 

He could never know that he’d as good as killed Gabriel Agreste that night, that from that moment on there’d been nothing they could do to save him. He could never know that if Monarque had never made a Wish, Chat Noir would be the reason for his death.

She couldn’t tell him that undoing the Wish would make him a murderer.

“Well?” he asked, less than a meter from her now. “Are you going to talk?”

“We can’t undo the Wish,” she repeated, her words as useless as she’d been that night.

“You’ve said yourself the Wish is wrong!” he bellowed, slamming his fist on the wall the billboard had been covering. “That the cost is too high! What changed?”

She opened her mouth, willing the right words to come out, but she still couldn’t find them. Her eyes filled with tears as she clenched her teeth in defeat.

At her silence, he heaved a sigh, and she realized that despite his anger, he’d still been hoping for an explanation.

But there was no explanation she could give.

“Good talk, Ladybug,” he said, voice flat, and raised another Cataclysm.

She’d missed her chance.

Before he could make another move, she pressed her hands into the rooftop, lifting through her back to swing her legs up over her head, and somersaulted off the building.

This time, she was in control as she barreled past the sparkling display windows, her muscles pumping with adrenaline and her mind pinpoint focused. 

Her eyes found a car lit red with spots moving through the street; her feet landed in a crouch exactly where she meant them to. She was ready when he landed behind her.

This time, she didn’t pause before jumping to the next car. He jumped after her, hot on her heels. She kept her focus only on the next car ahead, and the next, and the next.

All the while, she scanned the city for some sort of sign, some lighthouse in the dark, some Ladybug luck to turn things around.

There was no winning a game of cat and mouse.

But as they raced through the streets of the city, the only things that glowed red were the tail lights of the cars warning her they were about to come to a stop.

She wouldn’t be able to run much longer. She could almost make out the Seine in the distance now, some point in the horizon where the twinkling city lights turned into a liquid shimmer. Night had fallen over Paris as they’d crossed it, but she knew this city like the backs of her eyelids.

Across the intersection was a private rooftop venue; one far too rich for Marinette Dupain-Cheng to set foot on. Ladybug was bound to no such proprietary. As the car she crouched on skittered to a stop, she used its momentum to push herself into the air and sail over the intersection.

The terrace welcomed her with the panicked stares of party guests, but she paid them no mind.

“Lucky Charm!”

A beam of crimson light followed her arm into the air and luciform ladybugs danced around her like leaves in a windstorm. As her yo-yo reached its peak, spinning in the air like a coin flip, Ladybug was struck with an unfortunate realization.

She had no idea what she needed her Lucky Charm to do.

The object itself was always a mystery; its use obscured until it landed in her palm; but she always knew its purpose: to help her capture the akuma.

But there was no akuma tonight.

There was only Chat Noir.

Chat Noir, and the little red-and-black stuffed cat that landed in her hand along with its remote. She gave the remote a futile tap, but the cat only answered with a wiggle and a tiny mew.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she exclaimed, exasperated.

The patrons of the rooftop offered no answers.

She screwed up her face, trying to summon her Lucky Vision with a squint, but no amount of nose-scrunching could produce an answer that wasn’t there. 

She closed her eyes, trying to look inward, but her focus was interrupted by a loud honk, followed by a crash.

Her eyes flew open as several more honks sounded. She whirled to face the intersection.

The streetlight was gone.

The venue guests were already fleeing when Chat Noir joined her on the roof, knocking over chairs and sending cocktails crashing to the floor in their wake. A few more reckless ones had pulled out their phones to record. All of them almost certainly figured they were caught in an akuma attack.

The guilt etched across Chat Noir’s face as he stared at the wreck below them told her exactly what happened to the streetlight.

They both knew there was only one way to undo any damage he caused tonight.

“You don’t have to do this, Chat Noir.” 

She could throw the stuffed cat now, repair the traffic lights and the cars before they had time to assess the damage. She could say they’d already purified the akuma, and that it was safe now.

What was one more lie on top of all the others, if this one protected him?

Chat Noir tore his gaze away from the damage and narrowed his eyes on her.

“I wouldn’t have to do this” —he drew his baton— “if you would just give me your miraculous!”

He lunged before she had time to react, knocking the Lucky Charm out of her hand without pausing to give it a glance. 

Several people screamed.

“No!” she yelled, watching the little stuffed cat sail toward the dark Seine and out of sight. 

Unthinking, she jumped after it.

It was only upon landing in the promenade across the street that she remembered she could call for another.

“Lucky Charm!” she yelled under her breath, hoping her voice would be drowned out by the still-honking traffic that continued to build in the accident’s wake.

This time, the sparkling rush of crimson starlight granted her a small Eiffel Tower keychain. When she looked up, the real Eiffel Tower stood just a few blocks away, flickering from ochre to red-and-black and back again.

The soft thump of boots on grass announced her time to think was up.

Ladybug looped the keychain around her finger.

When she leapt, he gave chase.

Hidden behind an iron beam, she could barely make out his movements in her periphery. 

“You can’t hide forever, Ladybug,” he reminded her. “You’ll try anyway, though, won’t you? But eventually, something will give you away. You should have detransformed and slipped off into the crowd at the Rooftop Grenelle or the banks of the Seine.”

He’d moved out of sight now, but she could hear his footsteps moving closer.

“Even then, I’d find you eventually. The next time you transformed, maybe, on patrol with your new team. Or maybe sooner—maybe I’d recognize that girl in the crowd. I know the way you move, Ladybug, and the way you think—I don’t need to see your face to track you.”

He was bluffing—he had to be. He knew as well as she did that the quantum masking would protect her.

But she knew, just as well, that it didn’t matter if he could find Marinette or not. With Chrysalis out there, it was only a matter of time before Ladybug would be needed again. 

It was his next words, though, that made her blood run cold.

“And even if that girl manages to slip by, there are other names and faces to follow. Maybe you should let your friend Ryuuko know she should stop slipping out of the armored car to play hooky with her boyfriend.”

Kagami and Félix could take care of themselves, with or without an armored car. But they weren’t the only identities Chat Noir knew.

Would he really go after them? Hunt down civilians and attack them? It was hard to imagine. But she couldn’t risk it. Less than a sunset ago, she would have said he’d never willingly attack her, either.

And he was right: she couldn’t hide forever.

There was only one way to end this. Some part of her had known from the moment he’d demanded her miraculous, but she’d rather run than face what she had to do. The thought made her stomach turn, but she had no other choice.

She had to get his miraculous first.

Ladybug tackled him the second he reappeared in her periphery.  Plowing into his back, she knocked them both to the edge of the landing. 

Chat Noir slammed onto the metal grate facedown. The sound of his grunt made her grateful he’d cushioned her own fall. She had him pinned now, the weight of her hips pressed into his lower back and her hands planted on his shoulders.

His long arms were spread wide. She’d have to shift her weight to reach the fingers of his right hand. If she was quick enough, she’d be able to swipe the ring before he could take advantage of the change in position.

Ladybug inched her hand forward.

“Cataclysm!”

Pitch-dark plasma crackled at his fingertips. Ladybug snatched her hand back.

She couldn’t touch the ring now.

Instead, she reached for the next best thing. Baton in hand, she hopped off him with force, eager to put as much distance between them as she could manage.

In her haste, she didn’t realize she’d pushed him off the edge—not until she caught sight of his hand gripping the ledge.

The human brain has an ingrained reaction to hurtling toward the Earth face first from 200 meters, and that reaction is to save itself, at all costs.

His second hand reached up.

It made contact.

The Tower went crumbling down.

Baton in one hand and yo-yo in the other, Ladybug swung toward the closest building. She barely managed to avoid several iron beams as they careened downward. Her yo-yo string caught the turret of a rooftop before a cloud of metallic dust filled her vision and lungs. She held her breath and pulled blindly through the debris.

She reached the turret with a coughing fit, her feet finding barely enough purchase to keep her up as she heaved. The Tower finished its collapse with a shuddering creak of the remaining solid beams as their last connections gave way.

Through the dusty haze, she could barely make out the shine of the Seine that had dazzled her earlier. This part of the city relied on the glow of the Eiffel Tower at night, and without it, the Trocadéro was shrouded in darkness on the other bank.

There was just enough light, though, to recognize the garish paint of the Liberty.

She had no idea if Chat Noir was still following her; if he was only seconds away from pouncing onto the slope of the roof she clung to or if he was still struggling to Cataclysm his way out of the rubble.

Either way, the Liberty was her best chance—even with Luka gone, Juleka’s help alone would be invaluable—Tigresse Pourpre’s Clout was formidable in any battle. Even Anarka, sans powers, was fierce enough to shift the odds in Ladybug’s favor—and vulnerable enough to make Chat Noir hesitate.

When she arrived, though, the deck was empty.

“Hello?” she called out.

“Hi honey,” greeted a voice behind her. 

Before she could process who the voice belonged to, Chat Noir had already grabbed his baton out of her hand, knocking her off balance.

She stumbled backward, catching herself on the edge of the pool table. Her Eiffel Tower keychain skittered across the top, into Chat Noir’s deathly grasp.

It disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke.

“I’m home.” His humorless grin sent a chill of terror up her spine. “As home as I’ll ever be.”

“Lucky Charm!” 

Please, please, Tikki, something simple this time. Let this one make sense.

An eraser, red with black spots, landed in her hand.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

“An eraser?” Chat Noir scoffed. “Let me guess, another way to try to rewrite history?”

She ignored him as he walked closer, scanning the boat for a plan to put itself together.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that.” Her eyes snapped back to him as he raised his hand. “Cataclysm!”

Ladybug shook her head, trying to regain her focus.

What was she supposed to do with an eraser? 

Nothing on the boat lit up. Chat Noir’s approaching form loomed large in her vision, but his suit remained stubbornly black.

Her heartbeat climbed faster. She squeezed the eraser in her hand, willing it to transform into an actual solution.

Ladybug swerved right to dodge his Cataclysm, but at the last second, he dropped his right hand and reached with his left, effortlessly grabbing her by the ear.

She ignored the pain as he pinched, focusing all her effort on getting him off. With a grunt, she grabbed his wrist and yanked it onto her shoulder. She blinked back the sting of fresh tears as his claws tugged at her earlobe on the way down.

She ignored the pain as she wrapped her arm around his to use as a lever. She ignored it as she grit her teeth and swung her legs over him, knocking them both to the ground.

She couldn’t lose focus—couldn’t think about how the person she relied on most had hurt her—not when he was already reaching for her Lucky Charm with his right hand.

Ladybug grappled blindly for his baton. She seized the first thing her hand could reach before bounding away in a flip.

Her eraser was still clenched in her left hand when she landed on her feet, but in her right, she held only his belt.

He stood, spinning his baton as he stalked forward.

“Listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me!” he bellowed. “We can’t let Monarque’s Wish stand! That’s not who we are!”

I don’t know who you are, she thought, and it had never been more true.

“If we undo it, someone will die!” Two people will die. “Someone will die, Chat Noir. That’s not who we are.”

Slowly, Chat Noir lowered his baton. “So it was a life for a life, then.”

Her heart swelled with a wave of relief. “Yes! Yes, it was,” she babbled. “If we undo the Wish, the person he saved dies. We’d be killing them.” 

We’d be condemning Nathalie to death, and Gabriel with her.

His frown twisted in thought. Her heart skipped a beat, and then another, as she watched him process her words. This was the moment—the moment he’d understand, and drop his weapon, and come back to her side.

Her Chat Noir would never be okay with letting someone die.

“That person is already dead, Ladybug,” he said, and dashed her hopes into the river. “Monarque should have let it stay that way.”

Her Chat Noir would never be okay with it, but this wasn’t her Chat Noir.

Not anymore.

She still had to try.

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded.

Nathalie wasn’t dead—she hadn’t been dead when Ladybug last saw her, limp and colorless but still fighting to warn her. Ladybug had felt the rise and fall of her chest and the beat of her heart as she’d begged Nathalie to wake up. She’d never been dead. 

“I understand better than anyone!” he cried, his baton hitting the ping pong table with a crack as he swung his arms down. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. To want them back more than anything. But we don’t get to choose who lives or dies!”

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, giving her a moment to breathe. She thought back to the night they’d fought Magpie—how withdrawn he’d been, even before the villain emerged. 

“What if someone out there was waiting for him to make things right?” he’d asked, and she’d suspected even then he hadn’t been thinking of Monarque. “What if they were thinking he’d come back, that they’d at least get to talk to him again.” She thought of the way his voice had broken as he finished. “And now they’ll never get the chance.”

He’d lost someone, and probably recently, too.

Her heart broke for him—for her brave chaton, who’d been hiding his pain for longer than she knew. Was that why he’d wanted to reveal that night?

Her denial must have cut him more than he’d admitted.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he’d asked for that night, and it wasn’t what he was asking for now. She reached for him anyway, offering what comfort she could. “You’re right. We can’t control life and death. But this is different.”

He looked back at her, face wiped clean of emotion, but with a telltale tear streaking down his cheek.

Her hand changed course, moving without permission toward that stray tear. “I can explain—”

Chat Noir flinched away, as if stung by her touch. “Explain what?” he spat. “Why Gabriel Agreste’s life is disposable? Or why you lied about it?”

She reeled. 

“I’ve had enough of your explanations, Ladybug.” He raised his baton again, revealing the fissure he’d left on the ping pong table earlier. 

He stepped forward—one, two, three—and she stepped back.

Three, two, one, and her back was against the railing of the deck.

She reached for her yo-yo.

“Cataclysm!”

He was too close already; there was no room to swing her yo-yo into a shield.

He won’t cataclysm me. No matter what other boundaries he’s crossed tonight, he won’t do that.

Which meant his target was something else. She squeezed her eraser tight in her left fist. His eyes caught the movement, then flicked back up to her.

Their eyes locked. 

Silently pleading, she searched his eyes for some hint of the boy that had fought by her side. The one that joked and teased and picked her up when she was down. The boy that had dangled his heart on his sleeve for so long, begging her to take it.

Where was that heart now?

The times when I have the most fun, my favorite moments, are when I'm with you, my lady. And I would give up everything for just that.

When did she stop being the best part of his life?

His olivine eyes held no answers; only regret.

“Chaton… ”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, and Ladybug could’ve sworn there was a fresh hint of wetness at the corners.

“I’m sorry, Ladybug,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “But this is what I have to do.”

His hand shot forward, not toward the eraser in her fist, but at something it would hurt much more to lose: her yo-yo. With no room to move, Ladybug pivoted, giving him her back but moving the yo-yo out of his hand’s path. He didn’t have time to react.

Her weapon was safe.

But the railing was not. With horror, she watched it crumble in her hands. 

Ladybug took in a shocked gasp of air…

And plummeted into the ice-cold water of the Seine.

The river was dark.

Too dark.

Darker than the crackle of decay on the hand that sent her there.

She could barely make out her own hand.

Ladybug managed to find her yo-yo at her hip by feel alone. Her Lucky Charm was long gone—fallen to the bottom of the river, no doubt. She pulled the yo-yo up to her mouth. Relief rushed through her body as she inhaled the fresh air the yo-yo provided. Her muscles were tight from shock, but at least she was getting oxygen. 

Pressed against her mouth, the yo-yo didn’t give off much light, but its dim glow was enough to illuminate the water’s surface.

Her eyes stung trying to keep them open in the water—Tikki’s magic only did so much to protect the parts of her uncovered by the suit, and the river was harsher than usual, thanks to the dust of decayed Eiffel Tower scattered through the currents.

It was the wreckage of the very same tower, though, that offered her a lifeline.

She had no estimate of how deep she was, but the fallen iron beam stretched across the river couldn’t be more than ten meters away.

Her muscles screamed as she paddled towards it. With one hand busy keeping her yo-yo in place, the other had to work twice as hard to pull her through the water, and the fervent kicking of her legs felt feeble in the face of the distance she had yet to cross.

Just get to the surface. All you need is enough air to pull out a magicaroon.

Maybe it was more than ten meters. She reached and kicked and pushed the water back behind her, but each movement seemed more unavailing than the last.

When she finally wrapped aching fingers on the edge on the beam, her shoulder burned with effort. She pulled anyway. 

And there, when she broke the water’s surface, was Chat Noir’s hand.

She almost wept at the sight.

Her partner.

He was here.

A rush of hope, almost buoyant enough to float her over the water, rose from her paddling toes to the crown of her head. 

It didn’t matter what he’d said before, or what she hadn’t said, or what he’d done—he was here now.

Chat Noir would never let her drown. He was the one who kept her afloat.

Ladybug lowered her yo-yo to its place at her hip.

His eyes filled her vision, dancing as they reflected the water’s shine, and his hair formed a cloud of moonlight around his darling face.

She reached up to place her hand in his.

Chat Noir—her Chat Noir—pulled her up beside him, one hand linked with hers and the other steadying her waist. She sent him a smile that she hoped expressed everything she didn’t know how to say.

For the first time tonight, she felt safe.

He’d saved her.

She reached for him, seeking the comfort of his embrace—

And he stepped back.

Behind him stood a figure in violet. She flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder, flashing Ladybug a smile that showed all her teeth.

“Hello, Ladybug,” said Chrysalis.

Ladybug’s hopes sank like iron weights. They pulled at her lungs and caught on her stomach, dragging it to the bottom of the Seine. She was underwater again; the whole night had gone dim and silent, and every part of her body screamed.

No, no, no.

“It’s a pleasure.” Chrysalis reached out her hand to shake, revealing bare fingers with nails painted indigo.

She can’t be here. Not her.

Ladybug whirled around, clutching the tendrils of her bangs with her fingertips as she curled inwards.

“Well,” Chrysalis mused, “that’s not very polite.”

Like an underwater signal flare, a sudden spark of anger ignited her. The darkness cleared as suddenly as it came. 

Ladybug spun on Chat Noir. “You’re working with her?”

Chat Noir only shook his head. Out of the water, she could see the dancing in his eyes had been tears all along.

“How could you?” Her voice broke.

She’d understood him being angry with her. That she hadn’t told him enough, not enough for him to understand, not enough to…

But how could he work with Chrysalis? 

“I told you,” he said, in a voice that had aged a thousand years. “The Wish has to be undone.”

She shook her head, tears bursting free from the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut. “Chaton, I—!”

The scent of overripe strawberries filled her nostrils as Chrysalis’s palm covered her mouth. She felt herself being tugged back as an arm snaked over her shoulder and across her chest, effectively pinning her.

“Mmmph!” She tried to catch Chat Noir’s attention in vain. He’d already looked away, jaw ticking with the effort of standing by.

“Ahhh, shh shh shhh, Ladybug,” Chrysalis admonished, her breath hot in Ladybug’s ear. “Let’s not bother our poor chaton, he’s got so much on his mind already.”

He’s not ours. He’s not yours.

“I was hoping we could have some girl talk, just you and me.” Chrysalis’s hand slid from her lips across her cheeks, leaving a trail of butterflies dancing across Ladybug’s jaw in her wake. Her fingertips grazed Ladybug’s earlobes. “I could take your earrings right now, you know.”

She knew. Her earlobe was still tender from Chat Noir’s claws, hypersensitive to the faintest touch. Chrysalis’s hand merely hovered, but it was enough to send shivers down Ladybug’s spine.

“They’re just in my reach,” Chrysalis whispered, moving her hand back to cup Ladybug’s jaw with force. Her sharp nails dug into Ladybug’s skin. “I could even send a butterfly into them, if I wanted. Your emotions are so strong right now, just ripe for an akuma.”

Ladybug inhaled. She had to get her emotions under control. She had to get out of Chrysalis’s grasp.

Meters away, Chat Noir’s tail flicked in agitation.

“But,” Chrysalis continued, “won’t it be so much more fun when he takes them?”

Ladybug exhaled. 

Then she bent her neck down and bit—right into the soft web between Chrysalis’s thumb and forefinger.

Chrysalis shrieked. Ladybug unclenched her jaw as Chrysalis’s hand pulled away. 

She sent an elbow into Chrysalis’ stomach and a heel into her instep. Chrysalis doubled over, releasing Ladybug’s arms.

With shaking fingers, Ladybug pulled out her box of magicaroons from the yo-yo. She fumbled for the right one, painfully aware that she had only seconds before Chrysalis recovered—but she couldn’t go back into the water without a power up.

She had just managed to tug out the blue one—mostly intact—when Chat Noir knocked the entire box out of her hands with his baton. 

A second later, Chrysalis was back, cane in hand.

In less than a blink, Ladybug was pinned once again. This time, Chrysalis’ cane served as an impenetrable bar across her torso. Chat Noir faced them with an air of painful determination, his eyes looking past her, at Chrysalis.

“Cataclysm!”

Ladybug’s breathing grew rapid and shallow, her lungs constricting as he neared.

He won’t Cataclysm me, she reminded herself. No matter what other boundaries he’s crossed tonight, he won’t do that.

Chat Noir looked down at her like she was a stranger.

But what else could he destroy? You’ve lost your Lucky Charm.

Chrysalis’ grip tightened.

Maybe he’ll use it on her, Ladybug thought desperately. Maybe he’ll destroy her cane to free me, and we’ll talk it out, and—

His palm landed on her hip, dissolving her yo-yo into ash.

Ladybug’s world collapsed.

Chrysalis was talking—gloating, maybe—but Ladybug didn’t understand a word she was saying. All Ladybug understood was that her yo-yo was gone.

Her weapon was gone.

Her partner was gone.

It was Chrysalis’ partner who reached for her now, with stone eyes and mechanical hands. Chrysalis’ partner who she couldn’t escape.

Chrysalis’s partner, centimeters away from her miraculous, while the villain in question surely smiled behind her.

A hot tear slipped down her cheek.

This was it, then. 

She hoped at least when Chat Noir saw who she was—saw that she was Adrien Agreste’s girlfriend—he’d understand.

She braced herself.

Chat Noir inched closer.

And then, suddenly—

There was light.

She’d thought—hoped and dreaded—that it’d been Bunnyx, but Pegasus was the one who’d pulled her through his portal in the nick of time.

“My apologies for the delay, Ladybug,” he said. “It was difficult to track your coordinates after the Eiffel Tower went down.”

Ladybug just nodded, staring into the sidewalk. It made sense—she’d been underwater—but there was nothing left in her to explain that to him.

After a moment, she felt his hand on her shoulder, urging her forward. “The rest of us are this way.”

She let him guide her blindly, step by step, until the blur of buildings around the promenade started to take shape and her eyes blinked into focus on the team of heroes waiting under a lamppost.

They were all there, faces grim with worry—even Argos, who’d spared no sympathy the night Magpie showed up, met her with concern in his eyes.

Coq Courage stepped forward from the group, and Ladybug recognized the small stuffed cat in their hands. She knew, instantly, that her team had found it for her, but the part of her that could feel touched by that was gone.

“Ladybug?” prompted Vesperia.

Through her gloves, there was no way to tell if the cat Coq Courage handed her was soft. No reason to run her fingertips over the top of its head or under its belly. No reason to hold on for just a moment before letting him go into the night.

Paris needed her.

“Miraculous Ladybug,” she whispered, and watched her cat leave her hand.

Her senses returned in force. The sound of traffic rushed into her ears and the smell of the Seine filled her nose. The glow of the lamp post suddenly seemed too sharp, and the air too hot. Sensation returned to her legs, and her muscles gave one last dying scream of warning. 

When she collapsed in a swirl of magic, Rena Rouge was there to catch her.

She didn’t watch as the Lucky Charm burst into thousands of tiny ladybugs. She didn’t turn to see them sweep up the wreckage of the Eiffel Tower or restore the streetlight across the way. She knew those things would be repaired.

Instead, she buried her face in Rena Rouge’s neck, and sobbed for all the damage her ladybugs could never fix.

Chapter Text

The air was burning.

He couldn’t see where the fire had started or where it ended. There were no flames.

Just the putrid scent of smoke and a blood red sky. 

The fallen buildings around him told him this was still Paris—what was left of it, anyway—but he couldn’t remember what had happened. His memories were painted in the same orange haze as the city, and his head throbbed as he wrestled them for answers.

He remembered walking through the moonlit streets at night. He remembered being lost and looking for something. He remembered wishing he’d gone to see Marinette instead.

Where was Marinette?

“You don’t need to worry about Marinette,” said Gabriel Agreste in his pristine white suit. The wind blew white-hot ash in every direction, but the embers slid through him like a ghost. He looked down at something Adrien didn’t realize he was holding. “She won’t be bothering us anymore.”

Adrien followed his father’s gaze down. For the first time, he noticed the white leather covering his arms and chest. Something whirred to life in his brain, some realization that he wasn’t Adrien anymore, that he’d changed—only for his thoughts and his heart to stop at the sight of what lay in his arms.

“No,” he whispered, “no, no, no!”

Marinette didn’t answer.

“We can be a family again,” Gabriel continued, his suit flickering violet, “now that you’ve saved me.”

“Not like this,” Anticat choked out, flames licking at his eyelids. It was supposed to be a stranger—a loved one of Monarque, long-dead and returned to their final resting place.

Not Marinette, his Marinette, stone in his arms.

“I never wanted anyone to get hurt,” said Chrysalis, standing in Gabriel’s place. A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I just wanted to undo the Wish. Why would you do this?”

“I didn’t— I never—”

“Poor Marinette,” Chrysalis lamented, reaching to brush stone bangs off her face. “I wonder if she knew she was dating a monster.”

When Chrysalis’s hand made contact, Marinette’s face started to crumble into dust.

The wind claimed her then, whipping Marinette’s ashes out of his arms. They slid through him like he was a ghost.

“Marinette!” he cried, clutching her closer, but his touch only accelerated her decay. Cinders burned at his cheeks as he hugged his empty arms to his chest. “No, Marinette!”

“Was it worth it?” Ladybug asked. 

He looked up. Ladybug stood next to Chrysalis, her expression unforgiving and her body carved in stone. Her lips didn’t move as she spoke.

“Was undoing the Wish worth losing us?”

“It wasn’t the Wish,” said Gabriel as Ladybug, too, dissolved into smoke. “It was him.”

His suit glittered like purple moondust.

“Don’t worry, son,” he said. “I will make sure your insolence never becomes a problem again.”

Anticat looked into his father’s silver ring and screamed.

Adrien woke up exhausted.

He skipped breakfast, stomach still churning like the blood-red sea that he’d drowned in all night. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice anything was amiss. Félix didn’t even acknowledge him on his way out the door, too absorbed watching some video on Instagram.

When Marinette arrived at school, panting and with less than 20 seconds to spare before the bell, she didn’t look any better than Adrien felt. Dark bags hung under her eyes and her ears were red, like she’d slept on them too hard. If he had to guess, he’d say Alya was the only thing holding her up.

The question of where she’d been last night died at the tip of his tongue. If Alya was late too, that was answer enough.

“Up all night answering comments on the Ladyblog?” Nino asked.

“More like up all night ignoring all the questions on the Ladyblog,” Alya said with a snort, handing Marinette and a pink thermos to Adrien. She didn’t look like she’d been up all night. “We had to turn our phones off to get any rest. Anyways, I’d better get to forensic science, it’s on the other side of the building. Can you take Marinette to her class?”

“I better get to class too,” Nino told them before turning to Alya. As the two of them ventured together in the opposite direction, Adrien heard him ask her, “Are we still meeting tomorrow at twenty hours?”

He didn’t hear Alya’s answer. They were too far out of earshot, and Adrien’s world had already recentered itself around the way Marinette snuggled into his shoulder, her feet shuffling alongside his as they walked. 

“I called you,” he whispered, hoping to keep any trace of accusation out of his tone. She’d been the only person he wanted to talk to last night, but she hadn’t been home, and her phone went straight to voicemail.

Marinette blinked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep. Up close, the bottoms of her ears were even redder than he’d realized. He made a mental note to ask whether she was cleaning her earrings regularly.

“Oh!” She reached down to pull her phone from her purse, then looked at it with a frown. “I forgot to turn it back on. I’m sorry.”

Adrien didn’t understand why Marinette had turned hers off in the first place, since she didn’t get notifications from the Ladyblog, but he supposed it was maybe a solidarity thing, like girls going to the bathroom together.

He didn’t have time to ask anyway, since they’d just arrived at the door to Marinette’s classroom.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he promised with a kiss to her forehead. Her skin, warm and alive, was a balm to his nervous heart. He lingered for a few seconds, hoping to feel the beat of her heart against his lips.

“Mmmm, I’ll see you in my dreams,” Marinette said, planting a sleepy kiss on his cheek.

He laughed and pressed the thermos into her hands. “Drink your coffee, mon amour.”

By the time Adrien made it to lunch, Violette had already sunk her claws into Marinette. They’d settled in a couch in the corner, and Alix had filled the remaining space. Adrien’s stomach swooped in disappointment at the sight.

He always preferred to sit next to Marinette, when he could—a preference that Violette had gleefully disregarded since her first day at François Dupont. Before Violette, he’d never minded sharing Marinette with their other friends, but something about the way Violette would slide into every conversation between them—sometimes literally—rubbed him the wrong way.

Maybe he wasn’t being fair. Maybe he was just used to having friends who had been rooting for his relationship with Marinette longer than he’d known he wanted one.

But today, he really needed to sit next to Marinette.

Unfortunately, Violette was the only one who noticed his arrival, and he knew from experience that any attempt to extricate her from the couch would cause a scene.

Not that anyone would have noticed.

Every student in François Dupont only had eyes and ears for one thing right now: the footage of Ladybug and Chat Noir on the Rooftop Grenelle. Some B-list movie star named Cerise had caught the whole thing on film. Hers wasn’t the only video taken that night, but she’d been the only one to get footage of Chat Noir destroying the streetlight—everyone else on the roof had been filming Ladybug.

Between that and her 250,000 followers, her clip had gone viral before the end of the night.

The group was watching the end of said clip when Adrien arrived, tray of food in hand. Even though he’d skipped breakfast, the croissants he’d piled on his plate suddenly seemed too heavy as he watched an on-screen Chat Noir draw his weapon and demand Ladybug’s miraculous. 

Was that really how he’d sounded?

“Mec, you okay? You’re looking a bit pale.” Nino’s concerned voice barely reached him.

Adrien had seen himself on film regularly over the past year. It’d been strange watching his first commercial, seeing himself floating on clouds when he remembered running through a studio set. He knew the boy in those commercials was him, but he’d always felt detached from the carefree boy leaping into the sky. Watching the Project Oxygen commercials use his image to say things he’d never endorse had been even worse. And the Alliance commercials had been the most disconcerting of all. It was like watching himself in a funhouse mirror, his movements so distorted by the wavy glass that he couldn’t recognize himself in the reflection.

He’d never felt that way about a video of Chat Noir before today.

“Take a seat, mec,” Nino added, brows furrowed with worry. He gestured to the armchair next to his and Alya’s bean bag.

Adrien woodenly lowered himself into the seat, unable to look away from Marinette and Violette. Marinette still hadn’t noticed him.

“It was just awful!” Rose wailed from a cushion next to the low table where Adrien set his tray. “They’d always been the perfect partners. I don’t understand why Chat Noir would do this.”

Juleka mumbled something under her breath.

“You sound like Jalil,” Alix answered. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told him: Chat Noir is not being mind controlled. Mind control doesn’t exist outside akumas or sentimonsters. And there was no akuma last night.”

“Maybe it was a Chat Noir sentimonster,” suggested Marc. “That’s possible, right? Wasn’t there a Ladybug sentimonster once?”

Marinette, who’d been utterly fascinated by her tray of carrots until this point, looked up at this.

“Or an illusion!” added Nathaniel.

Alya glared at him. “So you think it’s more likely Rena Rouge turned on Ladybug?”

“Than Chat Noir? Uh, yeah,” Kim interjected from the inflatable pool next to their table. “Dude is loyal as hell.”

“No one is more loyal than Rena Rouge!” Alya stood to tower over Kim’s pool, hands on her hips.

“Can we go back to the sentimonster thing?” Marinette asked, anxiously fidgeting with her fork. “Rena Rouge wouldn’t betray Ladybug, but Argos—”

Violette shook her head, reaching to still Marinette’s hand. “I know it’s scary, but we have to accept that was the real Chat Noir. If it was a sentimonster, the real one would have shown up to help, wouldn’t he?”

Marinette’s face fell. “You’re right.”

Adrien itched to comfort her, but what could he say?

Violette was right, after all.

It had been the real Chat Noir last night. It had been him in that video, snarling and charging at Ladybug—he knew it had been him, even if he hadn’t been able to recognize himself.

“If he was real,” Nathaniel looked across the group, one by one, “if he’s really turned against Ladybug, what does that mean for us?”

The group was silent for a moment, considering. Adrien picked up his glass of water and lifted it to his lips, but couldn’t bring himself to drink.

Then, in a burst of chaos, everyone started talking at once. Adrien held the cup between his teeth, looking down at his knees though the water as the words rushed past him.

“Is Chat Noir evil now?”

“What do they want Ladybug’s miraculous for?”

“I knew it, did you see how he treated her at that interview?”

“Probably for the same reason Monarque wanted it.”

“How is Ladybug going to defeat Chrysalis without him?”

“Do you think he’ll go after the other heroes?”

Adrien winced at that one. He’d threatened as much to Ladybug last night—he shouldn’t be surprised his friends were worried about that.

He set his glass down to look at Rose. His gut gave an uncomfortable twist at the fear in her face—fear he’d put there.

(Ladybug was your friend too, and look what you did to her.)

“No, he wouldn’t—” Alya started, but then caught the devastated look on Marinette’s face. “Would he?”

Violette draped a comforting arm over Marinette, “I don’t think we can put anything past him, at this point.”

“You don’t know him,” snapped Alya.

“Neither do you,” said Violette, voice gentle but eyes piercing. 

Alya squirmed.

“No one really knows him, do we?” Violette continued, her victorious expression high above Marinette’s head. “We all thought he was a hero because he was fighting with Ladybug, but we don’t know anything about him. We don’t know who he is under the mask. Can we really trust someone with the powers of destruction?”

“We don’t know who Ladybug is under the mask either,” Max pointed out.

“Ladybug wasn’t the one attacking her teammate and destroying public property,” Alix retorted.

“He didn’t mean to do that,” added Marinette, so quiet that he almost missed it. 

Adrien’s heart warmed at her defense. Even with Violette’s words snaking into her ears, Marinette still believed in him. He picked up one of his croissants and managed to take a bite. He savored the way the buttery flakes melted on his tongue.

“Marinette is right,” said Max, pulling out his own phone. “If you watch his face about 23 seconds into the video, you can clearly see he was upset at the destruction of the streetlight and the ensuing car accident.”

“Does it really matter if he felt bad?” Nino asked. “If it weren’t for Ladybug’s healing powers, those drivers would be in the hospital. And he didn’t even stop to check on them.”

Adrien took a gulp of water, trying to wash down the bite of too-dry croissant.

“And if it was accidental,” Violette added, looking somber, “then we have to ask, is Chat Noir even in control of his powers?”

The group broke out into another round of murmurs at this. He held his water to his lips again, and let the words slide past him like a ghost.

“He’s always seemed so precise with it before.”

“Maybe Ladybug was keeping him in check.”

“Did you see the Eiffel Tower was destroyed too?”

“If the real Chat Noir was a sentimonster—”

“He’s totally out of control.”

“That was so cool.”

“—and Chrysalis has his amok—”

“I don’t know how I’m going to sleep at night.”

“There’s an 87.3% chance of any miraculous holder losing control of their powers in a single battle.”

“None of the other miraculous give you the power to destroy a national monument.”

“Does Ladybug even know who he is?”

“He was doing us a solid. If Ladybug hadn’t repaired it, we could have replaced it with a diving board!”

Only Marinette was silent, watching the others argue with wide, blue eyes.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Alya said. “And Ladybug will tell us when she’s ready.”

Max nodded. “We must be patient until we know all the variables at play. Markov estimates there’s a 93.2% likelihood that Ladybug acquired information on his motives last night.” 

The rest of the group looked around at each other, in various stages of unease. Only Violette looked calm as she ran her French-tipped nails down Marinette’s arm.

“I don’t know,” Marinette whispered. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand why he’d do this.”

“He must have told Ladybug something,” Alya said, reaching across the low table to squeeze Marinette’s knee. 

Marinette just shook her head. “Do you think he’s in love with her?”

Adrien choked on his croissant.

“With Ladybug?” Alya asked as Nino thumped Adrien’s back. “I don’t think he’d do all this over an unrequited crush.”

He definitely wouldn’t. And not just because the girl he loved was the one sitting across from him, tears pooling at the corner of her eyes.

“With Chrysalis,” Marinette clarified. “With her shiny hair, and her mysterious eyes, and her, well, you know—”

Adrien did not know. Adrien was beginning to feel like he’d never known anything in his life. Where had Marinette even gotten this idea?

“Her rockin’ bod?” Kim supplied.

“I suppose he couldn’t help himself,” Violette said with a sigh. “Men are always drawn to beautiful women.”

That made even less sense than Marinette’s statement.

It had been Ladybug’s face, pleading in the starlight, that had almost stopped him in his tracks last night, after all. If he was weak to beautiful women, his resolve would have crumbled ten thousand times already.

“If that were true,” said Adrien, “he’d still be following Ladybug. Not Chrysalis.”

The whole group turned towards him. Violette was glaring.

Adrien swallowed, suddenly realizing that was probably not the ideal thing to say in front of his girlfriend.

Marinette, however, broke into a smile. “You really think so?”

“Adrien’s right,” Nino agreed, now relieved from back-thumping duties. He sat back down next to Alya. “Chat Noir might be a flirt, but if his eye ever strayed, there’s plenty of foxy ladies on team Ladybug.”

Alya rolled her eyes at him fondly.

Adrien felt a nudge at his side. He turned to see Marinette, hovering at his shoulder with a bowl of carrots and a hopeful smile. He eagerly made room for her, balancing his croissant on the armrest. The chair wasn’t made for two people, but neither of them were very wide, so she managed to slip in beside him, thigh to thigh. He moved his tray back into his lap and linked their hands together before speaking again.

“He must have had some other reason. Something he really believed in.” 

Marinette’s smile dropped. “Something that isn’t Ladybug.”

“Something that isn’t Chrysalis, either,” Adrien promised her. He couldn’t tell her, not like this, but he would. If she could forgive him for a wayward Cataclysm, surely she’d understand the rest.

Maybe they all would, if Chat Noir could find a way to tell them.

Marinette didn’t smile again, after that.

But she didn’t leave his side for the rest of lunch, either.

The lunchtime whispers of his friends stayed with Adrien all day. Their words looped through his head through World History and taunted him during Physics. Even Alya’s attempts to engage him during Food Styling and Photography fell flat. He tried to respond to her, he did, but when she spoke, her lips never matched the words that reached his ears:

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” he heard each time she spoke. “And Ladybug will tell us when she’s ready.”

There was an explanation. 

And that was all he could think about.

He knew the other heroes would follow Ladybug: she was their leader, and he was just one of many. The moment he allied himself with Chrysalis, he’d lost his teammates, and he’d accepted that.

He’d forgotten how many of those teammates were also his friends.

“Kid, you with me?”

Adrien opened his eyes to Plagg, a hair’s breadth away from his nose.

“Oh good, you’re alive,” Plagg drolled. “Have you come to your senses yet, too?”

Adrien’s phone pinged. He swiveled in his chair to check where it lay on the desk. An unread notification from Kagami informed him she was free tonight to watch Ouran Highschool Host Club with him but that tomorrow evening she’d be going to the Louvre with Félix at 20h. He swiped the message away; he wasn’t interested in seeing any of Ladybug’s heroes tonight, not even for anime.

The time read 19h47.

“I’m supposed to meet Chrysalis soon.”

“That girl is faker than canned cheese.” Plagg floated back into Adrien’s view. “You need to talk to Ladybug.”

Heat flared in Adrien’s chest. “Ladybug is the one who’s been lying! We don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Sometimes, when you open a package of Camembert, the smell seems too mild. You think that the inside is Brie, instead of delicious, stinky—”

Adrien stood up.

“—Camembe— kid, where are you going?”

“To the kitchens,” Adrien answered without bothering to look back. “You do want Camembert after I transform, don’t you?”

“Or, hear me out, you could just not transform, and get me the cheese anyway.”

Part of Adrien was tempted. He didn’t particularly want to be Chat Noir right now.

But he’d made a commitment. He’d promised to help Chrysalis, and he had to see it through.

She was counting on him.

The lights were already on when Adrien pushed open the door. Félix blinked at him from Adrien’s usual barstool seat; both he and Duusu sported matching expressions of surprise. His hand twitched toward his phone, which was propped up against the fruit bowl, Kagami’s face occupying the screen. 

“My mother thinks I’ll be studying at the library,” she was saying. “I’ll say I’m leaving at 19h45 to be there at 20h. And since it’s open until midnight tomorrow, it just gives us that much more time. You should tell Adrien the same.”

“Kagami,” Félix replied vaguely, tracking Adrien as he crossed the kitchen toward the refrigerator. “I’ll call you back later.”

Kagami paused. “What happened?”

“Later,” Félix said again, and ended the call. 

Pulling open the refrigerator door, Adrien shot Félix a look. “I thought you two were going to the Louvre tomorrow night.”

“Mme Tsurugi doesn’t need to know that,” Félix replied. A ping from his phone drew his gaze back. He quickly set it facedown on the counter. 

Turning to stoop over the produce drawer, Adrien frowned to himself. With Amélie and Nathalie gone for the week, he and Félix had the mansion to themselves. Kagami had ways of getting around her mother’s disapproval, but no one in the family disapproved of Félix’s new relationship. What exactly did he need to hide? 

Glancing around, he caught Félix and Duusu exchanging a meaningful look. It occurred to Adrien that while Félix didn’t bother concealing either his miraculous or his kwami, he still had secrets to keep surrounding them.

Especially now.

“So you’ll be out,” Adrien repeated slowly. “With Kagami, at 20h. And you don’t want me to know where?”

Félix turned to him, his expression carefully composed. “Don’t be paranoid. We’re just trying to keep her mother from finding out.”

Tomorrow night, 20h— Félix and Kagami at the Louvre. Tomorrow night, 20h— Alya and Nino planning to meet. 20h on a Tuesday— a date and time Ladybug had always favored for patrol. 

Taking a piece of Camembert from the drawer, Adrien slid it shut and let the refrigerator doors fall closed behind him. 

“You don’t need to sneak around me,” he told his cousin. “You know I won’t tell.”

He left Félix there, looking very much like he wanted to say something—though both of them knew he wouldn’t.

He tracked Chrysalis’ location to one of the greenhouses in the Jardin des Serres d’Auteuil. A flowery potted plant propped open the side glass door. There was a single butterfly resting upon one of the dewy petals; its white wings glistened in greeting as Chat Noir entered.

“Hello, Chat Noir,” Chrysalis said. She sat against the low brick wall that sectioned off a row of short, leafy trees, her silhouette dark against the moonlit glass. “I’m glad you came.”

Pushing aside a leafy bough, Chat Noir stepped onto the path before her. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Chrysalis’s smile turned wistful. “Last time didn’t exactly go the way we wanted, did it? That must have been hard for you, chaton. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to call this whole thing off.”

The air was heavier in here, its weight bearing down on him like a summer night. “That’s the last thing I want to do,” he told her, which sounded truer than it felt. 

Chrysalis leaned back, tilting her head as she considered him, her long ponytail spilling like violet water over her shoulder. “Now that she knows you’re working against her, it’ll be harder to lure her out. But there’s another way we could do it.”

She reached behind her, drawing her cane from her back like a sword, and Chat Noir realized in the glint of crystal what she meant.

“We made a deal, Chrysalis.” His voice rang harshly in his own ears. “No unwilling victims, remember?”

Chrysalis blinked wide eyes up at him, expression wounded. “I wasn’t talking about innocent victims,” she said, voice softening. “I was talking about you.”

He stared at her, the air weighing in his lungs with all the suffocating warmth of smoke and ash. “No.”

“No?” She tilted her head, resting her cane at her side. “But chaton! I could give you whatever power you asked. It’d be so easy, getting her to come to you. She wouldn’t even have to know it’s you, if it works. If that makes you feel any better.”

“I can’t. I—” He swallowed, looking anywhere but at her. Yet the heady scent of greenery turned to rubble in his nostrils, and the night outside the glass walls seemed to burn with an orange haze. “I’m too angry with her. With all my negative emotions, I’ll be worse than I was before—and you saw all the damage I did.”

Chrysalis’s eyes softened. She stepped forward, reaching for him. He moved back almost instinctively, and she stalled in place. 

“Besides,” he continued. “We don’t need to bait her. She’s called a team meeting for tomorrow night, at 20h. We can ambush her there.”

Chrysalis cocked her head, surveying him carefully. “A meeting,” she repeated, her eyes glittering as she considered. “That’s perfect. How did you find out?”

Chat Noir hesitated. As much as he knew Chrysalis was nothing like Ladybug, keeping his identity secret was still the safest option. Chrysalis hadn't volunteered any information about herself, after all—and he didn't know what she’d try if she knew who he truly was. 

“I can’t say,” he settled on. “But I know for sure it’s going to happen. I just haven’t figured out where. But when I do, I’ll tell you.”

Frowning, Chrysalis inspected the jeweled head of her cane. “That still puts her at an advantage,” she muttered. “If she and all her heroes are in a location they know well, we’re the ones who’ll have to watch our step.” Turning her face up to him, she asked, “Is there any way you can get them to change their meeting place? To give us a chance to lay a trap for them, instead of the other way around?”

He swallowed again. Her eyes lit with interest at whatever showed on his face. 

“I… have an idea,” he allowed. “Of how I might.”

He would have to take Adrien out of Agreste Mansion tomorrow night. Which was easy enough, except that he’d need to invent an alibi—and a reason for Félix to stay home. 

“Oh?” Chrysalis asked, taking another step closer, her eyes fixed on his. “Whatever it is, it could work. It’ll at least be better than walking into a nest of miraculous holders, don’t you think?”

“It would, but— but I’d have to make something up. I’d have to lie.”

Félix had lied to Adrien plenty of times in the past—and continued to do so, apparently—yet the thought of manipulating his cousin in that way made him feel slightly ill. 

It made him feel more like Ladybug. 

Chrysalis made a soft, crooning nose and leaned forward. “It’ll be worth it to get Ladybug’s miraculous.” Her hand slid reassuringly over his, though his skin prickled at her touch. As though sensing his discomfort, she squeezed once before she let go. “Don’t worry, chaton. There’s a difference between what we’re doing and what she’s done already.”

He didn’t go straight home.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t ready to see Félix again—wasn’t ready to see through the plans he’d made with Chrysalis just yet, and knew he wouldn’t be able to look Félix in the eye while a lie sat on the back of his tongue.

Maybe it was Plagg and his hopes for a reconciliation with Ladybug that Adrien didn’t want to face.

Or maybe Chat Noir needed something he’d never been able to find in the walls of the Agreste mansion.

That need brought him to the rooftop across from the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie. Marinette’s balcony was barren, but he could see light shining through her windows.

She was home.

He shouldn’t go to her balcony. He shouldn’t knock at her hatchdoor. He shouldn’t even be lingering here, hoping she’d come out on her own.

But he needed to see her.

“I don’t know,” he heard her whisper. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand why he’d do this.”

He could tell her. He could go to her now, and he could tell her, and she’d understand.

He could go to her now, and see the pink of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, and know that she was still alive.

There were so many reasons to keep his distance. 

Chat Noir was a villain in the eyes of Paris now, and any association with him would draw negative attention to Marinette. Though the people walking the streets far below wouldn’t be able to see his oil-slick suit against the night sky, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched. That each bump in the night or movement in the corner of his eye was one of the heroes, tailing him.

And if someone saw him going to Marinette’s, people might start asking questions about why he was with her. They might start to wonder if he knew her outside his suit—a speculation that strayed too close to his identity for comfort. 

Not to mention, the last time he’d seen her, they’d kissed.

He really should leave. Go to some other rooftop, one far away from anyone he knew. Leave Marinette to Adrien, and keep her safe from Chat Noir. 

But his feet didn’t listen.

He found himself on the familiar wooden tile of her balcony, staring into the hatch door. His fist hovered over the glass, ready to knock.

You can still leave, he told himself. She can find out your reasons some other way.

Through the skylight, he could see her bed was empty. The blankets were bunched up and the pillows askew; she hadn’t stopped to make the bed this morning. The striped cat winked up at him knowingly. 

Beyond the bed, he could make out her vanity closer to the ground. 

But he couldn’t see her.

He needed to see her.

His fist landed on the skylight with a resounding knock.

Moments later, Marinette appeared on the bed. She was in her pajamas already, with bare feet and what looked like a pair of lab goggles over her eyes. Her hair stuck out of her pigtails at odd angles, like she’d been tugging at it.

At the sight of her, inexplicable lab goggles and all, some coiled knot deep within his chest sprang free. For the first time since lunch, Adrien could breathe.

When Marinette blinked up at him, though, wide-eyed and wary, he could feel that knot pull tight once more. Beneath her goggles, he could make out the dark rings that still haunted her eyes.

In the past, Chat Noir had always visited with Marinette on her balcony, but he couldn’t risk being out in the open with her anymore—and maybe that had never been wise.

He pulled open the door. “Can I come in?”

Marinette jumped back with a yelp, throwing her stuffed cat in his direction. “Sorry!” she shrieked, watching the cat bounce off the ceiling and fall to the ground. “I didn’t—ah—just a minute!”

She scrambled back down the ladder to the rest of her room, throwing a “Don’t look!” in his direction as she did.

Adrien had already seen everything in Marinette’s room, but he obliged anyway, closing his eyes as she zipped around her room, the opening and slamming shut of drawers and boxes punctuated by the occasional crash or yelp.

After a few minutes, the noises stopped, and the creak of her mattress announced Marinette’s return. 

He opened his eyes. She must’ve turned off some of the lights while she was downstairs. Shadows darkened the Marinette-signature pastel pinks of the room into shades of lush mauve and plum.

She was on her hands and knees, looking up at him, sans goggles now.  “Why—I mean, what are you—me? Here!” Marinette narrowed her eyes then, voice low. “What are you doing here, Chat Noir?”

He put on a soft chuckle in response, hoping to set her at ease. “Sorry to impose, Marinette. I hope it’s not too late past your purr-few.”

She groaned at that, and Chat Noir felt a wave of relief as her shoulders relaxed.

“That was awful, Chat Noir.” She scooted towards the head of the bed then, making way for him to enter. 

But even with this careful distance between them, when he landed on the bed, she flinched.

That coiled knot in his chest dropped like lead into his stomach.

“You’re scared of me.”

“No!” Marinette didn’t meet his eyes. “I mean, I’m—” She exhaled, then turned to him. “Should I be?”

“Poor Marinette,” he heard Chrysalis say, “I wonder if she knew she was dating a monster.”

“I’d never hurt you, Marinette.” 

She looked away again, pulling her knees up to her chest. “You can’t promise that.”

Chat Noir’s throat tightened. Couldn’t he promise that? Couldn’t he keep Marinette safe, at least? 

He’d never raise a hand against her. 

But he’d thought that about Ladybug, too.

“Was undoing the Wish worth losing us?”

He looked down at his hands. Ladybug was lost to him already. In reality, he’d lost her long before last night. Before he’d learned about Monarque’s Wish—maybe even before Papillombre had become Monarque.

He still hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he told Marinette. She had to believe that. Maybe Marinette didn’t know Chat Noir as well as he knew her, but she’d known he hadn’t intended to cataclysm the streetlight. “Not even Ladybug. I don’t want to fight her.”

“Don’t want to,” Marinette mumbled into her knees. “But you did.”

“I tried talking to her first.” He wished she’d look at him; that she could read the truth of it on his face. “The video doesn’t show that part. But I didn’t just… attack her, without warning.”

She did look now, with red-rimmed eyes that stared right through him. “So it’s okay, because you asked first? Because you warned her? How much warning is expected for betrayals?” Her voice was stretched thin by a hollow melancholy, one that made him question whether she’d felt betrayed by him too.

“No,” he admitted, voice breaking along with his resolve. “Nothing about last night was okay.”

Her eyes softened at this, and her arms loosened, just a little, enough to uncurl her legs from her chest. “The video wasn’t okay, either.”

“I know,” he said. “But I promise, I’m not like Monarque. I don’t want her miraculous for selfish reasons.”

“I know you’re not!” she shouted, balling her hands into fists. “The video isn’t fair. That’s not you. You’re not some kind of… supervillain.”

At least one of them was sure of that.

“I attacked a superhero, though,” he admitted. “Isn’t that what villains do?”

Marinette opened her mouth, as if to argue, before shutting it again, her eyes falling to her mattress. “I thought it was. I thought it was simple.” She twisted to face the shelf behind her, fiddling with something on it as she spoke. “The heroes would always be good and that meant anyone who fought them must always be bad. Or the villains were always bad, which meant anyone who fought them was good.”

Chat Noir had thought that too.

A warm glow unfolded across the bedspread, and Marinette turned back to face him, the light of her moon-and-stars lamp shining through the mussed edges of her pigtails like a bronze halo.

“Queen Bee was a hero, though,” Marinette’s voice was whisper-soft, “was she good?”

Chloé Bourgeois hadn’t been, in the end. She’d been cruel, and selfish, and worst of all, unrepentant. But… “She almost was. When she wielded the Bee.”

Marinette nodded. “Almost. We should have realized then.”

“Realized she’d turn on Ladybug?” Chat Noir wasn’t quite following.

“Realized things were never so simple.” She looked directly at him then, and he could make out the hint of tears glistening in her eyes. The naked longing on her face was out of place, but the force of it tugged at him anyway, like a greedy star pulling a lonely planet into its orbit.

He wanted it, too: to go back to that simple world they’d never really had.

He inched towards her, heedlessly anticipating being swept into her gravity. The only place where things still felt that simple was in her arms.

Marinette remained in place, not drawn to him nor drawing away. Her tear-filled blue eyes were almost unblinking as she watched him.

Chat Noir stopped less than half a meter away from her. “Do you know why Monarque wanted the Ladybug and the Black Cat?”

She flinched again, so small the movement was barely perceptible—but he still noticed. How could he not, when he revolved around her star?

Ignoring the way his heart clenched at the sight, he continued, “He wanted to make a Wish. To rewrite reality.”

Marinette listened raptly as he explained the mechanics of the Wish—and the price. 

“But you don’t want what Monarque wanted,” Marinette said, her normally bright, clear eyes opaque, like sapphires turned to sodalite. They pierced right through him, down to the rot eating at his core, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure she could see anything at all.

“Marinette,” he said, voice low, “I’m about to tell you something no one else knows.”

She bit her lip, a glint of uncertainty bringing life back into her eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s not dangerous for you to know,” he promised. Not anymore dangerous than associating with me at all. “But it may change the way you see Ladybug.”

She shifted away from him, and wariness poured off her shoulders in waves. But she was still looking at him, waiting for him to go on.

“The reason I need you to understand how the Wish works is that before he disappeared, Monarque made a Wish. He made a Wish, and Ladybug covered it up.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected from her reaction. Shock, certainly. Disbelief, maybe. Even outrage—at Ladybug, or at him for daring to make the accusation.

But Marinette gave him none of those. She just watched him with guarded eyes, as if she expected his next words to strike an even harder blow.

As if she already knew it would take more than that to turn him against Ladybug.

“Ladybug’s the hero, and Monarque was the villain,” he said. “And the heroes are always good, and those who fight the heroes are always bad. But Ladybug said the Wish is bad, and she doesn’t want to undo the one Monarque made. But Chrysalis does—she wants to make things right, and Ladybug doesn’t. So who is the villain?”

Marinette didn’t respond right away, having found a particularly fascinating thread at the bottom of her pajamas to pick. When she did, her voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “Maybe the Wish isn’t as simple as Ladybug thought, either. And maybe Chrysalis isn’t good just for wanting to undo it.”

Maybe not. Maybe Chrysalis was almost good, like Queen Bee had been. And he’d fought side-by-side with Queen Bee too, when they’d shared a cause.

But Chat Noir wasn’t concerned about what Marinette thought of Chrysalis. “What about me?”

She looked up, eyes soft with sympathy. “I told you. I know you’re not a villain.” Marinette sounded sure of that—more sure than she had of anything all night. But then she added, in a smaller voice, “What about Ladybug?”

He knew what she was asking: did he think Ladybug was the villain?

Part of him wanted to say yes. To make things simple, like Marinette had said. He wasn’t sure if that was the answer Marinette wanted, though.

And he wasn’t sure it was true.

So instead, he told her something that was. “Fighting her last night almost destroyed me. Every blow I landed—every small victory—felt like a knife carving at my insides. The way she looked at me when I demanded her miraculous—it tore me to pieces.”

And he’d have to do it again tomorrow.

“Why, then?” Marinette asked, voice raw, and he was surprised to find tear tracks down her cheeks. “Why did you keep fighting her?”

“What other choice do I have?” he asked, and found his own voice hoarse with unshed tears. “Chrysalis promised she wouldn’t akumatize anyone against their will. I wouldn’t work with her if she did—I’d never let her use an innocent like that. But the only alternative is to fight Ladybug myself.”

“But you let her use you, ” Marinette whimpered, brows crinkling together with concern.

A chill crept up his spine at the thought. Marinette had no idea that Chrysalis had offered to do just that. 

As long as I help, she has no reason to akumatize me, he reminded himself. She won’t do it without my permission.

He didn’t want to consider what Chrysalis might have done if she had to work alone.

“She’s not using me. She told me the truth, and I chose to help, because it’s the right thing to do. I want to undo the Wish as much as Chrysalis does.” 

It wasn’t a lie—not for Chat Noir, anyway. What Adrien Agreste wanted didn’t matter.

“Are you sure you know the full story?” Marinette asked.

“I’m not,” Chat Noir admitted. “But I know there’s nothing else Ladybug is willing to tell me. Believe me, I’ve tried asking. What choice do I have besides to trust Chrysalis?”

“Maybe you should try again,” Marinette pleaded. She was leaning towards him now, her weight shifting to her hands that rested palm down in the space between them. “Ask her again, and really listen to what she has to say this time.”

He knew Marinette meant well. That she—and Plagg—wanted the best for him. But that same heat flared to life in his chest again at the suggestion.

“I’m done listening to her lies!” he snapped.

Marinette’s face crumpled as she withdrew, and he instantly regretted his words.

“I’m sorry.” His body sagged as the fire rushed out of him. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ve just been hearing the same thing from my kwami—you remember Plagg, right? From when you were Multimouse?”

Marinette nodded with a wide-eyed expression that looked more mouse-like even than when she’d fought Kwamibuster.

Chat Noir kept talking, hoping he’d land on the right combination of words to set her back at ease. “He’s always trying to get me to patch things up with her. Every time she hides something, or lies to me, or makes me feel like I’m….”

Useless. Untrustworthy. Dispensable.

“Every time?” Marinette’s broken voice whispered. Fresh tears were building at the corner of her eyes. “How many… how many times has he had to do that?”

Chat Noir shrugged, looking away. “She’s never really trusted me.”

“That’s not true, I—”

“I think I know my partner better than you do,” he interrupted, without thinking.

Marinette’s lips slammed shut and something heavy turned over in his gut. He inhaled, forcibly resisting the urge to get defensive again. This was Marinette. He loved her. She loved Adrien.

He wasn’t sure if she loved Chat Noir, but out of everyone he knew, he trusted her the most to hear his side. She’d listened when Adrien had said he’d wanted to quit modeling when no one else did. 

Even now, she was waiting patiently for him to collect himself and speak again.

“She’s always kept me at arm’s length,” he explained, willing her to understand. “For safety, of course. But she never needed to keep so safe from Rena Rouge.”

“Chaton…” Marinette whimpered. The nickname was unusual for her—the previous times they’d met, she’d favored the more playful minou. But unlike when Chrysalis used it, it felt right from Marinette’s lips.

If he couldn’t be Ladybug’s chaton, he’d always be Marinette’s.

“The Wish wasn’t just a secret from Paris,” he confessed in a whisper. “It was a secret from me, too. Just one more thing she didn’t trust me with.”

Tears were streaming down her face now.

“I guess I lived down to her expectations,” Chat Noir said with a bitter laugh choked by his own tears. “Was last night really a betrayal at all, if she’s always considered me more of a risk than a partner?”

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but he knew both of them did. 

He knew that when he reached for her, she reached for him too. Her arms wrapped around him, instinctively, pulling him closer and tangling her hands in his hair. At the touch of her fingertips, he collapsed into her—seeking reassurance or absolution, he didn’t know.

He didn’t fully understand it. He wasn’t Adrien right now. He wasn’t her boyfriend. But she was clinging just as tightly to him as he was to her, and he could feel in the heat of her palms and the slow intake of her breath that she needed this just as much as him.

That she needed him like he needed her.

And even though he wasn’t Adrien, when her embrace relaxed enough for him to fall into her lap and for her to run her hands through his hair, her fingers knew how to soothe him, the just-right pressure to use and the spot on the nape of his neck and the expanse between his shoulders. Her voice knew the rhythm of his cries as she murmured nonsense comfort in return, shhh-shh-shhs and let it outs and you’re alrights.

The last one was a lie, but it was his favorite of all the ones he’d been told.

As his sobs quieted, he made out the sound of raindrops on Marinette’s roof, a slow pitter-patter that built into a crescendo of percussion. The sound brought him an eerie sort of calm, one that sat wrong on his skin but was comfortable all the same. A sense of peace that made him itch to disturb it.

When he found his voice again, he asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re trapped in a waking nightmare?”

Marinette’s hand stilled. “All the time,” she croaked. “It’s like Nightormentor never left.”

He lifted his face to her. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and he was sure his looked the same under his mask. Her dark circles weren’t as prominent now, but he remembered how tired she was this morning.

“What was your nightmare about?” he asked.

“My boyfriend,” Marinette rasped. 

Chat Noir did his best not to betray the surge of panic in his chest—he was her nightmare? 

“In my nightmare, he’s in danger,” she continued, and his panic subsided to an uneasy fear. “I can save him, but there’s always a cost. And the cost is always too steep, for both of us.”

He could tell she left out some details—Nightormentor’s visions were as vivid as memories. But instead of prying, he pulled himself up out of her lap to embrace her again.

If she wanted Adrien to know the details, she’d tell him.

And Chat Noir had no business being hurt that she hadn’t.

Instead, he told her about his dream.

“My nightmare changed after Monarque was defeated.” He couldn’t tell her all the details of his dream either—not as Adrien or as Chat Noir, because in his dreams those two parts of him were intertwined. “For months, my dreams reminded me I hadn’t been there. That I’d left her alone—another way I’d lived down to her expectations.”

Marinette opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head, and she let him continue without comment.

“But my first nightmare was the reason I wasn’t there that day.”

She gasped, and there it was: the shock he’d expected to see earlier.

“I dreamt about myself akumatized, dressed all in white, and the world burning around me,” he croaked. “I dreamt that I was a monster. And I dreamt that Ladybug was dead.”

His throat felt hot and raw and tight, like he’d swallowed a sandpaper sponge. He’d meant to say more, but it was a struggle to even get these words out.

“In white?” Marinette whispered, pale as a ghost.

“I dreamt that Ladybug was dead,” he confessed, “And that I was the one who killed her.”

“It’s just a dream,” Marinette told him, but her voice was drained of all the warmth she’d offered him earlier, and her eyes were haunted, like she’d seen Ladybug crumble to dust too.

“It was just a dream,” he agreed. “In my dreams I was the villain.”

And I can’t tell if I’m asleep or awake anymore.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” said Adrien, his words tumbling over each other in time with his uneven heartbeat. “Late, probably. Don’t wait up— unless you’re still awake, for whatever reason.” 

A glance over his shoulder showed Félix at his heels, a flush darkening his cousin’s cheeks. For a split, stomach-turning second, Adrien feared Félix had figured him out. But that wasn’t possible—especially not when Félix had told him an hour ago to get out, as he and Kagami wanted to “spend time alone.”

Adrien knew what that really meant; they had taken the bait.

The team was coming. She was coming. She would be here, in his house, within arm’s reach. It was the best chance he’d have to get her miraculous— and possibly the only chance, since without the element of surprise, he and Chrysalis were outnumbered. 

He just had to wait for the right moment.

But as Adrien hurried down stairs toward the front door, determinedly not looking back, Félix said in a rather strained voice, “Be careful. And try not to do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?” Adrien shouldered on his jacket, hoisting a grin to his face that felt miles too wide. “Me?”

Félix leveled him with an unimpressed look and crossed his arms. “Yeah,” he replied. “You.” 

Adrien’s chest twisted as he met Félix’s gaze. His cousin’s eyes glinted with something unspoken, and Adrien thought of what he’d tell Félix in his place: that Adrien was choosing to walk alone at night with a new active villain in Paris, that Chat Noir was out to destroy the city, and that there was no guarantee Adrien would come home safe at all. 

But Félix didn’t know the truth. Not yet.

“Right back at you,” Adrien said.

Félix’s flush darkened. The beginnings of a retort sputtered and curdled into a scowl, and Adrien was struck with the realization that he had rendered Félix speechless. As far as his cousin knew, Adrien was under the impression that Félix and Kagami were going to stay in all night. Alone. No wonder Félix was as red as if he’d been slapped on both cheeks—there was nothing he could say to the contrary. 

Broadening his grin, Adrien turned on his heel and hopped down the front steps. “Hope you and Kagami have a nice night!” he called over his shoulder.

Félix’s annoyance radiated down the steps, searing against the back of Adrien’s skull as he strolled toward the front gate. He kept his eyes forward, pretending everything was normal, like he really was leaving Félix to the peace and quiet of an empty mansion. Then the doors slammed shut with reverberating force, and Adrien glanced once behind him to make sure there was no face at the window before veering off to the side courtyard. 

It was already dark. The street lamps and surrounding lights of the Place du Châtelet dusted the garden with gold. Adrien slid into the shadows between walls of fragrant flowers, the scent of leaves and petals filling his senses as he inhaled. 

“Plagg,” he began in a whisper. 

Plagg zipped into view, a blur of ink in the darkness, save for his gleaming green eyes. 

“This is a rotten idea,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down. “As rotten as your father was. Although I think this new butterfly girl is giving him a run for his money.”

Adrien bit back a retort, knowing if both of them said exactly what they were thinking, this would go on all night. “Plagg, transformez-moi.”

With a click of his baton and single bound, Chat Noir was on the roof above Félix’s room, tapping out a message to Chrysalis. His communications with the Miraculous Team were all blocked now—even the unread messages from Ladybug several days back could no longer be seen (not that he had ever planned to go through them—or ever wanted to). Now, the other holders had no way of tracking him. No way of knowing he was watching them arrive, individually and in pairs, from a perfect vantage point. 

Finally, Ladybug touched down, landing alongside Rena Rouge and Carapace, their forms smoothing into the shadows as they crept toward the side of the house. Chat Noir crouched lower, glancing at his baton for any updates on Chrysalis’s location. His stomach sank at the unread messages, at the lack of her signal on his communicator. He couldn’t act on own, especially not with the whole team already here. 

All there was left to do was wait. 

Rena and Carapace moved first, hoisting themselves up the wall and through Félix’s bedroom window. Ladybug took a nervous look around, eyeing the shadows with a mix of fear and anticipation. Then she hurried after her teammates. 

Chat Noir counted them off as he crept toward the edge of the roof: fifteen, all accounted for, not including Félix who was still inside and Luka who was out of reach. He and Chrysalis would be outnumbered now; they would have to wait until all but a few of the holders were gone, or follow Ladybug out of the mansion once she left and ambush her then. 

If Chrysalis managed to make it, of course. One glance showed no sign of her on his tracker, so with careful, silent precision, he slid his baton down to the window’s top edge for surveillance. 

Félix’s bedroom was about the size of Adrien’s, but with a distinct lack of all the possessions Gabriel had shoved in to fill the empty spaces he’d left in Adrien’s life. This lent plenty of room for the gathered holders to assemble. Roi Singe and Bunnyx were already on the second level, beckoning Coq Courage and Caprikid to join them in examining the shelves stacked with books, games, and manga. Pigella and Purple Tigresse were settled across from Minotaurox and Polymouse on Félix’s dull gray sofa, drinking tea out of equally dull gray cups. Traquemoiselle, Vesperia, and Pegasus were examining the trophy cases above Félix’s five-monitor desk, which was stripped of pens or paper or anything that looked like he did any work there at all. 

By the door, Rena Rouge, Ryuuko, Argos, and Ladybug stood in a half-circle around Carapace. He was watching Ladybug intently, brows creased in a frown, listening intently to something she was saying. Ladybug pointed at the ceiling and Carapace nodded, and as he pulled his shield from his back, Chat Noir realized would have mere seconds to find a way in. 

Plunging his baton into the roof tiles, Chat Noir vaulted across the other side toward his bedroom. Wind sang in his ears as he caught himself on the chimney, swung around, and plunged through his open window. A spread of green hexagonal light stretched across the panes moments later, which was nothing Chat Noir couldn’t get through if he wanted. But if Carapace’s Protection fell to his Cataclysm, the team would be alerted to his presence, and he was still just one holder against sixteen others.

He pulled his baton out, ready to message Chrysalis again, only to see her butterfly insignia hovering in the corner of his screen. According to the blueprint he had downloaded from the city plans, she was just a few paces in front of him. He followed the signal across the room to his closet, where he opened the door to find her crouched among his pants and shoes, peering through a sliver in the wall.

“You’re here?” Chat Noir asked, too astonished to whisper. “How did you—? When did you—? What—?”

Chrysalis placed a finger to her lips, hushing him. “They’ll hear,” she murmured, beckoning him down beside her. “Come. Listen.”

Félix had taken the guest room next to Adrien’s, which was one of many that Amélie had remodeled into a larger, more luxurious space as soon as they’d moved in. Sometimes Adrien would hear Félix gaming late into the night. Sometimes he’d have to knock on the wall and yell at Félix to turn down his British showtunes. But he hadn’t known there was a hairline fracture in the back of his closet that allowed a slitted view into Félix’s room. He hadn’t known they were connected at all.

“Has this always been here?” Chat Noir asked in bewilderment, but Chrysalis was pulling him close, the side of her leg pressing firmly against his as she allowed him to peer through the crack. 

“...did Adrien go?” Ladybug was saying. She paced back and forth before the door, her body strung with nervous energy.

“Out,” Argos told her. “With his friend Nino. Said something about space mutants and ghost sharks.”

Ladybug’s brow furrowed. Wordlessly, she turned to where Carapace was examining the glowing green barrier, Rena Rouge close at his side. Chat Noir’s stomach pitted, but at least Carapace wasn’t close enough to overhear—to know that Adrien had used him as an alibi. Hopefully she wouldn’t think to mention it to Nino later. Hopefully she’d forget about it altogether.

“Hey, Félix,” Bunnyx called down from the second level. “Why’d you bother to transform? Everyone knows it’s you.”

Chat Noir started, shooting a furtive glance at Chrysalis, though she seemed unconcerned. Either she’d already known Félix’s identity (a likely possibility, considering how unbothered he was about it himself) or it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of their plan. 

Maybe telling Félix would change things. Or maybe it was more dangerous to try switching his allegiance, to pit him against Ladybug, who knew his identity too. She knew all of the team’s true names, save for Chat Noir and Chrysalis. She’d know exactly where to find and overpower them if they turned.

His only chance was to make them hear the truth. If they knew, they would reason with Ladybug. She’d listen to the others in a way she had never listened to him, and maybe even see sense. Maybe, if he played his cards right, it wouldn’t have to come to another fight at all.

The well of sudden hope was almost painful in his chest. 

“All holders should come transformed to Miraculous Team meetings,” Ryuuko shot back. “It’s standard protocol.” 

“There’s protocol?” Carapace asked, pausing on his way toward the bathroom, presumably to go recharge. He lowered his voice, leaning closer to Rena Rouge. “Were we supposed to read something?”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him along, whispering something in answer.

“Everyone, please focus.” Ladybug pressed her hands together, expression pinched. Something in Chat Noir’s chest twisted at the sight. She looked like she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep for the past few days. He could almost see dark circles rimming her eyes beneath the mask.

Chrysalis leaned forward, pressing into Chat Noir’s space as she peered through the slit in the wood. The scent of fruit was sweet on her breath, the waft of a flowery perfume overwhelming his senses. He turned his face slightly away, but she stayed close, watching the scene with unblinking eyes.

“I’ve called you here,” Ladybug began, her words short and clipped, “to discuss the state of our team. As you know, things— things have changed recently. Things have changed a lot.”

The silence lengthened, the air shifting as the others’ expressions turned grim. Chrysalis was smiling when Chat Noir stole a glance at her. Catching his eye, she winked. 

Nobody spoke, which seemed to disconcert Ladybug more. An unwelcome pang seared through Chat Noir’s chest. Normally, he would be there beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, offering a smile or an encouraging quip. Normally, he’d be the one to keep her going. 

He shoved down the thought as quickly as it came. He wasn’t Ladybug’s partner anymore. He didn’t want to be. He couldn’t.

Taking another breath, she squared her shoulders, fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“I stayed up all night the last few nights,” she blurted in the nervous, staccato rhythm that was still so achingly familiar. “I’ve never made so many macarons in my life, but I think we’re going to need all the power-ups we can get. Here’s the regular batch,” she said, turning and grabbing a large pastry box off of Félix’s dresser. “And here’s some extras, just in case you lose them or— or something happens.” She lifted a paper bag in the air, rattling the contents with a stiff smile. “So! Who's ready for the demonstration?”

The team exchanged glances. Even Carapace and Rena looked pained as they shuffled out of the bathroom, watching Ladybug with identical grim looks. The holders’ lingering silence peeled away at Ladybug’s smile, and Chrysalis leaned in again, lips brushing against Chat Noir’s ear. 

“I don’t know about you,” Chrysalis breathed, “but I’m feeling like something sweet.”

Chat Noir forced himself to remain impassive. Ladybug had told him before that brewing power-ups wasn’t simple; she needed precisely the right equipment, ingredients, and measurements for each potion. Yet it’d only been a few days since the night on the river, and she’d already made enough not just to replace the ones he’d destroyed, but for the entire team as well. 

Chrysalis was right. They had to get those power-ups. And either Ladybug would over-exert herself for another few days to make more, or she’d have to find new ingredients, which would take even longer. 

Both veins of thought sent a trickle of cold down his spine.

“Yes!” said Ladybug, beaming as Polymouse raised a hand. “Thank you, Polymouse. Here you go! I hope you like macarons, because you’re going to get a lot—”

“Actually,” Polymouse spoke up, “I was wondering… well, we were all wondering…” She gestured first to Minotaurox, then the rest of the team, “if maybe you would tell us what’s going on with Chat Noir. Because none of us have a clue.”

Ladybug’s smile froze, hardening quickly into something panicked. “He’s not part of the team anymore,” she said quickly, ducking her head as she rummaged through the pastry box. “But I did make new flavors for everybody. Vesperia, I left out banana this time, I know you’re not a fan. And look, there’s matcha! I had to try a couple recipes before I got this one right, but you’ll be able to see in the dark for at least forty-eight hours—”

“Ladybug,” Argos said impatiently. 

“Yes, and Félix!” Reaching out, Ladybug snatched Argos by the cape and dragged him forward. “Félix agreed to demonstrate what each one will do. Thank you, Félix.” She frowned suddenly, then looked him up and down. “Or do you want us to call you Argos?”

Argos continued to stare at her, as did the rest of the team. Ladybug looked between them, then at Rena Rouge, whose only reaction was a raised eyebrow and pressed lips. 

Vesperia placed her hands on her hips. “You can’t just give us power-ups and not tell us what they’re for.”

“I am telling you what they’re for!” Ladybug reached into the box, pulling out a purple macaron. “This one’s the space power-up. It’s taro flavored!”

“And why would we need to be going to space?” Bunnyx asked. “To fight Chat Noir, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Ladybug returned. Her expression remained hidden as she pushed more macarons around the interior of the box. “You all saw what happened at the Tower. I want everyone to be ready in case…” She trailed off, swallowing thickly. “In case you run into him.”

“What happened, exactly?” Traquemoiselle asked shrilly. “Why was he attacking you?”

“Chrysalis got to him, somehow. She’s been manipulating him.” Ladybug bent over the pastry box again, pushing more macarons around. “He won’t talk to me now.”

A flare of sudden anger warmed Chat Noir’s chest. All lingering traces of sympathy drained away as Ladybug stood before her team and told them nothing of the truth. Because she knew why he was working with Chrysalis. She knew why she’d lost his trust. She knew why he needed her miraculous. And yet she was choosing to keep the same truth that had driven him away from the rest of the holders. 

“Was he akumatized?” asked Pegasus.

“Was it a sentimonster?” Caprikid spoke up. “Because if it was a sentimonster—”

“It wasn’t! It was nothing like that.” Ladybug looked up again, shooting Argos and Ryuuko a look. She flinched at whatever she saw in their faces, then looked away. “I’ve tried to talk to him, believe me. I tried everything, but he— he won’t listen to reason anymore.” With another sharp breath, her hands tightened on the box. “All I know is, he’s working with Chrysalis now. They… they’re after my miraculous.”

“Like Monarque?” asked Coq Courage.

“No,” Ladybug snapped. “Not like him.”

The team’s collective stares hovered on her. Ladybug looked down, shuffling her feet as though remorseful. But her expression remained pained.

“Maybe,” Pigella said, infusing her voice with forced cheer, “if a couple of us track him down— or maybe all of us, we can get him to talk.”

“No!” Ladybug raised her hands up before her. “Absolutely not.” At the others’ looks, she dropped her arms and wiped her palms on her sides as though they were sweaty.

“It’s too dangerous,” she said with forced calm. “He’s dangerous. None of you should go after him on your own— especially not without these.” Lifting the box before her, she rattled it, shaking some of the macarons loose from their trays. Her voice was as thin as her smile as she regarded the team. “Are you ready to see what they can do?”

Cold licked down Chat Noir’s spine as she pulled a green macaron from the box—the underwater power-up. They were going to need somewhere for the demonstration—the pool, most likely, or the bathtub, if Argos was amenable. They were going to leave the room and take the power-ups with them.

He shot a look at Chrysalis. Her violet eyes glittered back at him through the darkness. She placed a hand on his shoulder, stalling Chat Noir’s movement, her gaze trained on Argos. 

Félix detransformed in a flash of blue, exchanging a displeased look with Duusu. With a pointed look, he snatched the macaron out of Ladybug’s palm. She gestured at him to proceed. 

“It might not look like it works while you’re detransformed,” Ladybug said, addressing the team as she motioned at Félix, “but if you eat one first and then transform, you’ll automatically be powered up! Isn’t that useful?”

“What would’ve been useful is if you’d listened to me before we got into this mess,” Félix muttered. 

Ladybug glared at him. “Just do it.”

He raised the macaron to his mouth, and Chrysalis spoke, her breath stinging over his skin. “Now.”

Chat Noir was aware only of the blood pounding in his ears as he lunged, tearing the crevice open with a swipe of his baton. Heads turned his way, eyes widening as he burst through, chunks of wood and drywall flying as he spurred straight for Ladybug.

“Chat Noir!” she said, gaping. “How did you get in?”

“Cataclysm,” he hissed, and swiped for the pastry box in her hand. 

Ladybug gasped and reeled back, yanking the box out of his reach. Only just missing the corner, his hand slammed against the ancient but polished dresser Félix had shipped all the way from London, reducing it to dust beneath his fingers. In the next breath, Ladybug was pulling her yo-yo into a spin.

“Chat,” she pleaded, her expression twisted with guilt and hurt. “You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk. Please!”

“Talk about what?” Chat Noir snapped. “How you lied to me about everything? How you’re still lying to the rest of them?”

Calling another Cataclysm, he clenched his charged fist and lunged toward her with a cry. Ladybug danced backward, yo-yo whirling above her head, and tossed it toward Chat Noir’s feet. He leapt away, whipping his baton out and over his head, ready for her next blow. It collided against something solid with cracking force, and when he looked around, he found Félix sprawled facedown on the floor.

He wasn’t moving.

The fact was enough to stall Chat Noir in place, to shift the pounding in his head to white noise. Ryuuko ran to Félix first, turning him over, taking care not to touch his ankle, which jutted out at an odd angle. As she met Chat Noir’s stare with a burning gaze, the sound of gasps and murmurs rose up from among his former teammates. 

Tigresse was the first to move. “Clout,” she growled, and lowered into a crouch as the dazzling sparks of power danced in her clawed hand.

“No!” Ladybug said, eyes wide. She took a step forward, putting a hand out to Tigresse, but her gaze was fixed on Chat. “Wait, chaton. I don’t want to fight you!”

“No,” he replied. “You just want Gabriel Agreste to stay dead. You want to keep letting Monarque win.”

Ladybug paled, and Chat Noir sprang at her again. She scrambled back, snatching the box out of his reach and kicking the bag across the tiles. Rena Rouge dove for it, and when Carapace switched his Protection from the windows to the bag, Chat Noir turned to follow Ladybug up Félix’s bookshelves. 

A ball hit the end of his baton as he hurtled into the air, followed by a call of, “Rapporte!” Midway through his ascent, the baton vanished from his grip. As Chat Noir fell, Minotaurox was there, enveloping Chat’s arm in a mighty hand, his Cataclysm fizzling out with a wink. They looked at each other, and then Minotaurox reached out with his other hand, fingers wedging around Chat Noir’s ring.

Chrysalis was gone, not a trace of her flowery sweet scent in the room. She must have escaped during the scuffle, or she’d found another hiding spot in which to bide her time until the opportune moment. 

He was on his own.

“She hasn’t told you, has she?” Chat Noir asked. “What Monarque wished for.”

Minotaurox hesitated, doubt clouding his eyes. Then there was a familiar, metallic zip, and the tight press of a cord wrapped around Chat Noir’s torso, pinning him in place. 

“I’ve been trying to tell you!” Ladybug cried, and the room spun as she turned him to face her. Her expression was stricken, the box of power-ups crushed beneath her arm. “We can’t undo the Wish, chaton! What Monarque did was horrible, yes, but reversing it would be just as bad. Please, trust me.”

Her voice broke on the last words. He refused to let the sound affect him. Turning away, he fixed his gaze on the rest of the team instead. Ladybug’s hands began to tremble, shaking the wire. 

“Wish?” Carapace asked. He still held the bag of power-ups in his hands, encased in glowing green Protection. “What do you mean? What wish?”

“The Wish,” Chat Noir told him. “The one you can make by combining mine and Ladybug’s miraculous. That’s what Monarque did, you know. And she was never going to bother to mention it.”

The team turned to Ladybug in unison, who looked several shades paler than before. She shifted her gaze from Chat Noir to her feet, eyes wide and wet, and tightened her grip on the wire.

“But— but he’s dead,” Carapace said, finally breaking the silence. He looked from Rena to Ladybug, then around to the rest of the team. “Are you saying he made the Wish only to die?”

“Chat Noir,” Ladybug said in a small voice. Rena Rouge stepped forward, laying a hand on Ladybug’s hunched shoulder. Chat Noir got the feeling none of this was new information for her. She was Ladybug’s chosen confidant, after all. She had been long before he’d even known.

“Whatever he wished for,” Chat Noir continued, shifting his gaze from Carapace to the rest of his teammates, willing them to understand, “his death wasn’t the only cost. Someone else paid the price for what he did. Or did you really think Gabriel Agreste decided to become a last-minute hero?”

Ryuuko clenched her jaw, expression slowly darkening. Carapace gawked at Chat Noir, mouth hanging open. Behind him, Rena Rouge shot the back of his head a panicked look before she glanced once more toward Ladybug. But Ladybug’s gaze was darting between the other holders, who all stared at her with varying degrees of shock. 

“You all knew what he was like,” Chat said, watching the other holders’ reactions. “He was never the type of person that would put himself in harm’s way to save someone else. But that doesn’t mean he deserved to die.” Snapping his gaze back to Ladybug, he forced himself not to look away. “He’s the one who paid the price for Monarque’s Wish. An innocent bystander lost his life. I’m trying to reverse that.”

Rena Rouge stepped forward. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” she said, clenching her flute in hand. “Even if what you’re saying is true, undoing the Wish would just put Monarque right back where he started.”

Chat Noir couldn’t help a bitter laugh. “Figures you’d side with her.”

Something flickered in Rena Rouge’s expression, but it was wiped away as soon as Pegasus spoke up, looking thoughtful. 

“If the Wish were to be reversed,” he said, receiving a handful of startled looks, “the circumstances would be in our favor. We have all the miraculous now; Monarque would have nothing.”

“No!” said Bunnyx. More heads snapped in her direction, but she kept a disbelieving gaze on Pegasus. “Don’t you know what that would do to the fabric of spacetime?”

“Who cares about that shit?” Roi Singe said. “We’re talking about Adrien’s dad.”

Chat Noir stared at him. Roi Singe spared him a look, then turned to Ladybug, arms crossed. Pegasus stepped forward too, his expression determined. 

“I can’t,” Ladybug said, looking panickedly between them. “We can’t. It’s— it’s already done.”

Traquemoiselle rammed Chat Noir’s baton into the ground with an angry thud. “Isn’t it your job to undo things?” she asked, her tone strung with frustration. 

“Akumas!” Ladybug cried. “Damage from sentis! Not the Wish!”

“What’s the difference?” Roi Singe asked.

“Those things don’t rearrange the universe,” Rena Rouge said sharply. “They don’t mess with the balance of life and death.”

“Undoing the Wish would restore the balance of life and death,” Chat Noir replied. 

Ladybug’s gaze snapped to him. The hurt on her face sank like a knife into his chest. He pushed the sensation away, forcing himself to hold her gaze and willing himself to feel nothing. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carapace said. He shifted forward, reaching for Chat’s hand, still trapped against his side. “And after what you did to Félix, you don’t deserve to have this.”

Chat Noir tensed, his vision tunneling on Carapace’s outstretched hand. A wave of panic roiled through his gut, turning his blood cold. 

If he lost his miraculous, they’d lose any hope of undoing the Wish. Chrysalis couldn’t do this on her own, not without akumatizing civilians. Even worse, they’d see who he was. They’d know who Gabriel Agreste was to him—and they’d assume it was for his father’s sake that he’d gone this far.

Chat Noir closed his fist, sick with the thought. 

Then Pegasus shot forward, quicker than Caprikid could pull him back. His horseshoe veered through the air, colliding with Carapace’s hand and knocking it off-course. Beside him, Pigella gasped. Tigresse and Rena Rouge lowered into defensive crouches, but it was Ryuuko who shot up, stretching out a hand without leaving Félix’s side. 

“Don’t,” she said in warning as Pegasus made to recover his horseshoe. 

Pegasus moved anyway, ducking out of reach from the jet of air that gusted from Ryuuko’s outstretched hand like a storm. Then Roi Singe was there, calling, “Pagaille!” and hurling something small and yellow into the wind, which broke into a burst of multi-colored feathers. 

Chat Noir sneezed once, twice, then used the momentum of the third and strongest sneeze to propel himself back, heels over head, taking Ladybug with him. She tumbled face-first into the floorboards, her grip on the yo-yo loosening just enough for Chat Noir to pull free, slicing through the wire with a rough, “Cataclysm!”

“He’s loose!” called Vesperia, who surged through the falling feathers, trompo poised to strike. But then a figure in orange was ramming into her from the side, knocking her against Félix’s desk, sending all his monitors crashing. The beeping of Traquemoiselle’s miraculous sounded as she danced out of Polymouse’s reach. 

Then a circle of light opened beneath Chat Noir’s feet, like jaws widening to swallow him. His stomach lurched as he fell through, a roar of gravity rushing up to meet him. Pegasus came sprinting toward him, Roi Singe on his heels. He grabbed Traquemoiselle’s arm as they passed, dragging her with them toward the portal, just barely avoiding the other heroes’ attempts to stop them.

The last thing Chat Noir saw before the room disappeared was Ladybug, scrambling across the room to reach him. She lurched forward, one arm extended toward the portal, bright blue eyes locked on his. 

Her panicked face was the last thing he saw before the portal closed.

He landed roughly on a patch of grass, the wet blades prickling cold against his skin. A series of grunts and thuds on either side dragged him quickly to his feet, ready to fight the onslaught of heroes who had made it through the portal. 

But it was only Pegasus who looked up from the dewy grass, his dark glasses askew on his face. Only Pegasus, Roi Singe, and Traquemoiselle, who had landed in a disheveled heap to the left.

“Whew,” said Roi Singe, stabbing his jingu bang into the dirt and climbing to his feet. “That was close.”

Chat Noir gaped at him, then at Pegasus and Traquemoiselle as they picked themselves up too, faces shrouded by the shadows rimming the park in which they had landed. “You’re not going to try and take my miraculous?”

“Based on what you told us,” Pegasus said, adjusting his glasses, “which has an eighty five-point two likelihood in and of itself, there’s a ninety six-point-seven chance that Ladybug isn’t being truthful. And there’s a seventy four-point-four chance that you are.”

Chat Noir shook his head at them. “I didn’t think you would believe me.”

“I know what that’s like,” Traquemoiselle said, crossing her arms around her. “You think you know people, that you can trust them— but all they care about is making themselves look good. Even if it makes you look bad.”

Chat Noir bit back the reply. This would make them look bad—all of them. It wouldn’t only be him who Paris vilified now; he’d dragged three new holders with him into the mess. And though it was more than he’d hoped for going in, the thought of what the city would say when they learned of the new traitors to the Miraculous Team again made a lump lodge in his throat. 

“Thank you,” he told his friends.

Three miraculous beeped simultaneously. Pegasus, Roi Singe, and Traquemoiselle all looked at each other, as though shocked to see themselves still transformed. 

“Get yourselves home,” spoke a voice from behind Chat Noir. 

He jumped, turning to see Chrysalis approaching. She was smiling at the other holders, her eyes lit with the yellow lamplight leaking through the trees, a shine of gold haloing her hair like a crown. 

“Were you here this whole time?” Chat Noir asked, only for Chrysalis to pause at his side, grin widening.

“I would never leave you, chaton.” She patted his arm, her gaze flicking from Pegasus’s horseshoe, to Roi Singe’s staff, to Traquemoiselle’s collar. “We’re a team now.”

He’d said the same thing to Ladybug, too. More times than he could count. But this time would be different.

This time, he had his teammates’ trust.