Chapter Text
The flooded skeleton of the old cathedral loomed like a ghost in the early dawn, its stone spires cracked and crumbling, overrun with creeping ivy and patches of black moss that devoured whatever life had once clung to it. A broken rose window, long shattered by time and weather, stared out over the drowned streets like a hollow eye, its frame twisted with rusted iron and vines. The air was thick with mildew and the distant echo of falling water, as if the city itself was crying through the cracks.
Jess stood knee-deep in cold, stagnant water that sloshed gently across the floor of the old sanctuary. The bottom of her faded cargo pants were soaked, the dark green fabric sticking to her calves beneath the floodline. Her sleeveless black tunic hung over a frayed grey hoodie, the hem shredded and curled from years of wear. Fingerless gloves clung to her hands as she reached into the murky water, shoving aside broken pieces of stained glass and collapsed pews with practiced focus. Her black hair, tied in a low braid that swung lightly against her back, clung damply to her neck and cheeks, tendrils sticking in place from sweat and dust.
At her chest, just barely visible through the torn collar of her hoodie, the cracked silver pendant of Kitt’s Miraculous glowed faintly. Not enough to light the space, but enough to hum against her skin, like a heartbeat trying to find its rhythm again.
"Anything?" Chat Blanc's voice echoed softly through the ruined walls.
He stood a few paces behind her, his tall frame cloaked in the usual sleek white suit, though now it bore signs of time and conflict. The reinforced armor patches along his shoulders and knees were stained from grime and wear, dulled from once-shining polish. His snowy white boots splashed lightly with each careful step across the submerged stone floor. The belt around his hips, styled like a cat’s tail, swayed with a lazy arc behind him, catching the occasional beam of morning light. His silver-white hair fell in tangled waves, windswept from the long journey there. The gleam in his icy-blue eyes had softened from the days of chaos and anger. Now, they watched Jess not with suspicion or guarded sarcasm, but with quiet attentiveness.
Jess shook her head and stood, water dripping from her gloves. “Just more pieces,” she muttered, glancing down at the broken statue of a weeping angel half-submerged beside her. The wings had snapped off, and its face had been worn smooth by decades of wind and rot.
Chat Blanc stepped closer, boots sliding slightly against a moss-covered tile. “We should keep moving. If the map in the book was right, this place used to be a Guardian checkpoint. There might be something upstairs.”
Jess nodded silently, brushing wet strands of hair from her face. She didn’t need to say it out loud: time was running thin. The light in Kitt’s Miraculous had grown stronger over the past week, and each flicker was a signal. Fragments were waking, but so was something else.
They climbed what remained of a spiral staircase near the choir loft, the rusted iron rails moaning under their weight. Jess moved carefully, eyes flicking toward every loose beam, every broken stone. The roof above had collapsed in places, sunlight piercing through the holes like knives of white heat, illuminating pockets of ruin and decay. The upper floor, once a gallery for the choir, was now a skeleton of stone and ivy. Birds had long since claimed it, though none chirped today.
Then she saw it. Scrawled across the far wall, slashed across the faded remains of a fresco depicting angels in flight, was a message. The paint was blood red, thick, uneven strokes, as though drawn with trembling hands. The letters were jagged, some smeared, but the words were unmistakable.
“THE PANTHER MUST STAY LOST.”
Jess’s breath caught. Her boots moved slowly, sloshing through shallow puddles as she stepped toward the wall, the broken fresco looming above like a specter. She stopped a foot away and stared, eyes wide and unblinking.
The handwriting was unmistakable. Jagged where it used to be precise, frantic where it had once been careful. But Jess had seen it a hundred times before, on notes left in her locker, on cards slipped into her bag after a tough day at school, on plans drawn meticulously for patrol routes and battle strategy.
Marinette, and Ladybug. It had never clicked before, whether from plain denial or not giving it much thought, she didn’t know. But, now, looking at the handwriting and thinking back to the two girls that had become one of her closest friends as both Jess and White Panther, it all fell into place. The blue eyes, the bluey black hair in the signature pigtails, the confident gaze whenever she stood before her friends. Marinette was Ladybug and she had written this.
Chat Blanc came up beside her, his usual calm faltering. His jaw tightened as he read the message, his gloved hand clenching at his side.
“They’re the same person,” Jess murmured. “Marinette…Ladybug, it was her the whole time.” She took a deep breath, to calm her racing thoughts. “She’s been here,” she said, barely above a whisper. Her green eyes, usually dull from months of loss, shone with a fresh ache. “This was her.”
Chat Blanc didn’t question it, he could see what Jess was talking about. The style may have changed, but the bones of it…that was Marinette. Except this wasn’t the girl they had fought beside, nor the girl they had spent many school days with. This wasn’t the hero he had once idolized. This was something…warped, hardened.
Jess stepped closer, her gloved fingertips reaching toward the red letters but stopping short. Her breath hitched, her voice trembling. “She’s trying to stop us.”
Chat Blanc glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “She’s scared,” he said finally. “Or desperate.”
“She’s wrong.”
“I know.”
Jess stared at the message for another long moment, then pulled her hand back and turned away. The glow of her Miraculous had grown slightly brighter, pulsing in time with the pounding in her chest.
Chat Blanc watched her, his gaze softening again. “What now?”
Jess didn’t stop walking. She pulled her hood up, hiding the trembling on her face. “We keep going, she’s trying to scare me. But Kitt’s out there…and I don’t care if Marinette, Ladybug, whoever, wants to stop me. She’ll have to try harder.”
They left the cathedral in silence, water splashing around their boots as they descended back to their raft. Behind them, the message on the wall dripped faintly in the morning heat. The paint hadn't dried, it was recent.
Jess didn’t look back.
And neither did Chat Blanc.
But both of them knew, this wasn’t just a warning. It was a promise, the hunt had begun.