Chapter Text
The world ended with silence.
The dust tasted like copper and ash. It hung in the air, thick and suffocating, turning the Paris sky into a bruised purple. There were no sirens, no screaming. There was no one left to scream.
He dragged his feet through the rubble of what used to be a street. His sneakers crunched on glass. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound was deafening in the quiet.
He saw them.
They weren’t moving. The bright colors of their suits were the only things visible in the grey ruin. Red. Black.
He fell to his knees. The impact didn't hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. He reached out, his hand shaking so hard it blurred his vision.
There, in the dust. The dull glint of silver. A ring. There, slightly further away. A pair of earrings, the red dull and chipped.
He couldn't breathe. He grabbed the jewelry. He squeezed them in his fist until the metal bit into his skin.
He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, the world twisted.
A roar of white noise. A desperate, burning pull in the center of his chest. He didn't speak, he didn't know the words. He just pushed his will against the ending, against the silence. He wanted—
He needed—
[UNINTELLIGIBLE FRACTURE]
The grey sky cracked like a mirror. The silence shattered.
"Ethan!"
He sat up, gasping, his lungs dragging in air like a drowning man breaking the surface.
His hands were clawing at his chest, clutching a t-shirt that was soaked in cold sweat. He scrambled backward, hitting the headboard with a loud thump.
No grey sky. Just posters of bands he liked. A messy desk and sunlight streaming through the blinds.
Ethan pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away the image. His heart was hammering against his ribs.
A dream, he told himself, his brain already smoothing over the edges of the terror. Just a panic dream.
He looked at his phone on the nightstand. September 2nd. First Day of School.
He swung his legs out of bed and shuffled into the hallway. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that meant everyone else was already busy. He walked past the master bedroom door, it was closed, as always.
Downstairs, the coffee pot was already full. He poured a cup, black, and shoved a piece of toast into his mouth while checking his schedule. Physics first. Then Literature.
He slung his backpack over one shoulder and opened the front door, letting the cool morning air hit his face.
"I'm heading out!" he called back toward the stairs, his voice casual, routine.
He stepped out, pulled the door shut, and locked it.
"Just school," he muttered, turning toward the street.
Mlle. Bustier’s voice, cut through the low morning chatter.
"Class, settle down... settle down, please! We have a new student joining us this year ."
Twenty-odd pairs of eyes snapped to the front. Standing beside the teacher was a boy they’d never seen before. He wasn't particularly tall, with sun-kissed skin that stood out against the late-Parisian-winter pallor of his classmates. He wore a simple hoodie and jeans, nothing that screamed wealth or high fashion, a fact that was already being noted in the front row.
"This is Ethan," Mlle. Bustier said warmly. "He'll be joining our class, and I hope you'll all make him feel very welcome."
Ethan gave a quick, tight-lipped smile and a small wave. "Hey."
He wasn't shy, his eyes were moving, actively scanning the room. But he was, without a doubt, intimidated. This was a classroom that felt... set. He was a piece that didn't fit, and he could already feel the social gears grinding to figure out where he'd land.
His eyes did a quick inventory.
Front Row: A girl with a high, blonde ponytail whispered something to the redhead beside her. They both giggled, and the blonde one didn't even bother to look at him, instead examining her fingernails. Okay, he thought. Avoid them.
Back Row: A big guy with a shaved head was already slumped over his desk. A girl in all black was sharing headphones with a girl who looked like a literal ball of sunshine.
Middle: A boy with fiery red hair was sketching, completely oblivious. A jock-type was already trying to whisper-shout at a smaller boy with glasses, who was ignoring him in favor of his laptop.
It was a social minefield.
"Now, where to put you..." Mlle. Bustier mused, scanning the room. "Ah! There is a free spot right there. Next to Marinette."
Ethan followed her pointing finger. He saw a girl with dark pigtails sitting alone. She was hunched over her desk, notebook open, almost physically trying to shrink. She looked up in panic as she heard her name, her eyes wide.
As Ethan picked up his bag and started to walk, the blonde in the front row made her move. She didn't bother to whisper.
"Good luck, 'new kid'," she drawled, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "You just got stuck next to Maritrash."
Sabrina cackled. Kim snickered. Ivan didn't move.
Ethan froze for a half-second. He felt a dozen eyes on him, waiting to see his reaction. He looked at her, then at the empty seat, then back at her. He didn't know the politics here, but he knew a bully when he saw one.
He gave the bully a flat, unimpressed look, before turning his back on her and continuing to the desk.
He dropped his bag and slid into the seat.
The silence was deafening. Marinette was staring at her notebook so hard he was worried she'd burn a hole in it. He could feel her trembling slightly.
He was smart enough to know this was a bigger deal than he understood. He let out a slow breath and turned to her, keeping his voice low.
"Hey," he said again, a bit softer this time. "Is this seat... actually taken?"
Marinette flinched, startled to be spoken to. She finally looked at him, her face flushed with embarrassment.
"N-no! It's not! It's free. Totally free. Welcome." She fumbled with her pencil, knocking it off the desk. They both bent down to get it, bumping heads lightly.
"Sorry," they both said at the same time.
Marinette finally managed a tiny, shaky smile.
"Settle down, class!" Mlle. Bustier called, tapping her lesson plan. "Let's open our books to page thirty-nine."
At the front, Chloé glared. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The new kid was supposed to laugh, or at least understand. He was supposed to know his place.
Instead, he was just... sitting there. Talking to her.
The bell shrieked, and the sudden scrape of twenty chairs on the floor made Ethan jump.
"Recess, everyone!" Mlle. Bustier chirped. "Be back in fifteen minutes."
Marinette, who had been ramrod-straight and silent beside him for the entire literature lesson, practically evaporated. She scooped her things into her pink bag, mumbled a "b-bye" so quiet he barely heard it, and bolted from the room.
Ethan watched her go, a small frown on his face. He'd seen how the blonde in the front had spent the last hour periodically glancing back to glare at them. At Marinette, mostly.
He followed the flood of students into a central courtyard. It was cold, the grey Parisian sky pressing down. He pulled his hoodie tighter, already missing the humid, bright air he was used to. He found a spot near a bench, leaning against the wall, trying to look casual as he took in the new social ecosystem.
He didn't have to wait long.
"Hi!"
A girl with bright blonde pigtails and impossibly blue eyes bounced up to him, a shy girl with purple-streaked black hair trailing just behind her. "I'm Rose! And this is Juleka! It's so great to meet you!"
Before Ethan could even get a "Hey" out, two more boys ambled over—the jock-type and the one with glasses.
"So," the jock said, crossing his arms. He wasn't mean, just blunt. "What's the deal? Where'd you move from?"
"Kim, don't be rude," the boy with the glasses said, adjusting them. "He is merely asking for your geographical origin. I'm Max, by the way. And this is Kim."
Ethan felt like he was on display. "It's cool," he said, giving a polite nod to Rose and Juleka. "I'm Ethan. And I'm from Réunion ."
He was met with four identical, completely blank stares.
Kim was the first to break the silence. "Re... what? Where is that? Is that like, in Canada or something?"
"Ooh, is it an island?" Rose guessed, clapping her hands. "You look like you're from a warm, sunny island!"
"Correct on the island," Ethan said, a corner of his mouth ticking up. He was used to this. "It's in the Indian Ocean."
"Ah!" Max's face lit up with sudden recognition. " An overseas department of France, located east of Madagascar. It is, in fact, part of the French Republic and the Eurozone."
Kim looked even more confused. "So... you're African?"
"Dude," a new voice said. The boy with the headphones, Nino, had wandered over. "You can't just ask people if they're African. But for real, man," he said to Ethan, "that's, like, in France but... not?"
"It's France," Ethan said simply, his tone starting to flatten. He was tired of this conversation, and he'd only been here for an hour. "Same president, same money. It's just... far away. And has better beaches."
"That sounds amazing!" Rose gushed. "It must be so beautiful! Why would you ever want to leave and come here? It's so grey!"
He felt the curiosity from all of them, the innocent (and not-so-innocent) prying. Across the courtyard, he could see Chloé and Sabrina watching them, whispering furiously. He also spotted Marinette, hiding behind a pillar, pretending to be looking at her sketchbook.
"My parents' job," he said, in a curt tone that clearly meant, the discussion is over.
The group got the message.
"Ah. Right," Nino said, nodding. "Well, welcome to Dupont, man. It's... a weird place, but it's not so bad."
"As long as you stay on Chloé's good side," Kim muttered, just loud enough for Ethan to hear.
"Who's Chloé?" Ethan asked.
Nino, Kim, and Rose all shared a look.
"You'll figure it out," Nino said, just as the bell rang again.
As the group broke up and headed back to class, Ethan caught Marinette's eye from across the yard. She flinched, startled at being seen, and gave a tiny, panicked wave.
Ethan just nodded in return. He walked back inside, feeling like he'd just passed some kind of test, but he wasn't entirely sure what it was.
The final bell of the day was a relief.
Ethan packed his bag, trying to get a look at the schedule Mlle. Bustier had given him. He was already overwhelmed, his brain a soup of new names, new rules, and the lingering tension from recess.
Across the aisle, Marinette was moving with practiced speed, her bag already zipped and on her shoulder. She was halfway out of her seat before most of the class had even stood up.
"And just where do you think you're going?"
The voice was like honey-coated glass. Ethan looked up. The blond girl was standing at the end of the aisle, blocking Marinette's path to the door. Sabrina flanked her, grinning.
Marinette froze, one foot out. "I-I'm just going home, Chloé."
"Oh, are you?" Chloé stepped closer, forcing Marinette to step back. She was deliberately playing to the room—playing to him. Ethan, along with Nino, Rose, and a few others, were the only ones left.
"I just wanted to make sure you understood something," Chloé said, stopping to inspect an invisible speck of dust on her own shirt. "Today, you were sitting with the new kid. That must have made you feel... special. Like you actually had a friend for a minute."
Marinette’s face turned bright red. "He just... Mlle. Bustier... I-I didn't..."
"Let me be clear, Maritrash." Chloé’s voice dropped, losing its playful lilt and becoming cold. "You are a nothing. You're a clumsy, stuttering, badly-dressed nothing. And he," she said, finally gesturing back at Ethan with a perfectly manicured thumb, "will figure that out soon enough."
This was it. This was the test. Ethan felt the eyes of the remaining students land on him.
He was not impressed. He’d seen mean girls, and Chloé was just a blonder, richer version. He zipped his bag, stood up, and slung it over one shoulder.
"Hey," Ethan said, his voice casual. "She's just trying to leave. Why don't you get a hobby?"
The room went dead silent. Rose literally gasped and put her hands over her mouth.
Chloé turned. She turned slowly, a look of pure, theatrical shock on her face. "Excuse... me?"
"You heard me," Ethan said, walking to the end of his own aisle. He was now parallel to her. "You're blocking her way. It's pathetic. Just leave her alone."
He was not intimidated, not afraid of her. He just saw a bully and a victim.
Chloé's shock melted into a cold, dangerous smile. It was the smile of a predator that had just been poked by a particularly stupid, edible animal.
"You really don't know who I am, do you?" she purred.
"Do I need to?" Ethan shot back. "You're the class bully. Got it. Now move."
Nino, by the door, physically winced.
Chloé laughed. It was not a nice sound. "Oh, you poor, stupid thing. You're new here, so you get one warning."
She stepped right up to him, close enough that he could smell her expensive perfume.
"My name," she said, enunciating every syllable, "is Chloé Bourgeois. My father, André Bourgeois, is the Mayor of Paris."
Ethan’s comeback died in his throat.
Oh.
Mayor of Paris. His mind flashed to the silent house. To the new life he had just stepped into. It all felt so fragile, like it was held together by tape and a wish.If the Mayor... if her father made one phone call... They would have had problems . If he left Paris, he... he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be able to— To do what? He didn't know. He just knew that leaving felt like failing .
"That's right," Chloé said, seeing the flicker of understanding, the flicker of fear in his eyes.
"This school? This city? It's my city. I am the queen, and she," she pointed a finger at Marinette, "is the trash."
She leaned in, her final words for him alone. "And you, new kid, are one word away from being the one who cleans it up. As long as you don't interfere with me, you'll be fine. But if you ever speak to me like that again... my daddy will find out just how important you are."
She tapped him once on the chest with a sharp fingernail. "Welcome to Paris."
She turned, flipped her blonde ponytail over her shoulder, and strutted out of the room, Sabrina scrambling after her.
"Ridiculous," Chloé's voice echoed from the hall. "Utterly ridiculous."
The room exhaled. Marinette, who looked like she was on the verge of either fainting or crying, used the opening to sprint out of the classroom without a single word.
Ethan was left standing in the aisle, his blood running cold.
Nino gave him a sympathetic look as he passed. "Dude. You've got guts. Stupid, stupid guts."
Ethan didn't move for a long time. He wasn't scared of her. But he was terrified of what she represented. He wanted to help Marinette. He wanted to go after her, to tell Chloé where she could stick her...
But what could he do?
He was a no-name kid from an island she'd never heard of. She was the Mayor's daughter.
He finally walked out of the empty classroom, the message received loud and clear. He was in her world now, and he had no idea how to fight back.