THE STUDENT COUNCIL MEETING ENDED just as a bout of rain stopped.

Alya and Marinette skipped down the front stairs of Francois Dupont. Aside from other students doing extracurricular activities, the school was empty. The student council meeting had been draining and ‌ unproductive—Principal Damocles had again commandeered the discussion—so Alya needed caffeine if she was to have any hope of doing homework tonight.

A notification chimed on Marinette's phone, and she checked her screen while walking. That she halted and turned her torso towards the nearest stone wall told Alya that the notification was superhero-related. There was no need to hide civilian messages.

"Clever, clever kitty."

"Pardon?"

"Look what Chat Noir found," she whispered, beckoning Alya to glance at the obscured phone. She pressed her side into Marinette's, effectively surrounding the screen within two bodies and a wall.

Chat Noir: 5J/38 Rue de la Moyenne Ronde. Nathalie's hideout.

"Oh, my God," Alya gasped, gleeful. "Why has he not been working recon all this time?"

Marinette stiffened and Alya sheepishly touched her fingers to her mouth.

How could she forget the two months that nearly sent Marinette off the rails? Scratch that, she did go off the rails, just a tad. Pinned photographs and post-its connected with red strings on her pull-down screen, anxious brain tangents and never-ending paranoia.

"Stupid question," Alya chuckled tightly, too high-pitched. "Ignore me."

Thankfully, Marinette was too excited by the recent development to be dragged down by painful memories.

"This is fantastic. I'll check it out ASAP," she whispered, slipping her phone back into the purse at her hip. "If we find the Peacock Miraculous there, tha‌t proves Nathalie's guilt and absolves Adrien."

Though the wind was cold and biting, forcing Alya to wind her scarf over her mouth and nose, the rain stayed away. Water dripped from awnings and street lamps as they walked to their favourite café. The bistro tables that usually sat outside had been in storage for weeks now, making rare appearances on sunny-enough days. The waitress at the register knew their orders by memory, and ten minutes later, they were walking out.

Alya cast her eyes around the quiet streets. Most people were rightly staying inside, the working day nearly over. It was okay to talk.

"Is it still weird being around Adrien?" she wondered, pressed both palms into the burning sides of the takeaway cup. "In those interviews?" Yesterday was their seventh, marking seven weeks of mental fracturing on Marinette's part. Of all the people fifteen-year-old Alya would have picked to be a good liar, Marinette was one of the last. She was too good a person to lie.

But lying wasn't about morality, Alya had since realised. It was about conviction. Marinette knew her purpose as deeply as her own name. Her convictions ran deep.

"Not as much as the beginning. I couldn't figure out how to switch off my Marinette-brain and switch on my Ladybug-brain. But now that we've met so many times, I know how to fumble through without making an idiot of myself." Marinette heaved a soft, self-deprecating laugh onto herself, shoulders rising, and took a sip of her latte.

"And, after this, you'll just switch your Marinette-brain back on?" Alya questioned.

"Yes. No. I mean, not immediately."

"Mm."

Marinette hadn't been able to switch her Ladybug-brain off while her partner was gone.

Chat Noir's absence had left Alya with painful memories, too, but they were of what her best friend went through. She didn't know Chat Noir well, didn't know about his personal life and civilian commitments—plus he'd generously helped her overcome issues in her relationship—so she would reserve her anger for the circumstances instead of the individual.

But, make no mistake, there was anger. And concern.

Much as Marinette talked about the importance of boundaries and compartmentalising, there weren't two hearts underneath the Ladybug mask. There was one Marinette, one heart, and it bled deeply and it bled over all aspects of her life equally.

Marinette held her coffee in one hand while the other pointed an assertive finger. "The plan is to find the Peacock Miraculous, prove Adrien innocent, and get him through the trial, after which point I will no longer be working for Heloise. There won't be any conflicts of interest in dating, marrying, and adopting a hamster with my witness, because he won't be a witness anymore! Simple."

"Uh-huh."

Simple. Sure.

Alya knew that Marinette's convoluted plans were one of her defence mechanisms, avoiding both the pain of failure and the responsibility of success, hanging in a limbo where she didn't have to decide anything because she hadn't made any moves.

"And before the dating, marrying, and adopting of hamsters, you will tell Adrien that you love him, right?" she wondered, casually sipping her cappuccino and looking ahead.

"Of course, I'll tell him," Marinette chirped. "Unless there's another threat to Paris where I need to keep my identity a secret."

An icy gale tore at them. It chilled Alya's legs, clad in denim but somehow the most exposed part of her wool and fleece-wrapped body. "Marinette."

"Or another villain. Or what if another Miraculous goes missing?"

Everyone thought of Marinette as the girl with her feet on the ground and her head in the clouds, but Alya knew ‌she was purposefully romantic and fantastical. Her own reality—having to lie to parents and friends and boyfriends, taking responsibility for the city's safety and peace—was lonely, in the way of Guardians, and Alya couldn't blame her for wanting daydreams to sweep her away.

But if she was always living in her daydreams, she might let real magic pass her by. "Marinette."

Marinette clapped her palm to her rosy, flushed cheeks. "Oh, my God, what if I lost another Miraculous?"

Alya stopped walking and placed a palm on Marinette's shoulder. "Marinette."

"What?"

A tentative sigh leaked from Alya's mouth, carrying the taste of coffee past her teeth. "In these student council meetings, do you ever look around at everyone's faces and think, wow? This is my last year of high school."

The hallways where Alix and Kim were constantly holding competitions and hurting themselves. The locker rooms where everyone lingered to gossip instead of going to class. Teachers and memories and the it's-all-ending feeling that followed her every step.

"Everyone is going to head on different paths from here on out," Alya continued, some bittersweet nostalgia pressing on her lungs. At some point of declaring herself neutral to school, she'd come to both hate it and love it. "You'll see some on TV and some only every few summers and some every weekend for coffee, but you'll miss them all. Except for Principal Damocles."

Marinette barked a laugh at the last comment. "Not. . . really." Her bright blue eyes angled down to the ground as they started walking once more, mouth quivering into a half-smile. "To be honest, I've been zoning out in a lot of the meetings."

"Yeah, because Damocles is as interesting as concrete and he won't shut up. As I was saying— actually, I wasn't saying this, but I've been thinking this. Thinking about our future after high school. All of us, but Adrien, too."

Which university would take the son of an international terrorist? Which job would hire him? The way things went with the protests, though they were dying down now, it was almost a good thing Adrien was locked in that hotel because at least there he had protection. Out in the world...

"What if all the negative attention drives Adrien out of Paris?"

Her best friend had been loving Adrien from afar since the first day they met. It would suck if Marinette never made her feelings known or had her affections acknowledged, reciprocated. She was so kind and strong and determined. She was, in eloquent terms, the fucking best.

Marinette deserved love more than anyone Alya knew. If she had a Marinette-Barbie and Adrien-Ken doll, she would have smashed them together while saying 'now kith' a hundred times by now.

"That wouldn't stop us from being his friends."

"Of course it wouldn't." Alya sighed. "But this might be one secret that you should set free before graduation. Don't you deserve your chance at love?"

A forlorn frown carved lines at the corners of Marinette's mouth, calm rather than stormy. "What chance? I tried dating before with Luka, and it just proved how all my relationships are doomed if I can't be honest with them."

"But maybe, with all the Miraculous back, you could be honest with Adrien. We trust him, yes?"

Marinette's expression wavered uncertainly, and then darkened. She clenched her jaw and shuttered her eyes. Alya knew she'd made her mind up. It'd been the same for years.

"I can't tell anyone except you. It's too much of a risk."

"Okay. Okay, then," she relented, stamping down the disappointment. Even as Rena Rouge with a Miraculous constantly on her, she had no idea what it was like being the Guardian. Marinette didn't have the same freedoms as her. "Sorry for being so pessimistic."

"You're looking out for me," Marinette said, pausing at a busy intersection. She pulled Alya into a tight hug, all their knitwear surrounding them like blankets.

"You're still not going to tell Adrien," Alya mumbled, burying her wind-stung nose into Marinette's scarf.

"Alas, we all have our flaws."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Ladybug sprinted across the rooftops until the GPS on her Bug Phone confirmed she'd reached the address Chat Noir sent through.

She dropped into the alleyway between two apartment buildings and effortlessly righted herself.

Two superheros waited in the alley. One in black leather with a gleaming staff, the other in red and black with a rapier sword. And the position they were in . . . for a moment Ladybug wondered if she had been given the right time and place, or if she'd stumbled into an alternate universe where Chat Noir was flirting with Ryuko.

"Clawsome to see you again, my dragoness," he greeted, a feline smirk painted on his lips. He clasped Ryuko's free hand and dropped a polite kiss to her black glove.

Ryuko's expression was entirely unimpressed, eyes rolling up in her head. She wasn't angry or flustered. It was as if enduring Chat Noir's theatrics was merely a chore on her list, which she ticked off by sighing and withdrawing her hand.

"Welcome back," she intoned.

"It's good to be back." He winked. "Hi, Ladybug," Chat Noir said, glancing over his shoulder and waving. "Are we all ready?"

She cleared her throat and shook her head, trying to unwind the twisted knot in her gut. So what if he was flirting with other women? Ladybug had been telling Chat Noir to move on for years. Was he finally taking her advice?

Good for him. Great.

"Yes," she said, striding forward between them. "Let's go."

Once Chat Noir produced the search warrant, the property manager escorted the trio up to the apartment that Nathalie had leased. There was not much inside, and the manager left them to scour as they wished.

It was as if the rain had washed the sky clean ready for a stunning sunset. The brilliant golds and oranges illuminated every bare surface of the apartment, easily streaming in through the fifth-storey windows. Empty walls—their true shade imperceptible in the dusk—and minimal furniture. The hardwood floor all the way through the rooms was devoid of carpet or rugs.

Chat Noir walked deeper into the apartment as if puppeted by invisible strings. He surveyed all the rooms, checking for traps with his staff poised in front of him, almost like he expected something to spring out at him.

"So, Ryuko," he called over his shoulder. His voice was suddenly devoid of all the sugar and charm of before. Chat Noir sounded cold as ice. "How does this usually work?"

Ryuko's only answer was: "Wind Dragon," and promptly disappearing into the air vents. When she resurfaced seconds later, she said, "There's nothing of interest here."

"What?" Ladybug and Chat Noir said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Check again," he insisted, collapsing his staff and fastening it to his belt. He peered into the corners of the living room ceiling like he expected there to be cameras, watching them, waiting.

"I don't need to," Ryuko said, crossing her arms firmly. She was a professional in her element. "I've done countless searches of countless rooms."

She gestured vaguely to the living room, with the dusk-washed wallpaper and occasional spackle mark. "If there were hidden compartments or secret safes like in the Agreste mansion, they would displace the ventilation system around this apartment to make space. That hasn't happened here—it's just the usual vents and spaces between walls."

The place seemed like a sparsely-decorated, seldom-occupied apartment. Was it just that?

"It also wouldn't make sense for Nathalie to start extensive construction projects that could have drawn suspicion to this place," Chat Noir added, eyes rapidly darting around. "How discreetly can a secret safe be installed?"

Ladybug sighed, her chest deflating with the heavy breath. "Alright. So if there is anything hidden here," she cast her eye to the kitchen cupboards, to the bedroom where there were closets and nightstands, to the ajar bathroom door that framed a medicine cabinet, "we're going to have to find it by hand."

Ryuko nodded, her fingertip tapping on the hilt of her sword. "What else do you need my help with?"

"Uh. . ." Ladybug hummed. Kagami Tsurugi was a busy lady, one with a tight grip on her commitments. "Nothing, I guess. Chat Noir, Ryuko will head off now. She has been one of the busier heroes these last two months, and I did call her away from something important to do this. I'll escort her back."

She cast a glance at her kitty, but he was still surveying the apartment with a deeply furrowed brow. "Feel free to start searching while I'm gone."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the bedroom closet hung a few of Nathalie's clothes.

Chat Noir had expected them to be turtlenecks and sleek blazers, but they were plain t-shirts and woollen trousers, perfectly average. Sliding the hangers forward one by one, he rifled through the pockets and felt along the seams. He didn't really expect the Peacock Miraculous to be hidden in Nathalie's getaway clothing. But for some reason, given the guarded vault that was its previous home, he expected something more prominent.

Leaving the lacklustre closet, he crouched in front of the nightstand, ready to pull open its drawers when something stopped him.

Atop the nightstand was a single photo frame—a rare piece of decoration, sentimentality, in an apartment that otherwise could have belonged to any random stranger in Paris.

The photo was taken on the day Adrien Agreste graduated from collège, one summer before his first year in lycée. His old bodyguard was the one who snapped the shot, Adrien front and centre with his two caretakers hovering over each shoulder, everyone smiling.

Chat Noir recognised Gabriel's ceremonial cufflinks in the image. His father's white silk blazer, Nathalie's indigo summer dress. It was one of those rare events she attended not as an employee but someone who cared about Adrien, and someone whom Adrien cared about, because he had been named valedictorian.

He didn't think he ever saw his father prouder.

The memory struck too close to home. All this time, his father and Nathalie had kept him in the dark, kept him confined and performing like a bird in a cage, while they terrorised this city. They ferried him out to basketball practices and photoshoots and foreign language lessons to clear time for their crimes. He had been working so hard to their vision of success, and they never really cared at all what he was doing—only that he was out of their way.

And for what? Between the two of them, Gabriel and Nathalie were wealthy, skilled, well-connected—loved and respected by people both near to and far from them. Why wasn't that enough? Why did they have to do this?

In a flash of unbridled anger, Chat Noir picked up the frame and launched it at the nearest wall. The glass shattered on impact, and he could hardly hear the wooden clattering over the roar of blood in his ears.

Through the rush of his pulse, he heard it.

"Chat Noir," Ladybug called firmly, in such a tone that he knew this wasn't the first time she had said his name. 

He didn't look behind him. Her voice sounded thick with emotion, but without seeing her face he had no idea which one. Could have been concern. Fear. Anger.

"What are you doing?"