"TIKKI, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," MARINETTE huffed, a sleep mask over her eyes, ear muffs over her ears, and sipping at a bottle of water. "Now that someone is creating sentimonsters to attack the city, I need my full powers more than ever."

"You need to pace yourself," Tikki retorted, her stomach full of macaroons."Your current powers have been more than enough to keep this city and yourself safe. You defeated Hawk Moth and Mayura with your current powers, and you can take on this new wielder just fine."

Marinette slid the sleep mask off.

The intention had been to blindfold herself, to block out any light and any visual stimulation. Tikki had mentioned that her greatest Creation had been the first one, the one at the very beginning, when she materialised into existence with nothing around her, no sound, no light, not even a corporeal conduit such as her little pink body.

And then, boom, she made the Big Bang. Simple.

The best Marinette could do was try to replicate the sightless, soundless conditions of Tikki's supposedly most fruitful environment, to no avail.

Her personal best time was up to forty-five minutes post-Lucky Charm, but it was not natural and mindless the way it was for Chat Noir. Meanwhile, sometimes, even around half an hour, if Ladybug wasn't dedicating all her mental resources and willpower to tethering her dwindling magic down, it would slip and she would be Marinette again.

Tikki kept hinting at some mystical understanding of the nature of Creation, but her explanations were vague and unhelpful. Instead of telling Marinette to do something concrete, like balance on one finger for a minute, or execute twenty star jumps, Tikki said things like, "Creation thrives in the darkness," and "in setting yourself a destination, you are fixing the journey," which apparently meant that in trying to access her adult powers, she would never access her adult powers.

"Not that," Tikki clarified. "Creation is all about broadening and expanding your physical and mental horizons. What you are doing, hoping for your adult powers so that you are more equipped to face the sentimonsters, is extremely narrow. One motive, and one means."

"It's a bit difficult to have any other motives or means at the moment." In light of yesterday's sentimonster attack, the next preparatory hearing had been moved up to tomorrow. Heloise, Ladybug, in agreement with Chat Noir, Carapace and Rena Rouge, would be arguing to not stall the trial.

"Oh, you could have no motive or means!" Tikki suggested, her bluebell eyes bright with a new idea. "One of my past wielders was someone who believed the universe was inherently purposeless and chaotic and it worked like a charm for him."

Marinette's expression halted in what was sure to look like a baffled grimace, eyebrows arched so high they hurt.

"Not helpful?" Tikki blinked, folding her hands together apologetically.

"Not helpful," she said. Just like herself. Unhelpful, useless, too weak to access her strongest powers, lost for leads about the Peacock Miraculous, and unable to protect this city and its people. She wanted to cry, but she didn't. She hadn't cried for months, wouldn't start now, not when Adrien needed her to perform.

Marinette took another gulp from her water bottle, wiped the sweat from her brow and decided to keep pushing.

Something had to give eventually.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Carapace and Rena Rouge took their seats in the Assizes Court.

His hooded head swivelled ninety degrees in each direction, absorbing the historic opulence of the room. On the right a lush tapestry, on the left tall windows admitting bright sunlight, and above multiple pairs of newer-model chandeliers. Wooden everything, benches and railings and juror box.

This hearing convened just past lunchtime, and it was Friday. Conveniently enough, Marinette had been off of school since Wednesday with stomach flu. It was easy enough for Alya, who went over for a sleepover on the weekend, to say she caught it, and for Nino, who very much liked kissing Alya, to go down with her.

Now they were here, heroes sitting in a row with Ladybug and Chat Noir, ready to fight for Adrien. If this trial went on hold, who knew how long Adrien would have to remain sequestered away? Already the media was going crazy about him again—like they'd ever stopped. Even in the months when Adrien was off from school, idiotic articles circled his name like flies.

His character is suspect but his abs aren't! Winter fitspo from Adrien Agreste.

Counting down to the trial? Counting Down Adrien Agreste's Top 10 Runway Looks.

A "pampered ... angel on set." Ex-Agreste employee spills all about Adrien's true personality! (A makeup artist had simply said: "I think he was used to being pampered, right? He's actually been in the modelling industry for longer than most thirty-year-olds, but it hasn't gone to his head. Adrien is an angel on set."

A sentimonster breaks into Adrien's hotel and y'all are still defending him? He was clearly trying to escape.

Why would he cooperate for so long only to sabotage his own trial just as it begins? Fucking brainless trolls.

Should they stop the trial? Have they really investigated thoroughly if they don't even know who the knew villain is?

And there was a growing underground community that had started doubting Ladybug. They called her a power-hungry dictator who was secretly creating new supervillains so that she would have a reason to stay relevant and enjoy the adoration of the masses. Heroes need villains, I bet when this new holder is brought to justice another magically pops up. And Ladybug is the 'only' one who can save us. How convenient. The conspiracy theories were utterly wack, and Carapace didn't know how he could stop them—couldn't accept that they were unstoppable.

Sitting beside Carapace, Rena must have noticed that his hands were clenched into fists. She dug her fingers at the tips of his own until he relaxed a bit, and gratefully grabbed her hand, hiding their touch between their sides. The court was bade to rise. Carapace stood up, watching the various lauded figures of the city's judiciary filing into the room, discomfort rumbling through his gut.

"This is just as bad as the tabloids, though," he realized, leaning to whisper in Rena's ear. "Everyone gathered in this room to talk about Adrien behind his back."

Rena gave his hand a comforting squeeze. "It's not behind his back if he knows this hearing is taking place, right? This is the system. There's a process to follow."

"I hate the process," he whispered, "I wanna bust him out and shack up on a yacht somewhere, with you and Mari, away from all this bullshit."

"I know, babe."

Two bodies down—Rena, then Ladybug—Chat Noir's ears pricked. He glanced at where the President of the Court was fluffing his robes and sitting down, then to Carapace and gave him a firm nod. It was very bro code, no words and only fleeting eye contact, but he understood. Shit sucks, man, Chat Noir seemed to communicate in that one second, but we buckle down.

Carapace, over the heads of the girls between them, nodded back. Then both young men looked to the front.

Gerard, the President of the Court, bade them to sit down. He initially started to read a lengthy, stale opening from the folder in front of him, but after five seconds gave a juddering cough and shut the volume. "Let's just get straight to it. We are here today to judge whether the Agreste trial should move forward or be placed on hold in the light of this new supervillain. Safety, of this city and this court, is paramount. It should be our primary consideration, alongside the merits of the case and gathered evidence."

Basically, the question was: was there a scheme of Gabriel and Nathalie's that everyone missed, or was the Agreste case indeed ripe enough to judge in court? An appeal was a nightmare. A mistrial was even worse.

"Today we'll hear from Paris' heroes, the leaders of the investigation, the Attorney and Advocate General, and representatives of law enforcement," Gerard announced. "First, I call to the stand Chat Noir, defender of Paris, to give his remarks on the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Up on the witness stand Adrien, suited in Chat Noir's black attire, had arrived at an epiphany.

He'd been describing to the audience the current knowledge of the Peacock Miraculous recovery efforts; why it likely wasn't Gabriel and Nathalie responsible; Heloise then assessed that the new villain could be reasonable treated as separate by the law; thus that the preparations for the Agreste trial should proceed.

"Besides," Heloise made an impassioned appeal, "in the time of Hawk Moth, the judiciary continued our work unhindered. We can't let this new villain upturn Paris and its rhythms. Life has to go on."

In the midst of all this legal deliberation, his epiphany came in the form of a plan.

One he couldn't tell Ladybug, because it had to be Adrien Agreste enacting it. She was once the brain, and he was the brawn—the executor of her convoluted visions, her sword and shield. Not this time.

There was too much at stake. He would be the first person to sing her praises, but Ladybug's thinking was too rigid, her time too in-demand, and her morality too inflexible for her to think of any other strategy except the head-on one, the upright and honest one. Five years they'd chased their own tails, only to discover Hawk Moth in his own backyard. They'd never tried to set a trap. They'd never gone hunting for him.

Adrien couldn't see the logic in adopting the same approach again. They had no leads this time. The longer this trial remained unresolved, the longer he'd have to lie, to stay heavily supervised, to risk detection while juggling his superhero responsibilities. Their old approach of going about their daily lives and simply waiting for monsters to defeat was dead in the ground.

Back in the hotel suite (there had been talks about moving him to new accommodation, but it was decided that in the event of another emergency, instructing Adrien to call security and evacuate himself was safety precaution enough) he checked that Plagg was occupied with his dinner in the living room, then slipped into the bedroom and locked the door.

Plagg could not see Adrien enacting his new strategy. Just as Tikki knew Adrien's identity, Plagg knew Ladybug's, and there was no telling what he might tell her if Adrien gave him cause to worry; and what he was about to do was definitely cause to worry.

If Adrien searched his memory, he found a flash of blue during one of his previous visits to the hospital. Then there was the amok he saw around Christmas, then Arachne searching all the rooms of Le Grand Paris, and Heloise's theory that the Peacock Miraculous holder wanted access to him specifically.

You want me, he thought bitterly, taking a seat on the floor and leaning back against the door, come and get me.

From what Plagg had told him about Duusu, the holder of the Peacock Miraculous tapped into strong emotions. He drew up as many emotions as he could think of, holding them all in the forefront of his mind until it hurt. He hated his father. He loved his father. He missed his mother. He missed his friends. He wanted this nightmare to be over, but he also didn't—because he didn't want to face the nothingness he suspected would come after.

Come and get me.

These thoughts strobed around his consciousness like a lighthouse beacon, and then it happened. Another amok appeared to him, phasing through his bedroom window and floating toward him as if magnetised.

Adrien had been researching endlessly. He acknowledged the risks in letting himself be amokised. As soon as the wielder got into his head, they might get in entirely, deeply, flicking through memories and even secret identities like library books on a shelf. But from re-reading the interview transcripts of the amokisation victims, it seemed that the Peacock Miraculous operated on consent. Consent to hear specific thoughts, consent to appropriate emotions for creating a sentimonster.

Still, he planned to bury all his memories of Chat Noir and Ladybug by focusing on his civilian life. Adrien Agreste's thoughts and feelings only.

He grabbed the pencil he'd brought with him and touched it to the brilliant blue feather. The amok sunk into the wood, tinging the lead, and even the eraser, a deep cobalt. The ambient noises of the bedroom—the traffic outside, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the textured glass window, his own rhythmic breathing—dropped sharply in volume.

It was as if he'd plugged his own ears, though his hands remained by his sides, and like a resurfacing memory, a voice rippled from the back of his head to the very, very front.

Hello, Adrien.

He hesitation, priming himself for a sudden ambush, the sudden reveal of his identity to the world, if this shadow could reach around his mind like that. The interview reports said otherwise, but...

The voice came again. Hello?

Adrien relaxed a fraction. He had telepathic control similar to speech. What do you want with me?

He wanted to say something more scathing, more resolute—I have no need for you or your sentimonsters, fuck off—but that was counterproductive. He wanted this villain to keep talking with him for as long as possible. To drop clues that could help his search.

For now, I simply want to understand you. Your emotional fingerprint is incredibly distinct. You are full of just about every emotion I can name. Grief, fury, sadness. But love, hope and courage, too. I am impressed, and intrigued.

My position is not intriguing, Adrien answered coolly. I have nothing to hide from the world.

That doesn't feel true.

Just consult the Internet and try to fathom why I might be feeling the way I feel. My father. My mother. The sensation of having a conversation with none of his five senses to corroborate it was disorienting. No sights, sounds or smells other than what had always been inside the room.

You are full of apprehension. That is natural. But I don't want to hurt you or lie to you.

They could feel his agitation. Adrien took a deep breath and physically tried to smooth out his emotions, rubbing steady hands down his thighs. Prove it.

Three questions, the voice said, I will answer as a token of goodwill.

Adrien tipped his head back against the door and breathed shallowly. This was the most unsettled he'd ever felt, and nothing was even happening. Just the knowledge that something else, someone else, was in his mind—his most private space—watching everything, observing him. He couldn't throw masks up here like he usually could.

After careful consideration, choosing potent questions, he asked, How did you steal the Peacock Miraculous from Nathalie Sancoeur's apartment?

Ha, the voice hiccuped with amusement, aren't you shrewd? I was responsible for Nathalie's capture. I'd been watching her. I knew the Miraculous was in her apartment, but not where exactly, so I needed her detained in order to hunt. After her arrest, I broke in and stole it.

Adrien picked up his phone and wrote the explanation down, word for word. It was like writing down thoughts in his own head. Next: What are all the purposes for which you want to use the Peacock Miraculous?

Like I said, I would like to understand you.

I said all the purposes.

A sportive ripple went up Adrien's spine, like imagining laughter. Oh, you're fun. Very well. I would like to understand you, next I would like to know you better than anyone else in the world, and in exchange I would liberate you from this prison.

Adrien's chest tightened with fear. This villain was not what he expected. He documented their answers on his notes app. He wanted to pursue those creepy declarations further, but he only had one question left and he knew what any rational person had to ask.

What is your civilian identity?

You're stretching the limits of my goodwill, the voice said. I'm afraid I can't tell you, Adrien. But you may call me Pavona.

PAVONA, he typed on his screen. Pavona, Pavona. It was entirely unfamiliar.

This was already more information than he and Ladybug had found by any other methods, over all these months. Finally, Adrien had tucked away an important technique from his research: casting out an amok or akuma by sheer willpower alone. Alya had done it. Chloé had done it. He could do it.

He took a deep breath and focused on the voice in the back of his head, pictured scooping it out like plucking a pearl from an oyster. It was harder than he thought; in Alya and Chloé's testimonies, they said that the urge to damage was powerful and encompassing. Rage, jealousy, spite, or violence. But even if it was powerful, it was so clearly not their own doing, and therefore the girls could locate it with ease and expel the akuma.

But there was nothing in Adrien that seemed other. All he felt was himself. It took a minute more of concentration, during which a shaky voice said: do not be afraid. We will speak again.

I know we will, he answered.

Then he was free, an amok lilting in the air. The magic slowly drained out, turning the feather back into a white fluff. Adrien sank against the wood, exhausted, as the token of the Peacock likewise sank to the floor.

He expected Plagg to know, to sense the token of another kwami in his presence, and come racing into the bedroom full of disapproval. But when Adrien walked into the living room and curled up with his kwami among the cushions, Plagg didn't sense anything amiss.