EVERYTHING WAS SLIDING DOWNHILL, ALL events happening under their own momentum.

That was what Adrien felt as the trial raced through its preparatory stages, as Ladybug travelled the legal pathway and he the not-so-legal pathway, courting the mysterious Pavona's attention. Downhill, and he couldn't stop now that he'd started. Wouldn't, even if given the chance.

Adrien reread the notes he'd taken from their first encounter, copied meticulously from his notes app to a paper pad, branded in the corner with the Le Grand Paris logo. His iPhone was pressed between cheek and ear. When the call connected—Mira-Message to Paris' police department, probably encrypted on both ends—and Roger's burly voice sounded on the other end of the line, he said, "Morning, Detective. It's Chat Noir."

"Oh, hello, Chat Noir. How can I help you?"

I was responsible for Nathalie's capture. "Who was the person who reported Nathalie Sancoeur?"

"Pardon?"

"The police reports say it came through as an anonymous tip," Adrien added.

"Hold up. Let me pull up the record." Adrien waited patiently at his writing desk as Roger audibly typed on a keyboard. "See, here. September sixteenth we received a call that Nathalie was planning to flee the country. The caller said they were hired to procure and deliver a fake passport to Quai de Bercy." Made sense, because at the time Nathalie Sancoeur was a wanted woman and couldn't show her face anywhere. "But when they realized who had solicited their services, their conscience got the better of them and they phoned in. If you can believe the conscience part. Personally, I think they realised aiding and abetting a felon would get them done for worse than fraud."

Adrien asked, "How did you verify their identity?"

"We didn't. That's the point of an anonymous call," Roger said, matter-of-factly. "Whether we trust the report is based on honour and gut feelings—but who else but a middleman would have known where Nathalie would be ready to collect the passport?"

I'd been watching her. "Is there a way to trace the call?" Adrien wondered.

"Yep, and we already thought to do it, but it bounced." Roger cleared his throat. "Why are you asking?"

Adrien sighed and tapped the nib of his pen against the paper pad. He'd been expecting to take more notes, to find a useful lead, but there was nothing revealed here that he already didn't know. "Just trying to tie up loose ends before the trial. Thanks for your help."

Later that week he went to visit his mother. Until he found Pavona, Adrien had to keep his emotions under strict control. When they spoke, he had to communicate the right things, in the right way, keep them onside.

Pavona sounded obsessive. Knowing him better than anyone else in the world, wanting to free him from the hotel. Arachne had been an attempt to 'liberate' him. So was it a fan, enacting their version of vigilante justice? Was it someone closer to home?

Emelie's doctor was in the private ward when Adrien stepped in. One of the hotel security guards had driven him here and accompanied him to this floor, but he had politely lingered outside in the corridor while Adrien visited his mother. "How is she?"

"Emelie's brain activity is still very low." Probably meant to comfort, she added, "But she's stable."

"The longer she's unresponsive, isn't it less likely she'll wake up?" Emelie was in a permanent vegetative state. The treatment was nearly no treatment: nurses cleaned her, fed her, turned her this way and that to preserve her skin dexterity, and occasionally administered intravenous courses of antibiotics to stave off infections.

"Statistically, yes, but people can always surprise us."

Adrien inhaled, the scent of disinfectant tingling underneath the pleasant florals of the gerberas and hyacinths he always brought. Exhaling, he said, "Is there anything else you can try?"

"There's a technology where we run ultrasonic waves through the brain. The waves target the thalamus, which plays an important part in consciousness, and might rouse her." Adrien looked away from his mother, skin pale against the light blue duvet, and raised his eyebrows. The doctor shook her head. "It's developing, though. The few clinical success stories from the States weren't part of controlled trials, so they could have all been coincidental recoveries."

But this was his mother, so beautiful, so still, and he had to try everything. "Will it harm her?"

"No. It's a short procedure, and we use ultrasound for all types of imaging already."

"Can we try?"

"Well, we'd need Emelie's next of kin to sign an authorisation form, and then it might take a while for the lab to process the documentation and fit her into the next clinical run—assuming they're running one this year."

"I'll sign it, and I don't mind waiting."

The doctor deliberated. In the silence Adrien heard machinery beeping, the footsteps and chatter of medical staff beyond the door. "I'll bring up the form then."

"Thank you."

The doctor left the ward, shutting the door softly behind herself.

Adrien still felt watched.

The sensation had settled into his bones.

When he showered, envisioning some invisible entity in the corner of the bathroom. When he was falling asleep, jerking awake from the idea of someone leaning close over his body and breathing softly on his cheek. In public, it was even worse, because it became logical instead of paranoid to assume he was being watched, perceived, laid out and judged.

The glass of the window clicked—the way panes did when they were cooling or warming in their frames—and Adrien nearly jumped out of his chair, coiled tight with anticipation. He looked over his shoulder, scanned the room, and forced himself to relax.

Over New Year's, he'd called Aunt Amelie again. There were talks about how long Emelie's coma would last, and at what point they should let go. The doctors were mindful of the trial and maintained that there was no rush to make any decisions; they should take time to consider what Emelie would have wanted in a situation like this.

Adrien didn't need any time. He could imagine her determination, the resolute expression that would settle on her fine features when she realised the damage the Miraculous was doing to her health.

She would give up her own life for that of others? he had asked Gabriel, disguised as the Familiar. Leave her husband and her son behind?

By that point, she regretted nothing.

If Emelie were here, to see the wreckage left in her wake, the violence of her husband and the grief of her son and the city suffering for it, Adrien knew instantly what she would want. She would want to be let go. For the good of the people, for healing and for peace and for the future.

He was unsurprised when the amok found him. He knew it would come again. It was actually a relief to be free of the suspense. The expectation of a slap to the face was almost worse than the sting.

Adrien pulled out a flower from the vase on Emelie's nightstand. Whoever was on the other end of the line had taken a strong interest in him, and so long he kept up this new act that didn't quite feel like acting, Pavona would keep coming back, trying to ply him.

The amok reached the petals, and the transmission opened between him and Pavona just like the last time. He shut his eyes and leaned back against his chair. Hello again, he said immediately, more confident now. Pavona.

I feel your loneliness, Adrien. You spent years imprisoned in your family's mansion, and now you're imprisoned in a different way. You don't deserve to be denied your freedoms while the civil servants of this city chase dead ends and attempt to cobble a trial together.

It was similar to what Felix had said when they called over Christmas: might as well have never left the mansion if you need to live under someone's thumb.

How would you free me? If I left, I would be someone who ran away before he was set to testify in court—that doesn't look good.

Let me harness your emotion. I will create a sentimonster powerful enough to transport you anywhere, strong enough to protect you from the Miraculous holders that would try to trap you and bring you back. You could leave this city and its mess behind.

What would I have to do in return? Adrien wondered sceptically. Bring you Chat Noir and Ladybug's Miraculous?

No. Nothing so severe, Pavona crooned. After I free you, you will come to me. One visit. That's all.

This is my city, my mess. I don't want to leave it, especially if it means hurting or scaring other people.

Necessary measures.

This isn't necessary, Adrien thought back, what you attempted with the sentispider at the hotel. None of those people had to be endangered like that.

They condemned you for your father's wrongdoings and locked you up there to rot, Pavona hissed. They see nothing wrong in confining you just so they can feel safe.

Adrien didn't feel imprisoned—or was that Felix and Pavona's point? He didn't, but he should? I elect to be there, every day.

Pavona snorted, somehow, Adrien could feel the derision flick through his brain. Yes, you would. You are too kind for this city. I am not.

So, you are avenging me by prolonging my captivity? Your sentimonsters are delaying the trial that would free me.

You think the trial would free you? Once the trial is over, you will go back to being a celebrity, hounded by people who love and people who hate you alike. You will never see a moment's peace again, Adrien. If you think otherwise, you are a fool. Your freedom lies with me only.

He allowed a moment to check Pavona's rant was complete.

In a softer tone, he asked, Why do you care? Why devote yourself to my cause?

It took work not to 'sound' repulsed. The things this person had done already were deplorable, but if he let these sentiments show, Pavona might not be as willing to share their motives and plans. He needed to seem winnable.

Because I love you, Adrien. I will do whatever it takes.

The ward door opened. Adrien's head snapped in its direction sharply, and the doctor noticed his unease.

"Sorry, I probably should have knocked. I have the forms here to get Emelie into the next ultrasonic therapy trial," the doctor explained, waving the papers in her hand. "Are you ready to go through them with me now?"

Adrien swallowed and nodded. He couldn't reject the amok here, not now with a witness who might tell the authorities, who then might wonder why Adrien didn't think to report an amok sighting himself. With the suspicious timing of a newly active villain, he'd probably be made a suspect again. His composure was shot to bits. He probably couldn't even break the connection with Pavona even if he tried.

"Yes, of course," he answered. The doctor pulled up the other chair from Emelie's other side and sat down beside him. She gave the blue flower in his hand a brief look, and he innocently slipped it back into the vase.

While the doctor ran Adrien through the details, logistics, and schedule of the trial, Pavona purred sweet, dangerous nothings into his ear. Run away with me, abandon this pain.

I will make you forget everything that ever hurt you.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

On Saturday afternoon, Alya packed a duffel bag and walked from her apartment to Marinette's house for a sleepover.

The girls helped prep the bakery for the next day in the evening, then ate a scrumptious dinner in the Dupain-Chengs' dining room, and finally ascended into Marinette's bedroom for 'girl talk' which actually meant All Things Trial.

The girls changed into their pajamas and group-called Nino and Adrien, catching the latter up on school gossip.

The outrageous things Chloé continued to do and get away with, the subtle and sad manipulations of Lila. Nino's tour around several Parisian university campuses to check out the state of their student radio stations, poke his head into the libraries and dining halls. Marinette's utter frustration with the graduation formal planning committee, their sudden comprehensive lack of favourite music, colours or flavours for her to plan an event around.

Alya's application to a slew of American Ivies and for the Chalmers scholarship (an all-expenses grant for international intending Journalism majors) and whether she was truly prepared to live in the violent oligarchy the USA had become. Most people weren't looking to go abroad; those that were did not go further than two countries in any cardinal direction, sea borders included, but Alya found herself spotlighted because she was an anomaly.

They talked about the war on women, the cost of tuition for international students, the racism and degrading pillars of democracy. Alya had fielded the same questions from her parents and sisters (Nora was concerned; Ella and Etta were only giddy with the prospect of meeting celebrities) in the months leading up to her application—which had been submitted quite recently, in that stomach-stuffed, eggnog-warmed purgatory between Christmas Day and New Year's.

She was glad to have that paperwork out of the way before this extra headache exploded. "Alya's applied for lots of scholarships," Nino said. "I have full confidence that she'll get them, too."

"I know it sounds crazy," Alya sighed, "but the chaos is part of the reason I'm so attracted to studying journalism there. The relationship between media, civil society and the government is so under-the-microscope there, you know? It feels like learning in the heat of things."

"Alya's not afraid of trial by fire," Nino remarked, "even if I'll miss you a lot." Adrien and Marinette made cutesy fawning sounds.

Leaving Nino would be the hardest thing she'd ever had to do—if she had to leave the country. She knew France only as a safe harbour, with its own shaky politics, but it was her home. There was a restlessness in her, an urge to see what else was out there. She wanted to feel like a kid again, wide-eyed and hopeful. This city felt so hollow and so depressing after Hawk Moth, after seeing Adrien go through this trial.

The streets and buildings were starting to press on her, an old sweater too small, a beloved childhood bed too short. Was this how it felt to outgrow a hometown? She couldn't stay here forever. She couldn't stay here now. While Alya was well-aware that travelling abroad might not be the solution to making her feel less... jaded, she had to try.

Alya shook her head slightly and refocused on Marinette's phone. Besides. Her applications hadn't even been 'accepted' on the other side of several online student portals, let alone seen by a real human admissions officer. No point jumping the gun.

In time, Adrien caught them up on his most recent meeting with his lawyers, ferried to their offices in the same arrondissement as the Palais de Justice, the Assizes Court. The offices were all glass and steel, rising across the Seine like the modern sibling to the Palais's beige stone and oxidised copper detailing.

Alya remembered her last day in court. It took hours, and her ass completely fell asleep on the hard wooden benches. After testimonies by Detective Raincomprix, investigators, the Attorney General, and the President himself, it was determined that the trial would proceed. Gerard deemed the evidence dossier comprehensive, the investigation duly conducted, and then set a schedule of dates for the oral hearings. Gabriel, Nathalie, Adrien, and a slew of other relevant experts and witnesses all now had appearances in court.

Given his absence from pretrial, Adrien's lawyers informed him that due to the notoriety of the case and the danger of the unknown Peacock Miraculous holder, all hearings would be closed to the public—which, unfortunately, meant that if his classmates were not called as witnesses (which many wouldn't be, having given exhaustive interviews that could be read on their behalf) they wouldn't be able to support him in person.

"I'm sorry Marinette and I can't be there to cheer you on," Alya apologised. The girls were lying on their stomachs on Marinette's bed, her phone propped vertically against her pillows. "I wish we could." Marinette gave her a subtle look. Ladybug and Rena Rouge would be on duty, requested as special security in case of a sentimonster attack.

"That's okay. I know you guys will be there in spirit."

"Totally," Marinette grinned. "Just imagine us standing at the back of the courtroom waving an ADRIEN 4EVA!!! banner. Three exclamation marks."

"Well, if that banner is anything like my new favourite quilt, it'll be the most impressive thing in the room."

Love was a funny thing. There used to be a time when a call from Adrien Agreste would send Marinette into a stammering, self-conscious spiral. Now, pink-cheeked and casually reclined, she was joking without melting down, and even slightly... distracted? Perhaps Ladybug spending all that time in close quarters with Adrien had done some good, aside from the very obvious public good for the entire city.

"Don't you know?" Marinette quipped, "I'm the leading designer of imaginary demonstrative tapestries and wall-hangings."

Adrien repeated, "Wall-hangings?" in a dubious tone and propped his chin on his hand.

They talked for ten more minutes, but Marinette kept drifting in and out of the conversation. She would appear to be staring at the screen, and a sideways glance would reveal that her eyes were ever-so unfocused, glazed over and pinned on the middle distance. After the boys hung up, Alya sighed contentedly and rested her chin on her folded arms. "Adrien seems well-prepared. Getting mock trials from his lawyers and everything."

"Yeah," Marinette agreed absently.

"But that boy has never found anything he couldn't do, so kind of makes sense he'd ace the criminal justice system, too," Alya added on. Marinette didn't answer this time. "What's wrong?"

Marinette sighed, rolled over onto her back and slung her elbow over her eyes. "I think I'm letting go of my feelings for Adrien."

Alya shot up on the mattress, eyes urgent. "What? But you've loved him since, like, day one."

"I know. And since day one I never told him, because I knew in my heart it would end badly. Now this trial has complicated our dynamic, and I just— I wouldn't feel right dating him or even confessing."

"Marinette, how could you?"

"I've thought this through, Alya. I've thought about it a lot. I don't want to fight about this right now," she said tiredly.

"There's no fight. Sorry." Sympathetically, Alya inched closer and laid on her back. "I was just... surprised."

Alya gazed around Marinette's room, her photo wall of friends and family, the Miracle Box in the corner, the kwamis dozing and playing around them. Then her eyes wandered over to her sewing machine. This academic year, Marinette had not really touched it, not designed or made anything before or since Adrien's Christmas gift. There was actually a thin layer of dust, dust, covering the top panel and the bobbin of black thread sitting on the spool pin.

She though of her own plans to leave the country and understood better. Maybe the way she felt about Paris—she would always love it, but it didn't fit her anymore, so she had to leave it behind—was similar to Marinette's feelings about Adrien. There was bittersweetness; she'd always yearned to see how happy Marinette and Adrien could make each other, but this was okay, too. At least they would always be friends, and love each other that way.

Perhaps it was impossible to experience something like this trial and emerge the same as before.

They were all growing up. Whether they wanted to, or not.