AN: As you probably read in the description, this is a sequel to Stray. For full understanding, it would probably be best to read that first. That said, I'm going to try to explain things as best I can, so that if you'd rather jump in here, you can. If anything is confusing, please let me know.

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Chat Noir gagged as they ran along the slippery stone walkway, trying not to fall into the dark sewage below. "This is so not fair," he whined, one clawed hand covering his mouth and nose. "They're doing this on purpose now, I swear. Everyone knows that cats have sensitive noses."

"Third time this week," Peacock said, stumbling along behind him. Without the benefit of night vision, she had to rely on the glow coming from the screens in the handles of her fans, to avoid running into absolutely everything. "I doubt it's just because of you, though. Criminals have been running into the sewers to hide for as long as there have been sewers."

"Still," he said, slowing as they came up to a four-way intersection. His ears twitched on his head, listening for the faintest sound. "Hate hate hate it, every time."

They stood for a second, quiet except for the sound of rushing water (and other ingredients).

"What do you think about 'Pavane'?"

"Huh?" Chat Noir glanced back at her, confused.

"It's a dance, and it's named after a peacock. Supposedly." Peacock shrugged. "I don't know. I'm starting to scrape the bottom of the search engine barrel here."

Chat Noir laughed, stepping back. He sprung off the edge of the walkway suddenly, over the flood of sewage, to the walkway on the other side. "Left. We're going left. And I think you're stuck as 'Peacock', now."

"No way!" Peacock pushed down hard with her fans, stirring up wind that kicked her across the stream after him. "I told you, that's just a placeholder. I'm still going to come up with something more interesting and creative!"

"You saved the world as Peacock," Chat Noir said, catching himself before he could slip, beginning to run again. "It was in all of the papers, and on all of the televisions. I think the name has stuck now."

"Then I'll unstick it," she said, gaining on him. "That's seriously such a lame superhero name. It's really hard to come up with these things!"

"You don't have to tell me," he said, leaning forward. The gust from her fans had cleared away a lot of the stench for a moment, and he had caught onto a scent, a faint one—a little girl, wearing expensive clothing and perfume. The hostage! "Ladybug and I kind of panicked and went the obvious route, too. Volpina is only Volpina because Papillon named her that. Gamera is the only one that got off lucky, and even then, not by much." Old Showa-era kaiju films were experiencing a recent surge in popularity, all over France, he had heard.

They were running into the older parts of the sewers now, the ones dating back centuries. New steel and modern cement were giving way to old, rusty pipes and ancient, crumbling brickwork. Some sort of moss or algae was underfoot, and he nearly went skidding off into the slow-moving murk of the narrowing tunnel. He crouched on all fours for a minute, listening.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Peacock asked behind him, holding up a fan. The pale light lit up the cramped tunnel ahead, dimly. "There's a—"

"A grate, I know." Chat Noir blew out, fighting the urge to gag again. "But not a dead end." She couldn't hear it. He could. The little girl's voice, crying and screaming from just beyond. The older man telling her to shut up, panicking, muttering about how no ransom payment was going to be worth all of this. Both voices not far, but nearly lost in the background sound of rushing water.

He'd found them. That was the important thing. Soon this would all be over. But first, the grate was in the way, blocking them from getting to the tunnel beyond. He took a breath, lifting one claw. "Cataclysm!"

The black energy surrounded his hand, shaking and pulling power into the claws. His hand began to shake with it, and, practiced, he tightened it into a fist for a moment, waiting for the energy to finish channeling, to settle so that he could cut through the grate.

It didn't finish. More and more black energy pulled in, making the shaking worse and worse. His eyes widened. "Something's wrong. I can't—"

The Cataclysm suddenly exploded, throwing them back. Chat Noir cried out as he landed in the flowing murk in the middle of the tunnel.

"Chat Noir!" Peacock yelled. She crouched on the edge of the walkway, holding out the glow from her fan as far as she could, searching the water. After a moment, his head emerged, and she reached out, grabbing onto him, pulling him back up.

"Aghgh!" He slumped on the slimy stone, completely wet. "This is not how I wanted this day to go!"

Peacock, pulling him away from the edge, stopped suddenly. "You detransformed."

"I did?" He swiped his hand over his eyes, and opened them. Near blind, from the sudden loss of night vision in the dark tunnels. His arms were bare, no more superhero suit covering them. "I don't know what's… Plagg?!"

Weak coughing from behind him. "Right here," Plagg called. A small wet shape trembled on the brick, looking miserable. "Sorry. I don't know what happened. I don't feel so good…"

A loud scream echoed through the tunnels, loud enough to overcome even the ambient noise in the background. Peacock stiffened, then ran toward the grate. "Stay there. I'll be right back!" The rusty metal was already damaged from years of neglect, and from the Cataclysm's explosion a few seconds before. She struck it with her bladed fans, over and over, until it dented. Then kicked through it with a yell, and pushed herself into the tunnel beyond, racing forward. "Thousand Eyes!" she called from some distance away.

Adrien moved his hand in the darkness, fumbling around until he found Plagg. The kwami was shaking, warm to the touch, his breaths heavy and uneven. He frowned, lifting the Plagg up, trying to clean him off. "What's going on with you?"

.:|:.

"Marinette?" Sabine Cheng called, gently pushing open the door. "It's almost noon, and I haven't heard a peep from you yet. Are you awake?"

Marinette looked up from the mannequin she had pulled to the center of her bedroom. She removed a couple of sewing pins from between her teeth, sticking them into the blue fabric she was awkwardly trying to hold over the mannequin, several inches taller than she was. "Good morning, Mama! Sorry, I've been a little focused lately."

"I can see that." Sabine smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "Is that a dress you're making? It's lovely."

Marinette strained, leaning as far away from the mannequin as she could without dropping the fabric wrapped around it. "Hopefully it will be soon!" She grasped at a pile of ribbon at the edge of her desk, just out of arm's reach.

Amused, Sabine walked over, picking up the ribbon and handing it to her. "What is it for?"

A bright blush immediately filled Marinette's face. "Oh, you know, uh… It's a secret."

"A secret?" Sabine tilted her head. "Normally I'd leave it at that, but the last time you kept a secret, it involved you fighting monsters while dangling high in the air from a yoyo string." She could see Tikki from here, curled up and napping peacefully in the small shoebox bed they had set on the windowsill.

"Mama!" Marinette carefully unwound the ribbon, and began pinning it into place around the dress's neckline. "Please, this is such a weird, experimental cut… I don't even know if it will work out. It's just something I've been playing around with, nothing serious."

"You were up most of the night with 'nothing serious', weren't you?" Sabine patted her daughter's shoulder, heading back toward the door. "Well, I won't pry. I just wanted to let you know lunch is almost ready. …I think Adrien will like it, though, for whatever it's for. It's a good color on you."

Marinette's blush deepened. For a moment, she fumbled with the pins, struggling to concentrate enough to get the ribbon on straight.

"Cherie!" a deep, booming voice called from the bottom of the staircase. "Are you still coming down? Or are you so afraid I'll kick your butt at the new video game that you're hiding now?"

"You bought the new one?" Marinette called back, immediately distracted. She grinned, sliding a few more pins in place, just enough to keep the fabric together while she was gone. Then she stepped away, turning toward the steps herself. "Hold on—coming Papa!"

The spring sun was shining through all of the windows. Faint music played from somewhere downstairs, and the warm smell of baking things wafted through the air. She kept her phone on her, just in case they needed Ladybug, but so far, on this beautiful Saturday, no one had. Everything had been dark for so long, that winter, but for now, everything was perfection and light.

Excited, she ran down the stairs, two at a time. Nothing could possibly go wrong, on a day like today.

.:|:.

"Something went wrong," Adrien said, "on today of all days."

"Hmm." Master Fu leaned over the front desk of the massage parlor, peering down at the feverish cat kwami. Plagg had been laid down on a soft towel, next to a piece of camembert. Somehow, despite five minutes having passed, the camembert was still there, untouched. He could see that Adrien was in a panic over it. "What, exactly, happened?"

"We were chasing a kidnapper in the sewers," Alya said, beside Adrien, looking just as confused. "A grate was in the way, and Chat Noir tried to Cataclysm it. But it seems like it didn't work properly?" She glanced at Adrien. "Like, it exploded, or…?"

"It was weird," Adrien said, shrugging. "I don't really know how to explain it. Normally the glowy energy stuff just kind of flows through my claws, you know? This time, it's like something was making it back up, and get stuck."

"Hmm," Master Fu said again, prodding Plagg. The kwami barely moved in response, hardly awake. "Adrien. 請給我你的手."

Alya glanced at Adrien, lost. Adrien, understanding, obediently held out his hand.

Master Fu took it, turning it this way and that, examining the ring on Adrien's finger. He sighed. "This is a little more difficult, without Wayzz. Still…" He reached over with one hand, picking up a pen and tapping the small gong sitting on the counter. As the sound waves pulsed out over them, Adrien's ring turned black for a moment, the green paw symbol lighting up. Except for a small area, at the base of the ring's face, where a small gray line remained.

"There. Did you see that?" Master Fu asked, as the sound faded and the ring returned to normal gray.

Adrien lifted his hand, looking more closely at it. "A scratch?"

"Or a crack," Master Fu said. He leaned back in his chair, frowning. "Do you remember your fight against Papillon?"

"How could I forget?" Adrien asked. The experience had been traumatic, to say the least.

"Plagg was already injured, going into that fight," Master Fu said. "From what you've said, when you were on the verge of losing, Plagg forced a Cataclysm to detonate through your hand, right? Despite the strain that put him under. And beyond that, even after he had exited the ring, you aggravated the situation more by forcing more Cataclysms. Yes?"

"Whoa there," Alya said, "You're making him feel guilty. Look at his face!" She elbowed Adrien, trying to smile at him. "Don't beat yourself up about it. You had to, right? We all pushed ourselves pretty hard that day."

"Yeah, but Plagg…" Adrien shook his head, feeling terrible. He reached out, stroking the cat kwami gently. "So I did this to him?"

"He did it to himself, mostly, I think," Master Fu said. "And Alya is right. If you hadn't, the world would probably have been lost that day. Still." He tapped Adrien's ring with his pen. "Your miraculous is damaged now. Every time you use Cataclysm, it's going to get a little bit worse."

Alya whistled. "That's not good. That's what's keeping you alive right now, right?"

It was. Thanks to what had happened after the final fight with Papillon, both he and Marinette needed their miraculouses to survive from now on. If his ring ever came off, he would die. But right now, that wasn't what was concerning him. Plagg was obviously affected by all of this. He looked so weak and miserable, laying on the fluffy towel on the counter. "What can we do?" he asked softly.

"Well." Master Fu reached forward, gently scooping Plagg up. "I'll take care of Plagg. I have thirty minutes before the next appointment. That should be enough, and he'll be back to normal. But." He looked up at Adrien, stern. "No more transformations. If you don't want him to get sick again, or for the crack to spread through the ring, you must stay human."

"For how long?" Adrien asked.

"How long?" Fu shook his head. "Jewelry is not like living creatures, young man. A crack will not just fix itself. As long as that damage is there, you're going to have to leave the superhero business to your friends."

"So, forever?" Adrien asked, dismayed. "That can't be right! What if they need me? Surely there's a way to fix it or something."

"Oh, sure," Fu said, walking toward the door that would lead him toward the back of the shop. "Except that the miraculouses were created by a civilization much more advanced than our own. Even if the tools needed to fix it were somewhere here on earth, we wouldn't know how to use them, might not even be capable of using them. And you would probably have to take your ring off to do it. It would probably be easier to just build a new miraculous from the ground up, honestly."

"Shifu, please," Adrien said. "Please! There must be something I can do. I can't just not be Chat Noir anymore! People are counting on me!"

"There is something you can do." Master Fu paused, halfway through the door. "Do me a favor, and sweep the lobby before the next round of customers comes. I will be back with Plagg in a little while." He stepped through, waving. "And don't do anything rash, while I'm gone!"

He and Alya stood there for a moment, stunned.

"Dang, I don't know what to say," Alya said at last. "Adrien, I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," he said, examining the ring. "It's mine. I'm so stupid for letting this happen…!"

"No, you're not," Alya said. Her phone chimed. She reached for it, distracted. "You had to, remember? We're very grateful you did." She paused, glancing at the text message on her screen. "Look. We'll figure something out, okay? We'll look into it, I promise. But…"

"You've got to go," he said, sighing. "Tutoring, right? That's fine. I've got a session in a few hours, too."

"That, and I left my kwami outside, and it's only a matter of time before he gets in trouble somewhere." She turned toward the front door. "Good luck, Adrien…"

"You too," he said, reaching for the broom Master Fu kept behind the counter. Full of worry, he began to work his way through the parlor's empty waiting room. An old CRT television, a small one, was propped up in a corner, filling the shop with background noise. Normally it was on a station playing random melodramatic Asian dramas, but today, it was news. Although distracted, he had to smile when they replayed the story from earlier, Peacock returning the little girl safely to her billionaire parents in front of a small crowd of reporters and flashing cameras. They had done good work today. He had helped.

It was probably the last time he would be able to help, though, right? No more Chat Noir. The broom strokes on the wooden floor slowed, as he grew more and more distracted by the television. The news anchors had cut away now, and were talking about an event that would be held in a couple of days, some sort of celebration in the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, crowded among all of the retail stores and throngs of tourists. They flashed to an image of a field reporter talking with some excited event organizer, but Adrien's eyes were on the Arc de Triomphe, tall and elegant in the background.

He could remember fighting an akumatized villain, months and months ago, that had somehow managed to fly all the way to the top of that Arc. Ladybug had been chasing after him, but had slipped, losing her grip on her yoyo string, and started plummeting. He had caught her, just in time, and held her safe. If there were ever a next time, if she ever fell again, he wouldn't be there to catch her.

The door opened behind him, setting off the small chime to announce a customer. He turned, brought back to the lobby suddenly. "Hello! Are you here for an app—Nathalie?"

"Good afternoon, Adrien," Nathalie Sancouer said, letting herself into the lobby. She looked around at the little shop with interest. "Or—sorry, should I say Monsieur Agreste, now?"

"'Adrien' is still fine," he said, lowering the broom. "What brings you here? Are you getting a massage?"

"No," she said, lowering a briefcase from its strap on her shoulder, setting it down on one of the chairs. "I think I'll probably settle for letting the stress of my job build up until I succumb to an early grave."

"…Hah?" He was pretty sure she was joking?

"I'm actually here for you, Adrien," she said, bending down to unzip the briefcase. "Of course I am. You are my new employer, after all. You've entrusted me with looking after the affairs of the Agreste business for you. So here I am, attempting to look after them. Won't you return home with me? I really do need to meet with you."

Adrien shifted, suddenly awkward. "I don't know, Nathalie. I'm happy living here now. Shifu really appreciates my help, and…"

"Is it because of your father?" Nathalie straightened suddenly, her pale blue eyes glancing over him dispassionately. "Because, I assure you, we are already prepared to deal with that situation. It is a matter of very simple, quick construction, to partition off one of the halls of the house. We can have it done in two days. And we are prepared to employ the most stringent security available. You need not ever run into him. You could entirely forget that he was even in the same building, if you wished."

"It's not that," Adrien said, playing with the broom handle. "Or, okay, it's not only that. It's just… I don't know. The house in general has a lot of bad memories now. Does that make sense? I-I'll come back eventually, but for now, I'd really rather stay here."

Nathalie sighed. Adjusted her fashionable designer glasses, then reached down into the briefcase. "Very well, then. I suppose I'll just have to bring the business to you, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"Here." She pulled up a folio, and held it out to him. "Take this."

He took it, and opened it. Pages and pages of clothing designs were inside. He flipped through them, confused. Formal wear, evening wear, casual. Men's. Women's. Children's. A full range of colors, textures, fabrics, all eye-catching, all unique. He was just a model, had never had any sort of instinct for the design itself. But even he could tell—some of these were incredible. "What are these? If you're wanting me to take more modeling jobs, I really can't, right now. They're cracking down so hard at school, and with my work here—"

"No, sir. That's not why I'm having you look at them." Nathalie took half a step toward him. "While you've been away, we've been… Well, we've been struggling, sir. Our business is very invested in the Gabriel Agreste name, a name that now summons only hatred and fear from every direction. Our sales have been plummeting drastically. If we don't act quickly, we could lose everything."

"I see," Adrien said, even though he still didn't see everything, didn't see how this was connected to the drawings in his hands. "Well… Maybe that's not so bad, right? We've got lots of money stored up to live off of, and I didn't really plan on going into the fashion industry anyways. Maybe we should let it go. I mean, it's not like we have another designer, right?"

Nathalie's hands clenched at her sides. "Some of us care deeply about this business, sir. Some of us have spent our entire lives working to build it up, and don't want to see all of that hard work disappear, just because the designer was a jerk and a moron."

"Oh. Sorry." Adrien hadn't even thought of that. He looked at the folio again, frowning. "Well, if you've got an idea, I'm all for it. But I don't know what we can do about my father's reputation. I mean…" Sadness. He held the folio out to her. "I can't blame people, for hating him. If no one wants to buy his designs anymore, then there's not much we can do, is there?"

"There is. There is something we can do." Nathalie reached up, pushing the folio back into his hands. "These are Gabriel's latest designs. He's been working relentlessly on them, ever since he was released into house arrest. He knows no one will look twice at them, as long as they bear his name. That's why he's already given his consent." She met his eyes, completely serious. "We want to pass you off as the designer, Adrien. You're well-known in the fashion world already, you carry the Agreste name, and for the most part, people tend to like you. No one really knows that you can't design a decent gown to save your life. If we release this as your newest collection, I think it will be quickly embraced."

"Mine?!" Adrien shook his head. "My father's the genius, not me!"

"But no one knows that," Nathalie said. "He would do all of the hard work, and I can handle promotion. All you have to do is agree to let us use your name."

"I don't know, Nathalie," Adrien said. "This feels wrong. If we were caught—"

"We won't be caught. Please, Adrien, this is the only thing that can save the company. I know it will work. Everyone would be expecting great things from you anyways, and it's the sort of thing the press would love, a young prodigy, following in his father's footsteps—"

Adrien's eyes hardened. "I don't want to follow in his footsteps! Or anything else of his, for that matter."

"Okay," Nathalie said, slowing down. "So I misspoke. The point is—"

"The point is, I don't want to do it," Adrien said, pushing the folio back into her hands. "I'm sorry. But that's underhanded and sneaky, and I don't like the idea of it. If my father's company dies, it dies. He brought that on himself! I…" He shook his head, more torn than he liked to admit. "I won't do it. If there's another way to save it, then fine. But he used the money from that company to do a lot of bad things in the world."

"Adrien, be reasonable," Nathalie said, clutching the folio. "This is a big thing you're just throwing away! The Agreste name is tied up in it, your whole family line is. We have money now, but when you're older, you may be penniless. What will happen to your legacy?"

"My legacy won't be overshadowed by the Papillon." He picked up the broom again, turning away. "I'm sorry, Nathalie. It was a great company. I was so proud of him, for so long… But it's tainted now, and I can't look at it quite the same way anymore. However much I still care about it, it's painful. Sometimes it's better to just let painful things fade away."

Nathalie frowned. "We're not just talking about your father's company anymore, are we?"

Silence.

She studied the folio, determined. One way or another, she would find a way to save her life's work, with or without the Agrestes. But for now… "Well then. If that's how you feel, I suppose I can see why you're afraid to come home. Still, though, you might consider it, sir. I won't argue that it would make him happy, although we both know it's true. But I do wonder how happy you can be, hiding from your problems over here." She nodded toward him, before turning toward the door. "Anyways. Au revoir."

Adrien stood alone in the waiting room, too distracted to sweep. The door remained closed, where Nathalie had left through it. His ring was gray on his finger. The news droned on in the background. He was alive and well, and so was Marinette, and so were all of his friends. They had saved Paris, and earned a happy ending for themselves. So why did he feel so miserable?

The news anchor droned on, still, from the gardens near the Arc de Triomphe, about the preparations taking place. He rested his hand on top of the broom handle, inspecting his ring, remembering, suddenly, a stray train of thought.

Hey. Wasn't the Louvre not far from the Arc de Triomphe?

.:|:.

Nino emerged from the record shop, blinking in the midday sun. It was more packed than usual, today. Apparently a new Jagged Stone album had released and brought in the crowds, and that was cool, he guessed. But he was really excited about the stack of old records from a band called Mxy Pxy that he had found, hiding in the back, covered in dust. The sounds were a little old-fashioned, but his head was already spinning with ways to combine them, lay a synth track over them, and—

Tugging, on his arm. He looked down, shifting the records in his arms so that he could pull the headphones off of his ears. A little boy was staring up at him, wide-eyed. "Hey, little dude," he said. "What's up?"

"Are you Gamera?" the boy said, barely above a whisper.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that's me." He pulled his head away from music, taking in the cartoon turtle on the boy's shirt. "Are you into turtles or something?"

"Yeah!" The boy grinned wide. "'Specially 'cause of you. You're my favorite! Hold on, mister." The boy pulled his backpack off of his shoulders, rooting through it. "Will you sign something for me? Oh man, don't tell me I didn't bring a pen!"

"Hold on, I got you, kid." Nino reached into his pocket, grabbing a ballpoint. "You're really a fan, though? Of me?"

"Of course! You're the coolest one!" The boy held out a plastic container of bubbles, excited.

Bubbles. Of course it would be bubbles. Still… "Aw, I'm touched, little guy," Nino said, reaching out for the container. "You're awesome, you know that? I mean, sure, I'd always hoped it would be for my music, but still, being appreciated for this is pretty cool, too."

Snickering. Chloe and Sabrina were walking down the sidewalk along the storefronts, loaded down with shopping bags. By chance, they had come near now, probably headed toward the jewelry store a couple of storefronts down. He stopped for a moment to wave at them.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Oh look, Sabrina. Another person dressing up as a hero. How pathetic."

"Pathetic?" Nino frowned, signing his name to the bubble container. The soapy water would probably just wash it off the first time the boy played with it, but who was he to point that out? "Since when are superheroes pathetic? You're the one who was such a big Ladybug fan, weren't you?"

"Oh, don't remind me," Chloe said, pretending to be sick. "That was before I found out that she and Chat Noir were both secret losers in real life. I'll admit it, I'm embarrassed. I should have known from the beginning that there was nothing cool about what they did."

"And why is that?" Nino asked, against his better judgement, trying not to be annoyed. "Without Ladybug and Chat Noir, none of us would be here right now, right? Living is pretty cool by me."

"Maybe, but they're cheaters!" Chloe said, crossing her arms in disgust. "They seem flashy thanks to their superpowers, which make it so easy for them. But what about those of us who don't have superpowers, huh? The ones who were out in the street fighting anyways, with no Lucky Charms or Cataclysms to back them up! Those are were the real heroes that night."

"Leave him alone!" the little boy cried out, clutching his autographed bubbles. "I think the superheroes are way cool! You're just jealous, is all!"

"Jealous?" Chloe laughed, a nasty laugh. "Hardly."

"I don't know, Chloe," Sabrina said softly from just behind Chloe, weighed down by the bulk of the shopping bags. "It might be kind of cool to have superpowers. Um, that is… Maybe. Don't you think?"

Chloe scoffed. "Don't be deluded, Sabrina. Either everyone gets superpowers, or no one should. And if only a few people get them, then it shouldn't be these weirdos." She waved a hand at Nino. "It should be the really impressive people, like your father, maybe. Not the runner up for the worst animal mascot ever over here." She began walking forward, nose in the air, just a single tiny shopping bag dangling from her hand. "Come on, Sabrina. That jewelry isn't going to buy itself."

"A-actually," Sabrina said, lowering her dozens of bags to the pavement for a moment. "I kind of wanted to buy the new Jagged Stone album today. Remember? I-if that's okay, th-that is."

"Ugh, fine, whatever," Chloe said, passing by Nino. "Just don't take too long. You've got the card, so it's not like I can move on without you. I'll be in the shop ahead."

"Yes Chloe!"

Nino watched her leave, frowning. "Too bad," he said. "It really seemed like she was changing there. I guess it was just temporary—she's the same Chloe Bourgeois as always."

"That's not true," Sabrina said fiercely. "You don't know her at all!"

"What is there to know?" Nino asked. "She's rude and inconsiderate, she seeks people out just to make them feel bad, she's self-absorbed—she's even making you carry all of her bags for her!"

"These?" Sabrina looked at the small mountain of shopping bags surrounding her, and shook her head. "These aren't her bags, these are mine. She's been down lately, so I asked to go shopping today, because that's always cheered her up in the past. But she's not enjoying it at all. She just keeps saying how all she can see, when she looks at these shops, is them on fire three months ago, and the streets full of frightened fleeing people. She's totally traumatized! All I've gotten her to buy this whole day is that one little thing she was carrying." She lifted her arms, demonstrating her own shopping bags. "Instead, she just keeps buying all of this stuff for me."

"Really?" Nino asked. "But… She's still so rude to everyone."

"Uh, hello? Traumatized? It's the only way she knows to deal with it." Sabrina shook her head, beginning to load the bags back onto her arms again. "And she has a point, you know. It's not just her. Do you even realize how dispirited the police are, lately? They work so hard, but what's even the point of coming to work, if the superheroes are just going to get the credit? No one ever asks a policeman or a fireman for an autograph for saving people. They just complain about how they should do better and make fewer mistakes." Her voice softened. "I told her about it, once, weeks ago, and she still remembers. She listens to me, now. She listens to everyone."

Nino looked down the other end of the avenue, in the direction Chloe had gone, trying to process that. When he looked back, Sabrina had disappeared, slipping into the crowded record shop.

.:|:.

For five days in a row, Nathanael had walked home without being jumped or bullied. Normally he went straight home, in a short shot from class to apartment complex, eyes on the ground. But maybe the lack of incidences had boosted his confidence, because now, on Saturday, he had decided to spend hours on the park bench, drawing the view of the riverfront.

Which meant that Volpina was stuck spending hours on the nearest rooftop, too, bored out of her skull. She groaned as Nathanael turned another page and began another drawing, wondering when the boy would just give it up already and pick something else to do. She had considered that maybe it would be okay to leave him alone for a while, and patrol elsewhere. That maybe the bullies were starting to get the idea, and would start leaving him alone even if she wasn't around. But she had spotted a few upperclassmen also in the park, not far away. They were minding their own business for now, but there was no guarantee that they would mind it forever. So Volpina sat, cross-legged on a security railing, trying to focus on a textbook.

She looked up ten minutes later, checking on him. She had to admit she was impressed—in just that short amount of time, he had blocked out a rough sketch of almost the entire line of buildings and businesses on the other side of the river. He kept erasing and re-sketching lines for a building in the center, looking frustrated. She looked up at it, wondering why.

After a moment, she figured it out. A crane was parked out front, and construction workers were streaming up and down the sides of the building, building a new façade. This was a thing that was happening all over, here and there, throughout Paris. This building, a restaurant that had existed for more than a hundred years, had a dragonfly motif, and had previously sported a giant dragonfly on its front, integrated into the architecture, wings spread in welcome.

Dragonflies were not butterflies. But ever since Papillon, winged insects in general were persona non grata—insecta non grata?—around Paris. Anywhere one was spotted, on any building or clothing or anywhere else, it meant bad luck, and people stayed away from it. The restaurant must be rebranding itself, making it look radically different. But she could see that Nathanael was struggling with it, trying to remember how the waterfront had looked before, not fond of the uglier, less imaginative new design.

She put aside the textbook, and retrieved her phone from her bag, doing a quick image search. After a moment, she lifted her flute to her lips.

Nathanael gasped in surprise as the waterfront shifted in front of him. The ugly building and the construction surrounding it seemed to disappear, the old dragonfly-themed restaurant laying itself over it. He blinked at it, pencil paused in his hand. Then realized what must have happened, and looked around for a moment, before glancing up at the building behind him.

Volpina ducked behind a chimney, out of sight. She took a breath. That was close. She didn't want him or anyone else to know that she had taken an interest. At the best, they would think she was some kind of creepy stalker. At the worst, they would think she actually cared a little.
From here, on the other side of the building, she could see the back of the park. Below, the upperclassmen had moved, it seemed, and cornered an older woman who ran an antique shop there. As she visibly begged and pleaded, they held her back while one of them shook a can of spray paint. Black paint shot out, covering the large sign on the window, tracing out a huge black butterfly shape.

The woman must have been akumatized, in the events of three months back. Volpina narrowed her eyes and gripped her flute, stepping forward. There was nothing better for boredom than teaching a group of obnoxious punks a lesson in manners.

.:|:.

Monsieur Kubdel looked away from the computer in his office, as the intercom on his desk buzzed. He slowly lowered his cup of tea back to its saucer, reaching over to press the button with one delicate finger. "Yes, Marie?"

"Yes sir," Marie's voice said from the intercom speaker, sounding slightly panicked. "You have a visitor who insists on seeing you, sir. Adrien Agreste."

"Really." One eyebrow twitched in annoyance. The last time Adrien Agreste had "visited" the Louvre, it has been an absolute catastrophe for everyone involved. "Well. I suppose you'd better let him in. If you don't, I imagine Chat Noir will be down here taking the very door off of its hinges in a moment."

"Yes sir," Marie's voice said, before the buzz sounded of the intercom being switched off from her end.

Kubdel sipped on his tea, trying to enjoy just a moment's relaxation before what was surely incoming. After a few minutes, the light over the high-security door flashed, suggesting that someone was ringing the bell outside. He calmly pressed the button to open it.

Outside, Adrien Agreste stood, surrounded by an escort of six museum security guards. The guards looked nervous, eyes fixed to the ring on the boy's finger. Adrien was the opposite, casually smiling and waving at Kubdel. "Hello, Monsieur. I hope I didn't trouble you. I asked the mademoiselle at the front desk if it was a bad time to meet with you. She seemed to have trouble answering me, though. How strange, a shy receptionist!"

"Monsieur Agreste," Kubdel said primly. "I suppose you'll want to take a seat."

"Why is everyone so formal with me lately?" Adrien asked, helping himself to one of the chairs in front of M. Kubdel's desk. "Just 'Adrien' is fine, really!"

"Then, 'Adrien'," Kubdel said. "I take it this visit is something to do with your other identity. Yes?"

"Er, yes, actually."

Kubdel looked past him, to the security guards crowding uneasily in the doorway. "Thank you, you all can leave. I will call for you when Adrien is ready for his escort out."

Reluctantly, the guards looked at each other, then stepped back, allowing the vault-like door to close behind them.

Adrien let the bravado of his smile drop slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset everyone so much by coming here."

"Yes, well, we're all aware of what happened the last time you visited," M. Kubdel said, looking him over slowly. "You must forgive us for being a little cautious now."

"No, it makes sense." A nervous laugh. "Sorry about that, last time. It really was necessary at the time, believe me."

Kubdel sighed. "No, it wasn't. Perhaps working from the information you had at the time, it appeared that way. But really, the arrogance of it all. You never cease trying to meddle in things that you don't fully understand, do you?" He paused, fighting irritation. "How is Fu doing these days, by the way?"

"He's doing well," Adrien said. "He wanted me to invite you over for tea at some point, and a game, he said."

"Really. Chess or Xiangqi?"

"He, uh… He didn't say."

"Hmph. Probably Xiangqi, then."

"Monsieur Kubdel," Adrien said, trying to bring the conversation back to the topic he had come here for. "Where did the museum acquire the Soh Tahn jewel?"

"What should it matter?" Kubdel asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Surely you're not trying to obtain more of it, after last time's fiasco."

"It's for something very important," Adrien said, running his thumb over his damaged miraculous. If he looked for it, he could, just barely, feel the crack. "And besides that, if there's more of it out there somewhere, I could get some for you, too. To make up for the bit that I stole from you last time."

"Hmm. Does Master Fu know that you're here right now, asking me for this?"

"No," Adrien said. It wasn't that he was trying to hide it, more that he had left as soon as the idea had occurred to him, before Fu had been done treating Plagg.

"I believe it," Kubdel said. "Still meddling in things you don't fully understand."

"I won't use it for anything evil, I promise," Adrien said, leaning forward. "Please, if you know anything, if there's anything at all that you could tell me, I would be deeply grateful. In your debt, even."

Kubdel paused. "In my debt? So you would be prepared to do me a favor, at some point in the future?"

"Yes?"

Kubdel tapped his fingers on the desk, considering. After a moment, he got up, walking toward a filing cabinet in the corner. "In the south of France, there is a village, a very rural one. Village du Taureau, I think it's about an hour's drive from Toulouse. They have a superstition there, about a cave filled with demons, ruled over by an old demon king who grants wishes. Supposedly a sort of Monkey's Paw situation."

He returned to the desk, holding a folder. He opened it, showing Adrien maps, pictures, handwritten notes on old yellowed paper. "A colleague of mine visited it once, when we were both younger. He came back with the Soh Tahn jewel. Supposedly, there is much, much more where it came from, in some of the deeper recesses of the caves. In addition to that, it's of very strong historical interest, to the anthropologists among us."

"Oh," Adrien said, glancing over the pictures. Some of them were of cave walls, covered in old cavemen paintings. "Do you want me to take pictures for you, or collect samples or something?"

"Hardly. You're no archeologist, you'd probably only damage something. I'll reserve that for some future expedition." Kubdel rifled through the papers, looking for something. "No, I think I'll save my favor from you for something later. Just make sure you follow through, on fetching a Soh Tahn sample for me as well as yourself. It's only fair."

"Sure," Adrien said. "Of course. Thank you, Monsieur Kubdel—this really helps a lot!"

"One more thing." Kubdel pulled a bracelet out from between two sheets of paper. A very humble one, it was dried and fragile, appearing to have been woven from some sort of grass. "See that you wear this, when you go in. And do make sure it gets back to me, when you return. It's worth more than you are."

"I definitely will," Adrien said, taking the flimsy grass bracelet. He studied it, frowning. "What's it for?"

"Ah-ah," Kubdel said, smiling and shaking a finger. "You have to earn your trust with me, young man, after what happened last time. Return to me with Soh Tahn and the bracelet. We'll see where we go from there." He leaned over, pressing the button on the intercom. "Marie? Monsieur Agreste is ready for his escort now."

"Fair enough," Adrien said, picking up the rest of the folder. "Thank you, Monsieur Kubdel, I really appreciate it." Placing the bracelet back inside the folder, he stood, pressing a few buttons on his phone before lifting it to his ear. "Nathalie? Yes. Sorry to bother you. Could you arrange a flight for me?"

.:|:.

"I don't know, it's just boring, you know?" Alya was saying into the phone. "The Ladyblog used to be your one-stop place for any news about superheroes. But now that I am a superhero, it doesn't feel quite the same, you know? It's all announcements we need to make, and no actual news."

On the other end, Marinette frowned, phone held between ear and shoulder, as she worked on adding beading by hand to the bodice of the dress. "It's still getting a lot of visits, though, right?" she asked. "People seem to still like it. More than ever before, even."

Around her, her room was slowly being consumed by piles of fabric scraps and other sewing supplies. Her bed and her desk were practically invisible beneath them. This dress was slowly taking over everything, as difficult as it was to get done.

"Yeah, maybe!" Alya said into her ear. "But reporting is what I love, you know? Not being some social media manager. I want a scoop, something interesting, that no one's figured out yet! I thought becoming a superhero was going to make things more interesting, not less."

"Aww, poor Alya," Marinette said, smiling. Until she accidentally stabbed her own finger with the needle, and frowned again. She pulled it away, determined not to get blood on the intricate beadwork. "Well, maybe move away from superheroes for a while, right? We're the only superheroes around, and you already know pretty much all there is to know about us, right? You've got to look wider! Something will turn up, I'm sure of it."

"I'm trying," Alya sighed. "I spent all day today, walking around with my camera. Nothing. But… Maybe tomorrow. Do you want to come? We can catch a movie while we're out."

"Can't," Marinette said, holding her finger to a piece of scrap fabric in lieu of a bandage. "Tutoring. Ms. Mendeleiev."

"Bummer," Alya said. "Believe me, I'm right there with you. I've got her on Tuesday night. Still, you should do something fun tomorrow. Or tonight, I'm not picky. Don't just lock yourself in your room all weekend, you hear?"

"I won't," Marinette promised. "Actually… I have an idea. Do you mind if I hang up?"

"Not at all," Alya said. "Mom wants my help with something anyways. Have a good night, girl."

"Good night!" Marinette said. She lowered the phone, thinking. From what Alya had said, Adrien had had a hard day. She had been waiting for him to call her about it, but there hadn't been anything from him so far. He must be taking it hard.

She pulled up the search engine, typing in a few terms. There was a celebration happening soon on some of the main streets of Paris, and in preparation, carnival equipment was being set up, including a Ferris Wheel. She scrolled through the hours and the prices, getting excited. With her leftover allowance from the week before, she could just afford two tickets that night.

She pulled up the phone app and tapped on Adrien's picture, waiting. If anything could cheer him up, this might.

Waiting, waiting. Then Adrien's voicemail, without any ringing before it. His phone must be turned off.

Frowning, she called Master Fu's massage parlor. Waiting, waiting. Then, "Ah, yes, it's Marinette. Hi! How are you doing this evening? Tikki? She's doing fine. She's downstairs with Mama, right now, picking out cake designs. Um…"

She blushed slightly, lowering her voice, just in case Mama wasn't actually as downstairs as she thought she was. "Is Adrien there?"

A pause.

"He's… Really? A flight? Where?" Another pause. Marinette turned away from the dress, frowning. Adrien had gone all the way to the south of France for the rest of the weekend, just like that, on the spur of the moment. Without telling her? Without telling Master Fu much, either, apparently. She frowned. What was going on with him today?