To daeliix: Don't worry: Adrien and Marinette aren't going to be retiring any time soon. They are still around and having adventures around the rest of the "Mind Games"-verse stories, but for this anthology the focus is on Leïla and Thierry. I try to be respectful with the representation, though Leïla is the first major character to have "practicing Muslim" as part of her core identity, so for as much as I try, I could get things wrong. And this isn't either character's first appearance – Thierry was introduced in "The Last Jagged Ride," and Leïla has shown up in a few places before now, though this is the first time she's a main POV character. Look for updates every Saturday – I have about three months of chapters already written!

Leïla looked around in surprise at the enormous crowd that had gathered in front of the mosque for the rededication ceremony. Many of those she saw she recognized from around the neighborhood, but there were even more people here that she had never seen – some of them European. Idly she wondered how many of these visitors were Muslim, and how many were just curious after what had happened here. Almost a month ago an angry mob had come together and tried to rob and torch the mosque, only a couple of blocks from her own apartment building. Although the damage had been minimal, with all of the other construction projects around Paris, it had taken a month just to replace the broken window. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks from guilt: she could have stopped them – or at least she could have held them back… if she had known. But she had just been so exhausted after school and the concert that she had gone home and done nothing but read and play games with her brothers all evening. It hadn't been until the next day that she had found out what had happened.

It had been all anyone at school had talked about after lunch: all the super-criminals and Heroes of Paris who had been there… and the one Hero of Paris who had been notably absent.

Leïla's stomach flipped uncomfortably. She couldn't be everywhere all the time! She had a life, too! And she was part of a team so she didn't have to be everywhere at once, whenever someone was in danger or needed help. But she couldn't exactly tell her friends that, and she absolutely couldn't defend herself. All she could do was sit quietly and listen… up until they asked her opinion on the people who had tried to burn down a mosque. "How would you feel if someone tried to burn down Sacre Coeur or Notre Dame?" she had retorted sharply.

That had been the end of the conversation.

Leïla's eyes were drawn back to the mosque's front steps as the imam stood up and clapped his hands for attention, waving his arms over the top of the crowd. "Thank you all for coming for this momentous celebration!" he announced, the loudspeakers projecting his voice for at least two blocks in all directions. "You all know what happened here; I have no wish to recount it again. Especially in light of the ongoing criminal trial."

A series of discontented murmurs swept through the crowd. Leïla's jaw clenched in frustration. The trial had started almost a week ago, with the prosecution charging the criminals they had captured with a hate crime. The defense attorney had in turn spent the entirely of his opening remarks vehemently denying that it was a hate crime – even though they had targeted a mosque! According to him, they could have gone anywhere to find valuables; that it was a mosque had been incidental. The papers ever since had been filled with speculation about what really constituted a "hate crime"; one of the more extreme papers had even claimed that there were no such things as hate crimes!

Personally, Leïla was just done with it all. She hadn't become Nabatala to be a "Muslim hero"; she had become a hero because people needed her help. But then, while the Heroes of Paris had been gone, everyone had looked at Nabatala as a symbol of hope… a symbol that had turned into a Muslim symbol once the Heroes of Paris returned. She'd hoped that she could help people to see immigrants and Muslims as no different from them. And she'd thought it was working… right up until this stupid court case and all the idiocy. That was why Nabatala was staying as far away from the courthouse as possible, at least until this matter was settled. Although if she ever saw Fire-Fly again…

"We thank Allah that he has protected and preserved us," the imam continued. "Truly we have been blessed. And we are grateful to the Heroes of Paris, as well," he added, as several voiced started whispering around Leïla. Someone near the back let out a shrill whistle, and the imam paused for a moment until the crowd quieted down. "We are grateful for their protection, and we are grateful to them for being Allah's instruments to save our mosque from any worse damage."

"Allahu Akbar," intoned the crowd. ["God is great"]

Leïla straightened her back and coughed. "Allahu Akbar," she murmured, smiling to herself.

As the imam fell silent for a time of prayer, Leïla found her thoughts drifting. To think that she could be "Allah's instrument"… One of her hands found her purse, feeling for the comforting weight of Kheaa. Maybe Nabatala was an instrument for Allah – certainly Ladybug and Cat Noir had been such, and on so many different occasions. But if she was an instrument of Allah, and she was using the power of Kheaa to do it… She furrowed her brows. Perhaps this was a question to ask the imam…

"Salam."

Looking around, Leïla blinked in surprise as the crowd began to spread out and disperse. A group of the men followed the imam into the mosque, while the group on the street collected together into smaller groups. The sizzle of cooking meat from down the street met her ear, and her stomach rumbled.

Standing beside her, her father hummed. "It is incredible how much the Heroes of Paris have done for us, and for our community, no?"

Leïla nodded. "Yes, 'abi," she answered. "Sent-Bee and Ladybug and the others have done so much – especially Sent-Bee, saving the mosque."

He nodded. "Of course, they have done quite a lot," he agreed, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But I was thinking of the newest hero, Nabatala. None of the heroes, I think, have done more to…" he furrowed his brows "… normalize? To normalize our community within the city. She gave us hope when we needed it, and now she shows the rest of the city that we belong."

Leïla looked away, pulling her hijab around to hide the blush starting to color her cheeks. "I'm sure she's only done what she thought was right."

"And that is what all heroes do," her father pointed out, patting her on the shoulder. "That goes for superheroes, and it also goes for physicians!"

Leïla glanced back up at him to find him watching her with an amused expression, his eyebrows raised expectantly. "Of course, 'abi," she agreed, nodding. She glanced around at the crowd, which had now expanded up and down the street in both directions, on and off the sidewalk, and furrowed her brows. "Where did the boys get to?"

Her father shook his head ruefully, grimacing. "Doubtless off somewhere trying to cause trouble," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "They disappeared a few minutes ago with your mother in tow, though I lost track of which way they went. I should see if your mother needs help with them." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Although you may find them first!"

She smiled, nodding. "I will look down this way," she agreed, pointing toward M. Semoun, standing behind his grill a little further down the block, not too far from his apartment building.

Her father nodded, giving her a knowing look. "Very well. But be sure that you search more than just among the kabobs!"

Leïla stifled a laugh, glancing in both directions as she walked down the street. Police barricades along the side streets and at either end of the four-block area stopped traffic, and the street was now filled with people from sidewalk to sidewalk – more, perhaps, than there had even been for the rededication ceremony. Her mouth watered from the tantalizing scent of the cooking meat that drew her toward the trio of grills. "Hello, M. Semoun," she greeted the man at the first grill, nodding to him. "How are you this afternoon? How is the store?"

"Good afternoon!" M. Semoun shrugged. "I cannot complain, I suppose. We closed the store for the day, of course, but I think our sales this week have more than made up for it." He sighed ruefully. "Two months ago, I doubted that the store would even survive, after all the looting. And if it hadn't been for that loan…"

Leïla hummed. "The Agreste Charity has been doing a lot, hasn't it?" she observed.

"Has it?" He furrowed his brows. "Yes, I suppose they have. But no; it was Paris United, actually."

Leïla cocked her head in surprise. "Oh?"

"A representative stopped in and offered a check right then and there to help us rebuild – and now look where we are!" M. Semoun grinned. "Allah has been good, has he not?"

"He has, indeed," Leïla agreed, nodding. "I confess, I don't know much about Paris United."

"I didn't know much about them, either," M. Semoun responded. "At least, not before they offered us funding. But they have helped at least half the businesses in the arrondissement over the past couple months – I know for a fact that the Soualems' café would have closed weeks ago without their assistance."

"That is incredibly generous of them," Leïla mused. Her eyes drifted down to the rows of kabobs still sitting on the grill.

"Ah, but where are my manners?" M. Semoun asked rhetorically, picking up a skewer with his tongs and holding it out to Leïla. "Enjoy!"

"Thank you!" Leïla pulled her hijab down to take a bite of meat, humming in contentment. "My brothers haven't come by this way, have they?" she asked, pulling a cube of meat off the stick and dropping it into her purse for Kheaa.

"Not that I've seen," M. Semoun answered, shaking his head. "But if you find them, I'll be sure to save a kabob for them. Ah! It's good to see you again, my young friend!" he called turning away from Leïla and grabbing another kabob with his tongs. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Yes, please," a familiar voice answered. "I'd never tried it before, and last time it was amazing!"

Leïla furrowed her brows suspiciously and turned to see who it was, and her eyes widened in shock on recognizing Thïerry. Quickly, she pulled up the bottom of her hijab, hating the way her stomach clenched and her breathing hitched on seeing him. School hadn't exactly been easy this year… but he had apologized; could she really hold anything he had said then against him? And yet, he had still said it. And he wasn't the only one to have said those kinds of things when they thought she couldn't hear them. In her purse, she could feel Kheaa quivering, and she drew strength from his presence, forcing herself to breathe slowly and regularly. "Hello, Thiïerry," she greeted him evenly. "I… didn't expect to see you here today."

Thierry started, nearly dropping his kabob in shock. Spinning around to face her, he barely managed to save his kabob from falling to the ground. "Leïla? I–" he coughed, his face going pale. "I… didn't expect to see you here, either… although I probably should have… but I didn't know this was your mosque – I, um, I don't even know if you live around here…"

"I live a couple blocks over," Leïla explained, pointing in roughly that direction with her kabob.

M. Semoun cocked his head, his eyes widening curiously. "Oh? You two know each other?"

"Not too well," Thierry admitted, giving Leïla an apologetic grimace.

"We were in collège together," Leïla explained. "Until we graduated last month." She eyed him warily. "So, what brings you here?"

Thierry shrugged noncommittally. "I just…" He let out a breath. "I guess I wanted to learn more – about your culture, I mean. I didn't know anything about your culture, so…" He shrugged, looking away.

Leïla's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded, chuckling wryly. "The food is good," he added. "So I guess… maybe the rest is, too?"

Leïla let out a breath and nodded, her stomach unclenching. "I'd be happy to answer any questions you have!" she told him, pulling her hijab back down and taking another bite of her kabob.

"Thank you," he responded, looking around as she led the way down the street. "I guess one question," he began, hustling to keep up. "The service: was that the normal way it would go?"

Stifling a laugh, she shook her head. "Not exactly," she explained. "Normally it's inside, and it's only men or only women. And there would be more time for prayer. And more kneeling… But my father said the imam wished to have something outside for everyone, in addition to the prayer service inside…"