To Lyger 0: Well, they've got to get in on the fun, too, right?

To Get: Marta will definitely have a different view of things after this.

Woodenly, the Deaconess strode down the alley toward the spot where Cerna had fallen to the ground, holding her quarterstaff limply in one hand – grateful for its support. Her eyes shifted back and forth repeatedly between Cerna and Agent Cocteau, still struggling to wrap her head around this unexpected turn of events. The agent still stood over Cerna, one hand on the grip of the strange pistol that he had returned to its holster on his hip. His nostrils flared, a flash of triumph in his eyes as he looked down at the immobilized Cerna. At his feet, Cerna let out a low snarl, her words muffled by the ground. The Deaconess stared at her friend, transfixed, and paused less than a pace away from her friend, leaning on her quarterstaff.

How had she missed it?

"Excellent." Cocteau didn't take his eyes off Cerna as he spoke, watching her like a captured deer. A van bearing the markings of a delivery company pulled forward to fully block the view of the alley, the side door already ajar. A couple of quiet voices could be heard from within, the sound of radio chatter. Mistral's voice came over the radio in the Deaconess's ear, but she hardly heard the words as Mistral reported the streets around them to still be clear for the moment.

Hearing Cerna's muffled string of invectives, the Deaconess gingerly crouched next to her and rolled her onto her side. Cerna froze as she spotted the Deaconess, forcing her lips shut. Her eyes narrowed, and she gave the Deaconess a reproachful glare. "Some friend you are…" Cerna managed to grunt out, her eyes narrowing.

"I–" The Deaconess swallowed, looking away from Cerna toward Cocteau. Someone groaned behind her down the alley, and Jean the Jack stumbled to his feet, one of le Caporal's arms draped over his shoulders, and leaned against the brick wall. For his part, le Caporal hung off of Jean the Jack without protest, wiping blood from his lip with his free hand. They were her team. The Deaconess glanced back down at Cerna and cleared her throat. "I didn't know…" she began. But the words died in her throat on seeing the betrayal and hurt in Cerna's eyes.

That wasn't true, was it? The truth was, she had known – deep down, she'd realized what the rats and cats meant. Cocteau had expected the animals to behave strangely, and he had told her to follow them for a reason. When she had found Cerna, something in the back of her mind had triggered – Cocteau hadn't been surprised that she had run into her. She should have realized at that point: they were there for Cerna. But before any of it had really registered, Jean the Jack and le Caporal had attacked her, driving her down the alleyway toward Cocteau, who had captured her. By every metric, the Deaconess should be happy. Now, another miraculous (ab)user was going to be off the street. No one would use the Reindeer Miraculous ever again. Thanks to her – her and her team. This was exactly what the Deaconess had hoped to accomplish when she had come to Paris.

So… why didn't this feel like a victory?

"I tried to rescue you…" Cerna whispered, the consonants slurring slightly as she struggled to move her mouth. "H–how… how could you?"

The Deaconess blinked, looked away.

"Cerna." Cocteau folded his arms. "You've been on my radar for quite some time," he observed, a calculating look in his eye. "According to our sources, all the criminal miraculous users who have been operating in Paris over the last two years have a story – family miraculous, grunt promoted to get a miraculous, threatened into it… All of them have a story… except two. And my sources suggest that the other one is out of the country. Which leaves you."

"Vittu." Cerna's nostrils flared.

Cocteau gave her an amused look. "You asked Mlle Montes how she escaped prison?" he asked, leaning over and looking her in the eye. The Deaconess stiffened. Cocteau raised an eyebrow. "It's very simple. She didn't escape; she cut a deal: time off for 'good behavior.' That means she works for me. And now, so do you."

Cerna's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The hell I do."

Cocteau's mouth set in a thin line. "I'm not in the business of offering. I didn't go to all this trouble just to arrest you and throw you in prison; that would be a waste of talent. No, I'm recruiting for this 'team,' and at the moment, I'm looking at my next recruit: a miraculous user."

The Deaconess froze in place, staring at Cocteau. That's what this was about? He was trying to recruit Tanja for his "PenaLegion"? She had already known that he didn't care about restoring balance by preventing miraculous abuse, but this was so much worse than anything the Deaconess had imagined. Cocteau hadn't targeted Cerna to take the miraculous away from her and prevent its use. Far from it; he wanted it to be used!

But, then, how much different was this from the Archimandrite's arrangement with the Lynchpin?

"Painu vittuun," Cerna retorted, leveling Cocteau with a withering glare. "There's no way I'm joining you – and especially not after this. I'm not looking for a 'team-up' at the moment; the last time I tried something like that, it blew up in my face when that huora, Lila Rossi, tried to literally blow up Paris!"

Cocteau's mouth set in a thin line. "Mlle Rossi is not a part of this program."

Cerna snorted. "At least you have some standards."

"You seem to be under the impression that this is a discussion," he told her curtly. "I assure you, it is not."

Cerna's eyes narrowed defiantly.

With a sigh, Cocteau glanced over at Jean the Jack. "Get her in the van," he ordered. "We'll continue this when we get somewhere secure."

"Beg all you want," Cerna growled, her limbs quivering as she strained against the chi-putty holding her in place. "There's no way in hell I'm working for you!"

Cocteau's eyes flashed as he turned his attention back to her. "You misunderstand," he told her. "I want your miraculous for my team. Whether or not you are still attached to it is inconsequential. Although," he mused, "in that case, you'll have to remain in solitary confinement permanently…"

"Over my dead body!"

"Very well." Cocteau shrugged. "I do need a way to explain the 'new' miraculous user… how better than the death of the old one. Perhaps tied back to the Dark Acolytes?" He pursed his lips in thought, giving the Deaconess an evaluating look.

The Deaconess' eyes widened. Her breathing hitched. "Sir?"

"Mistrust between the Dark Acolytes and remaining 'Lynchpin-ions' only furthers our cause." Cocteau gave the furious Cerna another look. "Do it in a way that it's unmistakably Dark Acolyte work."

Swallowing anxiously, the Deaconess knelt next to Cerna, placing a hand on her shoulder. Despite the chi-putty holding her frozen in place, Cerna seemed to recoil from the touch – she'd never done that before. Steeling herself, the Deaconess removed her ceremonial knife from its sheath at her hip. Nothing much to look at unless one knew what it was – hardly large enough to be effective in combat – the design, passed down through the millennia, rendered a blade sharper than the obsidian would normally render. When an adept user focused all their chi into it, it could not pierce a miraculous suit, but it would separate the miraculous (ab)user from their miraculous, force the Kwami from the miraculous so the miraculous could be removed. She gripped the weapon tightly, breathing slowly and deeply to hone her chi down to the sharpened point necessary for this delicate procedure.

"I thought you were my friend…"

The Deaconess looked away from Cerna's face, trying to block out the hurt and betrayal and fear in her eyes. Cerna was her friend – the first and only one she had made since leaving the Temple and coming to Paris. They had come from different backgrounds, different countries, different continents. But they were both orphans, with no one left except the family that had taken them in. And for all of that, they had come to an understanding, forged a friendship. Cerna had saved her life several times, and the Deaconess had done the same in return. Even though Cerna used a miraculous – and "all miraculous use is abuse" – she wasn't really a bad person. Since they had met, the Deaconess had wanted nothing more than to convince Cerna to relinquish the miraculous, to stop putting the balance of the world into jeopardy just for the sake of temporary power. For her part, Cerna had never wanted to give it up; so, yes, this was her one chance to get the miraculous away from Cerna. But still. Did that mean Cerna deserved to die? Her friend?

And for that matter, what was the alternative? If the Deaconess killed Cerna and took her miraculous from her, then what? Then she would have to give it to Agent Cocteau, and he would just find someone else to wield the miraculous. And then, they would be in the exact same position again, with the miraculous still in the hands of an (ab)user. But it wouldn't be the same position, would it? It would be a different person holding the miraculous, using the miraculous, perhaps abusing the Kwami it contained. Because Cerna would be dead. At the Deaconess' hands.

The Deaconess slowly breathed, continuing to focus on her chi, but shifted the focus from one hand to the other. Instead of the cool stone of the blade, she could sense Cerna herself, her own chi mingling with that of the miraculous she wore around her neck – a deeper pool of chi energy that tapped into something far greater than the Deaconess or Cerna herself. And the Deaconess could sense a small mote of… something – like a spot of darkness in the middle of a swirling ocean of light – clinging to Cerna's chest. The piece of darkness held her attention for a long moment.

Suddenly, Cerna burst to her feet, nearly headbutting the Deaconess as the rose, grabbed for the piece of chi-putty and flung it aside, and spun to face the Deaconess, just as Jean the Jack stumbled forward with a surprised yelp. Cocteau fumbled to draw his pistol but it couldn't clear his holster quickly enough. Jean the Jack lunged at Cerna, his legs catching something on the ground. Ducking below Jean the Jack's arms, Cerna jumped backward to the top of the van just as a wad of chi-putty spattered on the brick wall behind where Cerna had been. Cerna landed on the van without slowing down and dropped down on the other side of it just as Cocteau fired another wad of chi-putty over the van, into the space where she had been moments before. Less than a second later, the footsteps faded away.

"I lost her," grumbled Mistral, after a moment's pause.

"Damnit!" shouted Cocteau, before turning on the Deaconess. "What the hell just happened!?"

Still staring where Cerna had disappeared, trying to bring her breathing under control, the Deaconess shrugged. "Must be the gun," she told him. "If you'd told me your plan, I could have warned you. Chi-putty can lose its potency, unless a Dark Acolyte is the one handling it."

He pursed his lips. "I see."