Paris had become putrid, but Marinette was already missing the polluted sky and stilted air. She'd gotten to see the city for an hour or two before being forced back into the sewers, and she was more than a little peeved.

It worked well for her, funnily enough. The irritation did wonders to overwhelm how shell-shocked she felt as they plodded along. Her body jittered with every step, like she was still at the point of detonation, the explosion rattling her. She hadn't felt it right away, it had been a delayed sensation that slowly crept in the more time she was given to think, to let her mind wonder back to that moment.

Just the memory of Meltdown's distant bang, it was enough to make her shiver, to remind her of her 'death' and subsequent imprisonment. And these walls, these dirty, rundown walls that bent inward to create such a deceptively narrow tunnel; her mind's eye saw them moving, closing in on her, wrapping around and choking her.

She fought against the urge to blink, keeping her eyes wide and dry. Because every time her eye lids closed the darkness cleared away, wrapped in flames and draped around her like an anchor. Because when one sense was blocked out, the others doubled their efforts, searing her nose with ashes that weren't there, numbing her tongue with an invisible pressure, and teasing her ears with every slight noise that could almost be mistaken for the boom that would bring her to her knees.

Marinette hated the sewers. She wanted to go back up to the surface, where it was wide and open, where she could escape, where she didn't have to hold her breath and double check that it was only her shadow following her.

The only thing that could ease the rapid thumping of her heartbeat was a distraction, so her eyes fell to Juleka's arm again, watching as the girl cautiously squeezed it. "How's your arm?"

"Stings." Juleka huffed, every inch of her face sagging with exhaustion. "Like, a lot."

She looked back over to Gabriel, who was idly looking over the architecture with way more interest than a sewer tunnel ever deserved. In a flash, those sagging features tightened with tension. "How's he doing?"

"Fine, I think?" Marinette said shortly, groaning internally at the idea of her playing the 'Hawkmoth Whisperer' for everyone they meet by this point. "It's not hard to tell. He tends to get really whiney when something's actually up."

Juleka gestured her head in Gabriel's direction, "That's… That's weird, right?"

"He's always weird?" Marinette answered, though in a way that sounded more like a question. He was weird, that was indisputable, but the weighted edge to Juleka's voice suggested there was something more important catching her eye.

And apparently, it was obvious enough that Marinette failing to catch on made Juleka groan. "Marinette, he got blasted through two walls and splashed with acid." She said in a hushed whisper, leaning in close. "He should not be 'fine'."

Marinette opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She just suddenly thought back to how many times she hit him across the head with a metal pipe, or how he got thrown around and slam dunked by the Senti-Sentry and still managed to keep his wits about him. He was… Weird.

Eventually, all Marinette could do was look away. "Maybe he's built like a cockroach." She muttered.

"Marinette…"

Marinette crossed her arms, turning back to scowl at Juleka. With an exasperated growl, she spat out "I don't know what else you want me to say. There's not exactly any available explanations other than he got lucky."

Instantly, shame fell over her, watching as Juleka jumped back in surprise at Marinette's sudden snapping. It wasn't something Marinette had intended; it had been almost instinctual. A petulant part of her was annoyed at Juleka for questioning her like this. She came for a distraction; she came for the comfort of an old friend after too long spent with the worst man in the universe.

The questions, they just hurt, they just made her feel stupid, like she was missing the obvious, and that irritation bubbled up into bile she wielded like a whip. Her mind wanted it to be like old times, for Juleka to tease her about something dumb she did, or talk about each other's relationships, or just argue about all the nonsense that doesn't matter.

"I didn't mean to-" Marinette gritted her teeth and sighed, "Sorry, Jules."

Juleka stared back at Marinette, searching her gaze for a moment before sighing. "How do you know he's even the real deal?"

Marinette's eyes narrowed, "You think he's a senti?" Without skipping a beat she shook her head, almost chuckling at the very notion. "Trust me, that's Hawkmoth. Even magic can't accurately replicate that disaster of a person."

She had no doubt about that response. She knew that the man standing behind her was the one she'd been fighting her entire career, the real deal, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she'd know if he wasn't.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

Juleka stuffed her hands in her pockets, peering ahead. "I hope you're right."

Marinette's brow quirked up. "Do you?"

"I…" A noise left her mouth, but Marinette couldn't tell whether it was a whimper or a giggle before a sigh drowned it out. "Think so?"

Gabriel stuck his head between them the moment it was clear their topic was dead in the water. One part of Marinette worried that he'd been listening to them the entire time despite their whispers, but another part could totally buy that he had an inherent sense of when people stopped talking about him.

"I think I've seen enough damp, dark sewer tunnels to last a lifetime." He said, "How far away are we?"

Juleka turned a corner, ushering them through a metal gate that led them into an even more cramped all. "Just through here."

However, they only got a few feet forward before coming face-to-face with a brick wall.

Gabriel craned his neck around, expecting some sort of practical joke to be revealed. "A dead end?"

"That's strange, it's not supposed to be blocked off." Juleka spluttered, leaping forward to feel up the wall. She tried to play it cool, but Marinette could hear the desperate huffs escaping her every few seconds. "Lemme see here."

Gabriel gave a disgusted tut of a man who just found a fly in his food. "I hope there's no trouble." He grumbled, "We just got settled."

Marinette hummed, "Speaking of trouble, you'd think we'd have run into it by now."

"What do you mean?"

"This is the entrance to a resistance base." She explained, holding up Juleka's torch to get a better look at their surroundings. "You'd think we'd have seen a guard."

She scrunched up her face, thinking. "Or a booby trap."

And then everything went black, the flashlight fizzling out.

And then something, multiple somethings even, jumped down by the entrance and made a big splash.

"Or an-"

Gabriel hissed, "Don't you say it."

But the last neuron in Marinette's brain had to finish before a blunt, wooden something crashed into the back of her head. "An ambush."

Past

Nathalie had many memories she kept locked away in the back of her head. Special memories she reserved to only bring into the light on special occasions, when she could appreciate them most. And usually, she was good about keeping them locked down, keeping herself calm and steeled unless it was one of those occasions.

But lost to a sea of darkness with a throbbing pain in her stomach, floating listlessly in her subconscious, her mind couldn't help but let one of them out. A comfortable memory of a room, her old apartment, where a much younger version of herself, before she even had the streak in her hair, was bound to her bed in the aftermath of some terrible tumble.

He was there, sitting by her side, clasping her hand, unaware that she was awake and watching him behind a light blush. She was sad to admit that Gabriel Grassete's presence still drew her in so easily, the kinder gaze offered by his younger counterpart like a warm blanket draped over her shoulders.

"You shouldn't be here, Sir." Nathalie heard herself mumble, knowing that the moment he let go she'd feel cold again.

"I tend to do a lot of things that I shouldn't."

Nathalie didn't know when she grew fond of the young man that her charge had taken on as a partner in crime. She didn't know when she longed for his gaze to grow soft as it landed on her. She just knew that right now, feeling his fingers wrap around her own, squeezing her gently, like she was the most precious stone he couldn't let go of, turned her mask of ice into a blushing mess only saved by the shade cast over her bed.

"I'm sorry about the dress." She huffed, the shame dragging her gaze to the chair across from her, where a clump of torn sapphire fabric hung from the backboard. It had taken the brunt of the fall.

"Oh that?" He glanced over his shoulder, humming. "That'll just be a quick patch job."

"You shouldn't waste your time on it."

"There you go again, telling me what I shouldn't do." He clicked his tongue, his voice dropping to a deeper octave that echoed in Nathalie's mind and kicked up her heartbeat. "I'm not Colt, you needn't worry about how I spend my time."

She wanted to come out and express her concern as a friend, that she didn't want to be a bother to him, but the words could never form. They were too personal a sentiment. She could only do professional. "Ah, but as a close associate of my charge, how your actions reflect on your partnership does concern me."

He offered her a coy grin. "Tough luck. I've already envisioned your perfect dress, and I will not rest until I see you shining in it."

He didn't care if she'd only wore it once, he didn't care if she ever wore it in public, he just wanted to see her in the finished product, wrapped in his dreams. It utterly boggled Nathalie's mind and confused her heart, how he could speak with such passion for another woman while the love of his life was in the other room, how he could look at her so fondly and not see what he was doing to her, that he could trust her so much that he'd pull her into his world of fashion.

"Gabriel, I hope you're not keeping that poor woman up." Emilie's voice called over. "Nathalie needs rest."

Gabriel pouted, "I'm just making sure she has everything she needs."

Soon enough, Emilie's head popped into the room. Her eyes narrowed. And suddenly Nathalie felt ashamed, like she'd just been caught committing a terrible crime.

Gabriel couldn't see Nathalie's affection. However, Emilie could make it out clear as day.

In seconds, Emilie had crossed the room and draped herself over Gabriel's shoulder. She smiled sweetly, so sweet that it strained the rest of her face to maintain. "We must be going now, Sweetheart."

"Are you sure we can't re-schedule? Nathalie might need-"

"What she needs is for you to stop talking her ear off." Emilie grasped his chin, pulling him into a fierce kiss. However, Nathalie was made acutely aware of how Emilie's scowl remained on her throughout the exchange, how possessively Emilie's fingers clung to Gabriel's exposed jaw and practically ripped him away from the bed. "Your mind is brilliant, my love, but also often overwhelming. You'll give her a headache."

Nathalie turned her head away, unable to keep up with Emilie's gaze. Part of her wanted to be offended, but Emilie had every right to send a message when Nathalie was being so… So foolish. "She's right, Gabriel."

She covered up the shake to her voice with a cough. "I'm holding you up enough as it is. Besides, I can call Colt if I really need anything." Colt had offered her free reign on his 'medicine' cabinet (a.k.a, the alcohol cupboard) if she needed something to dull the pain, and she was seriously tempted right now. And it wasn't a cheap gesture either, Colt was usually very protective of the good stuff, engraved the cabinet with 'Colt H. Fathom' and everything.

Gabriel relented, pulling away and- Oh yes, the chill crept in quick the moment their hands separated. "I guess so. Just makes sure that, if anything happens, that oaf calls an actual doctor instead of trying to force feed you some monstrosity miracle medicine he got from the bar."

The further away he got, the darker the world became. Until his shape was blurred, the details stripped, leaving only a vague, unknowable blob.

However, eventually, the blob returned to her side, the darkness peeled back and a new set of eyes, looking more similar to Emile's than Gabriel's, stared down at her. They were wide with fear, backed by a hopeful, but panicked breathing.

The darkness was ripped away completely, and Nathalie was back in her bed at Agreste Mannor, staring up into a view blocked by the back of Adrien's head.

"Mhm, Adrien? Is that you?" She murmured weakly.

"Nathalie!" He whirled around, knocking over his chair in a mad dash to the bed. There was a mad, desperate glint to his eyes, framed by a face flushed red and gleaming with sweat as he collapsed at her bedside, snatching her hand in his own and pressing it to his forehead. "I thought… I thought…"

Nathalie stretched her fingers out, running them down the side of his face under they rested on his cheek. Soft, soothing shushing noises escaped her lips, watching him lean his head into her touch. "I'm fine, Adrien. He only left bruises, nothing broken."

Adrien's brow tightened into a scowl, and for a split second he looked so much like his father. "He threw you off a building."

Without missing a beat, "And you caught me."

"Barely." He spat out, exasperation and disappointment poisoning his voice with bile. "I can't believe you, of all people, did something so… So… So stupid!"

"Adrien-"

"No!" He cried, his grip on her hand ironclad. "You can't do stuff like that! You don't even have a miraculous to protect you."

Her free hand lashed out like a bullwhip, two fingers striking his nose in a forceful, but not damaging, and scolding gesture, causing Adrien's body to shrink like he was a boy once more. "I'll remind you that powerless I may be, I'm still a fully grown adult who's been facing death before you were even born."

She fixed him with narrow eyes and her scathing tone, "You were only a boy who had no idea of the power he welded when he decided to throw himself at a giant stone monster."

Adrien's scowl weathered her words well, a fire burning bright behind his eyes as he took on an uncharacteristically cold voice. "It isn't the same as fighting Defect."

"Adrien, I told you, I'm fine."

"You don't know that." His grip on her hand tightened, his fingers trembling slightly. His eyes flickered with a mix of guilt, frustration, and overwhelming concern. The look in his eyes told her that his worry wouldn't disappear so easily. He'd already lost too much. The world had taken so much from him already, and Nathalie knew that her safety was just another thread in the fragile tapestry of his life.

Suddenly, he ripped his hand away, his voice loud and horse as he paced about the room erratically. "You know how many times I've heard that? You're fine, but then you're not. You get sick again, you collapse, you get hurt, you..." A shrill beat punctuated by his ever-increased huffing, filling Nathalie's ears with the constant of his lungs choking on his fears. "You… You could-"

He collapsed, his knees crumbling against the carpet with nothing to support his overwhelming heart. The tears he'd been holding back since he caught her, the tears he pushed away while he watched over her, they rose to the surface and broke freely as glimmering streams dripping down his cheeks.

"I can't do it again, Nathalie." He whimpers, his hands fruitlessly groping the air, hoping that for one moment he'd feel the hands of his mother, of his father, of his Marinette, reaching for him. "I just can't."

For a moment, he seemed dead. His eyes glazed over, empty and his body as still as the grave. Nathalie shuffled through the covers, attempting to reach out for him, but that act alone seemed to trigger his awakening, suddenly finding colour to his eyes as he jumped up and pushed her back down.

He leered over her, making the bright red rings around his eyes all the more pronounced, his lips, as well as his voice, trembling with every word "I need you to promise me you won't pull any more stunts like that."

"I'm sorry, Sir." Nathalie exhaled deeply, feeling the tight pull of his anguish in her chest. She wanted to give him the comfort he so desperately sought, to take away his fear, but she couldn't lie to him. Not about this. "That's one order I can't follow."

Adrien's breath hitched as Nathalie's words lingered in the air. His eyes, wide with disbelief, locked onto hers. He straightened up, taking a step back from the bed as if the distance might make the reality of her refusal easier to swallow.

"You... You have to," he stammered, his voice trembling with the weight of desperation. "I'm not asking, Nathalie. I'm begging."

For a moment, the room was filled only with Adrien's ragged breaths. Nathalie's heart clenched at the sight of him, so burdened by loss, by the weight of expectations that were never his to carry. He was too young to be so broken, too kind to suffer this way.

"Why?" His voice cracked.

She reached for his hand again, grasping it gently but firmly. "Because I can't do it again either."

Adrien's lips quivered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity, searching for something — anything — that would ease the storm inside him. But deep down, he knew. He knew she was telling him the truth, as much as it hurt.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath and collapsed back into the chair beside her bed, his face buried in his hands. "I hate this," he muttered. "I hate that we have to live like this."

Nathalie's fingers gently stroked his hair, her touch soothing despite the heaviness that hung between them. "I know," she whispered. "But you're not alone in this, Adrien. You'll never be alone again."

A gentle knock on the door broke between them before Adrien could reply, the door opening slightly to reveal Luka's face. "Should I come back later?" He asked.

Adrien looked back to Nathalie, an emotion on the tip of his tongue but no words to give it life. He sighed and shook his head, pushing off and away from the bed. "No, Luka. It's fine."

The door swung open, revealing Luka's back as he carried a tray into the room, followed quickly after by Tikki, Plagg and Sass.

Plagg had his tiny paws crossed, scowling at Tikki with a glare that mimic'd his holder's. "I still don't get why we had to stay outside."

Tikki growled, exasperated. "They were having a moment, Plagg!"

Plagg rolled his eyes, huffing as he flew down and settled on Adrien's shoulder. "I was having a moment with my cheddar platter, but I didn't see you letting me finish before you kicked me out of the kitchen."

Luka ignored the squabbling duo, grinning down at Nathalie as he slid the tray over her bedside table, revealing a fine fry up of bacon, eggs and sausages. "We thought you might wake up with an empty stomach."

Tikki coughed quite aggressively, causing Luka to suddenly go stiff.

"Oh yeah," He continued slowly, gesturing to a stack of misshapen macaroons next to the plate. "And Tikki also decided to try her hand at baking…"

Nathalie's brow furrowed, noting how distant Luka's eyes became. Hesitantly, she asked, "Is something wrong, Luka?"

Behind him, Adrien and Plagg were sniggering, much to Luka's dismay. "Luka was helping her cook." Adrien leaned closer, propping his elbow up on Luka's shoulder as the other boy glared at him. "You didn't hear it, but Tikki was apparently a mini-Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen."

Plagg sighed wistfully. "I didn't know Sugarcube was capable of so many swear words."

"It was scary." Luka said with a completely straight face.

Nathalie was polite enough to hide her giggle at Luka's misfortune behind her hand. "Well, it looks wonderful."

Nathalie let a smile tug at her lips as she watched the young group bicker and laugh around her. Despite the weight of the recent battle and the close call she had just endured, it was moments like these that reminded her that she made the right choice.

She accepted the plate Luka had offered her, even daring to sample one of Tikki's misshapen macaroons, which was more an act of bravery than anything else.

As Nathalie leaned back against her pillows, she noticed an odd sight at the corner of the room: a single apple sitting on a small stand, with various jagged holes etched into it and the skin dotting the stand like the aftermath of an explosion.

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Adrien. "What's with the apple over there?"

Adrien followed her gaze and smirked sheepishly. "Oh, that's a new training exercise from Su-Han. I'm trying to make my Cataclysm more precise by using it to take off layers of fruit."

Nathalie's eyebrows shot up, and Luka, biting into his own breakfast, couldn't help but chuckle. "It is not going too well," Luka added, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Adrien rolled his eyes. "You're lucky you missed my first attempt." He sighed dramatically, looking over at Nathalie with an exaggerated expression of grief. "Banana guts... Everywhere."

Nathalie stifled a laugh, trying to imagine the scene. Maybe it was just the injuries or the mood, but Nathalie found it difficult to keep up her stone demeanour.

Just as the room fell into a comfortable rhythm of quiet conversations, Luka turned his gaze back to Nathalie with a grateful expression.

"Oh, Nathalie?" he began, shifting slightly as if unsure how to approach the topic. "Thanks for the save. It was the second time I'd been paralyzed this month and... well, it's scarier than you'd think."

"Anytime, Luka." Nathalie, ever the steady presence, nodded. "What happened after I passed out?"

Adrien sighed, crossing his arms and glancing away. "Defect got away," he muttered, the frustration thick in his voice, caged by hot breath and bitter bile. "And he's not gonna fall for the same plan twice, so Nathalie got hurt for nothing."

"We beat the akuma, that's not nothing," Luka quickly corrected, ever the optimist.

"And thanks to Nathalie, we know more about our enemy than we did before," Tikki added in her gentle but firm tone.

Nathalie nodded. "Next time Defect comes at us, he won't be able to trick us now that we know what his powers are."

Luka grasped Adrien's shoulder, sending a small smile his way. "Deception and diversion are Chrysalis and Defect's greatest weapons," he said, "The less we have to guess about, the weaker they are."

"They're right, Adrien," Nathalie chimed in softly, her voice reassuring. "We accomplished a lot."

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, visibly conflicted. "I just wish our accomplishments didn't come at a cost," he muttered, lowering his gaze. "I mean, what would I tell Paul if Nathalie broke her nose or something?"

Nathalie's eyebrows lifted in surprise, blinking. "You know about Paul?"

Adrien stiffened, eyes wide with panic. "I wasn't spying on you, I swear!" he blurted out quickly. "Me and Kagami just so happened to meet while you were on your date."

"Oh," Nathalie replied, trying to suppress a chuckle at Adrien's panicked response.

Adrien cleared his throat awkwardly, still looking flustered. "W-Which I'm completely cool with, by the way."

"You are?" Nathalie asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yes! Of course!" Adrien rushed to clarify, voice stumbling slightly. "Why wouldn't I be? I mean, why would my opinion on it even matter? You have a life outside of me."

Nathalie shook her head slightly, amused. "Then I'm sure you won't be interested to know that it didn't work out."

"Oh no, really?" Adrien said in the most unconvincing monotone he could muster. Though, after a second of thought, his expression broke out and his eyes narrowed. His tone shifted to concern. "Wait, he didn't treat you wrong, did he?"

"No, no," Nathalie reassured, waving her hand dismissively. "He was the perfect gentleman. We just... Didn't click."

Adrien relaxed, though some tension remained in his posture. Nathalie offered a small smile. "I suppose I just have a very specific taste in men," she said with a dry chuckle. "He didn't scowl at the general population quite like your father."

Adrien's face turned a shade darker, visibly embarrassed. "I meant what I said before, you know?" he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck again. "If you find someone who makes you happy, go for it. I might feel protective and... weird about it, but you shouldn't hold back on happiness for a dead man's sake."

"I know, Adrien," Nathalie replied, her tone soft and genuine. "But I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless."

Adrien's gaze softened as he looked back at her, his eyes searching hers for a moment. Nathalie smiled gently. "And even if I do find that special man one day," she continued, her voice quiet but firm, "you will still be my priority."

Adrien shook his head slightly, clearly touched but also uncomfortable with the idea. "You don't need to do that, Nathalie."

Nathalie's expression didn't waver. "It's not something I choose, really,"

She let her smile shine through, staring into his eyes. She thought she'd see Emilie or Gabriel in those eyes, but she only saw him, she only saw the boy she never wanted to see lose his smile.

"It's just what I know."

Present

Marinette was dragged back to the land of the living by a hand of ice grabbing her by the head, frozen fingers tearing through her hair and ripping her eyes open. She was in a dark office space, her hands cuffed behind her back, pressed against a larger body that she assumed to be Gabriel.

At eye level, she faced a bucket, it's cold contents currently drenching her hair and torso. Behind the bucket was the sneer of greasy-looking man framed by oily sideburns.

"Wake up, Dolly." He cackled with an almost sing-song tone, wearing an eager grin.

Marinette's vision swayed; the edges blurred by the memory of whatever blunt instrument used her head as a wack-a-mole pawn. "Da heaaal dud you duust cawl me?" She murmured, slurring her words.

Suddenly, a flashlight was shined in her face, overpowering all other details of her vision with a burning pain. She tried to tear her eyes away, but there was only so much she could do while her body was chained.

From behind the light, another, more familiar, more authoritative voice barked. "We'll be asking the questions here, you Senti-Freaks!"

Yes, she could pick up that booming, yet unsure drill sergeant tone-of-voice anywhere. And when she squinted, and the flashlight lowered for the briefest of reliefs, she could just make out his wide figure and red hair peeking through the dark. Sabrina's father, Roger Raincomprix.

"Mr. Raincomprix?" Marinette groaned, trying to lean her body further forward, desperate for him to see her. "Don't you recognise me? It's Marinette!"

The unfamiliar man drew closer, baring his teeth at the bound, defenceless girl. "Heh, you must think we're really dumb."

"Oh, don't worry." Gabrie's voice was strained. He was grimacing, but his need to talk back overpowering any pain he was fighting against. "We know quite well how dumb you are."

Greaseball's smirk turned into a frown, the eager hatred in his eyes ignited as he ripped himself away from Marinette and stalked around her. A second later, Marinette was startled by the sharp, sickening crack of a fist meeting flesh. The dull thud reverberated through Gabriel's body, his restrained form jerking against Marinette's back. The air between them grew tense, the sound of the hit lingering in the room like the aftermath of a gunshot.

Marinette winced, turning her head slightly, trying to see Gabriel's face. He let out a low groan, his voice trembling with both pain and defiance.

"You think you can get away with insulting us?" the greasy man spat, his voice filled with venom. His fists clenched as he hovered over Gabriel, practically daring him to say another word.

Gabriel coughed, his voice dry but trying it's damndest to sound unfazed. His façade mattered more than the pain. "If the goal was to intimidate, you've already failed miserably."

"Hawky, you're not helping." Marinette hissed under her breath, horrified that he would provoke them even further. The last thing they needed right now was to make their captors angrier. But Gabriel, stubborn and prideful as ever, clearly had no intentions of backing down.

Roger Raincomprix stepped forward, his face a mask of cold indifference, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. He looked between Marinette and Gabriel, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to piece something together, yet couldn't quite put the puzzle in place. "Better stow the lip before I bust yours."

She could so easily imagine Gabriel grinning through a bloody mouth. His voice was calm, though strained. "And what good would that do you?"

Marinette winced as Roger spat venomously, his voice dripping with hostility. "It'd make me feel damn good."

From behind her, she could feel Gabriel tense slightly, and she knew what was coming before he even spoke. Greaseball with a sadistic glee that sent a chill down her spine, eyeing them both like prey. "Been itching to see one of you senti bastards bleed," he growled, inching closer, fists clenched.

Gabriel, true to form, rolled his eyes. "A cute threat, but like most of your career, utterly pointless. Think for a second, you oaf. If we were sentimonsters, a beating from a mortal, middle-aged blowhard is hardly going to do anything."

Marinette groaned, feeling Gabriel shift behind her as he tried to lean away from Greaseball incoming punch. She elbowed him in the back, frustration seeping into her voice. "Can you please just stop talking?!"

Gabriel's voice was steady, infuriatingly calm. "Tell me I'm wrong, Bug."

Roger scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of them, incredulity written across his face. "So, what, you want us to believe that you two have been dead for two years?" He and Greaseball exchanged a glance before bursting into raucous laughter. "You guys look ugly, but you don't look that ugly."

Marinette pursed her lips, offended and confused. "Oh, come the—All I've done is sit here, why am I getting the group insult?"

She tried to shift closer to Roger, but the cuffs held her firmly in place. Desperation tinged her voice as she pleaded, "Mr. Raincomprix, listen to me. You know me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Roger didn't respond, his face a mask of indifference. Marinette's heart raced, the situation slipping further out of her control. "I was your daughter's tutor for a couple of months," she continued, her voice rising in urgency. "I-I made your suit for you and your wife's wedding anniversary!"

Still, nothing. She let out an exasperated gasp, her patience fraying. "For Pete's sake, you came to my parents' bakery every week for the exact same order of croissants and doughnuts!"

Roger's gaze faltered for a moment, and he crouched down, bringing his face level with hers. His eyes flickered with doubt, a conflict playing out in the silence between them. Marinette couldn't tell if her truth was helping or making things worse.

"So, you're really Marinette?" Roger asked slowly, his voice quieter now, tinged with uncertainty.

"Yes!" Marinette replied quickly, her breath hitching in relief.

Roger nodded slightly, his eyes shifting toward Gabriel. "And that's..." He gestured to the man behind her with a cautious, grimacing glance. As if he feared even acknowledging the man would bring forth an awful curse. "Hawkmoth?"

Marinette sighed, her voice flat with resigned exasperation. "Unfortunately."

Roger's nod became more deliberate. He tapped his partner on the shoulder, causing the greasy man to flinch slightly. "Hey, Bert?"

Greaseball – Bert, she supposed – paused, his knuckles still hovering near Gabriel's face. "Yeah?"

Roger gestured toward the door. "Go get the others. Tell 'em that it's good noose tonight."

Bert's eyes lit up with excitement, his earlier malice replaced by an almost childlike glee. "On it," he said with a laugh, his movements suddenly energized as he bolted out of the room.

Marinette slumped back against Gabriel, letting out a heavy sigh. "Thank god," she muttered, exhaustion in her voice. "Honestly, for a second there, I really thought you were gonna do something—"

"Bug," Gabriel growled, his voice tense.

Marinette, blissfully unaware, continued, "What?"

"It was a pun," Gabriel said through gritted teeth.

Marinette frowned, not fully understanding. "Oh?"

Then it clicked. Slowly, like a bad joke sinking in, the realization dawned on her.

"Oh," she repeated, the word stretching out as her face paled.

"Oh," she said again, the weight of the situation hitting her like a ton of bricks.

"Oh crap," she whispered, dread settling in.

Gabriel didn't like people. He didn't like a lot of people. He didn't like being confused, or not knowing every exit. He hated crowds, he hated listening to them, he hated them touching him; and he most certainly hated them manhandling him and throwing him around while he was blindfolded. "Hey, hey, hey- What's the big idea!?"

Every few steps he stumbled into a wall, bouncing back into the man pushing him along only to get ping-ponged back with equal fervour. And every time, he could hear Bert laugh at his pain and keep that grip tight enough to bruise.

A bit behind him, he could hear Marinette's shallow breathing and confused whimpering. A small part of his black, cold heart felt for the girl, for Paris' former idol being shown such rough treatment at the hands of the very people she protected. Gabriel was born into the ugly side of Paris, raised with the scum and the bums – He knew the score and tensed for the blows. But Marinette? She still had hope left to hurt, and innocence left to abuse.

She tried to speak, but the distant booming of an approaching crowd overpowered her. She had to yell louder to be heard over their unknown audience, her voice so shrill Gabriel could imagine it burning her throat. "I don't understand, where are you taking us?"

"Where else?" Bert yelled over to her, snorting "Where all criminals and traitors end up: The gallows."

The word hit Marinette like a blow, and Gabriel could practically feel her shudder behind him. His own stomach twisted at the idea. Gallows? Really? These fools actually thought they were doing some noble service, dragging them underground to a makeshift execution site? The sheer absurdity of it all was almost laughable—if it weren't so perilous.

The booming of the crowd grew louder as they descended deeper underground, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Gabriel had no idea where they were, but the suffocating dampness of the air told him they were far beneath the surface. He didn't like being underground, cut off from the light, from his control. He needed to know every exit, every possible escape route, and this blindfold was driving him mad.

Ahead, the jeers and taunts from the crowd became clearer, full of venom and righteous fury. Gabriel's heart pounded in his chest, not out of fear for himself, but at the indignity of it all. He was Gabriel Agreste. He did not bow to mobs. He was not dragged to his fate by peasants. He was not—

His thoughts were cut off when the sharp tug of the blindfold being ripped from his head brought the world rushing back into focus. Blinking against the sudden flood of light, Gabriel's vision adjusted to reveal the horrifying scene before him.

They were standing on a platform, a crude wooden gallows hastily assembled in the middle of a vast underground complex. The space was cavernous, illuminated by flickering lanterns that cast eerie shadows across the damp stone walls. Surrounding the platform was a sea of people—Parisians. Hundreds of them. Their faces twisted with hatred, their eyes wild with a mixture of fear and bloodlust.

The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers as Gabriel and Marinette's blindfolds were removed, their rage palpable. "Monsters!" someone shouted. "Kill the Senti-freaks!" another voice cried out, followed by a chorus of agreement.

Marinette gasped beside him, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of the noose hanging ominously above their heads. "No…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of the crowd. "This can't be happening…"

Roger left them, leaving to a platform off to the side that had erected benches made to look more akin to a court room. Ah, a trial taking place right next to the executioner's platform. How efficient. Gabriel bitterly thought.

Bert took the lead, dashing past them and jumping up to the front of the stage while men behind him stepped up to pull Gabriel and Marinette up to the dangling nooses. "Look what we got here, folks!" He called out gleefully.

The crowd responded with a wave of vicious chants and cries.

"Spies!" one voice bellowed.

"Trespassers!" another shouted.

Gabriel, the noose tightening uncomfortably around his throat, shot a glare at Bert before spitting out in frustration, "We're not spies, you idiots!"

Marinette, still reeling from the shock of it all, looked up at Gabriel as if willing him to stay quiet. But Gabriel couldn't help himself. He hated being silenced. His whole life had been about controlling the narrative, not being at the mercy of an angry mob.

"Bug, don't get quiet on me now. This is the perfect time for one of your nauseating speeches about unity," he snapped, hoping to get some reaction from her. Anything to keep her from retreating further into herself.

Bert, catching Gabriel's words, turned to the crowd with a mocking grin. "Sorry, but I don't think anyone around here is interested in listening to you two." He flicked his hand toward one of the guards, who promptly pushed the noose tighter around Gabriel's neck. "Besides, who'd believe you?"

Gabriel winced but didn't back down. "We're here to help," he snarled, though the word "help" felt foreign and distasteful in his mouth.

Bert threw his head back with a cruel laugh. "Hear that? They're here to help!" The crowd erupted in laughter, their jeers echoing off the stone walls. "But who are they gonna help? Themselves?"

Gabriel glared back at him, his voice tight with anger. "You're the resistance, right? You're supposed to protect Paris."

Bert's smile grew wider as he turned to the crowd, soaking in their energy. "Oh, you'll be doing us a big favour." The man next to Gabriel chuckled darkly, his grip on Gabriel's arm tightening.

"Yeah, this'll be great for morale," the guard muttered under his breath.

Gabriel's face twisted in disgust as he spat, "And you wonder why I don't want Adrien associating with these deranged lunatics."

Marinette finally snapped, her frustration bubbling over. "This is so not the time!" she hissed, her eyes narrowing at him.

Gabriel could hear her words, feel her anger, but in his head, he thought how typical it was for her to somehow ground him even in this twisted scenario. She had an annoying way of making him focus.

Bert, meanwhile, disappeared for a moment only to reappear atop a small podium that had been placed near the side of the gallows. He was now dressed in a ridiculous judge's robe, complete with a powdered wig that looked like it had been stolen from a bad costume party. He banged a gavel, the sound echoing throughout the underground chamber.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury," Bert called out with a flourish, "Court is in session!"

Gabriel's mouth fell open in disbelief. Of all the absurd things...

Bert sneered down at him and Marinette. "These two criminals stand accused of the worst crime: lacking in humanity! In being… Sentimonsters!"

The crowd exploded again, their rage filling the space with deafening noise. Gabriel's jaw clenched. He could feel Marinette trembling beside him, but he couldn't afford to comfort her now.

"We're not sentimonsters!" Marinette's voice cracked as she pleaded with them, her desperation spilling out. "We're human. I know it's hard to believe, but—"

"Silence!" Bert shouted, banging the gavel again. A guard loomed closer to Marinette, a warning in his menacing posture. "Interrupt me again, and you will be held in contempt."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Held in contempt? We're standing on a gallows, you buffoon, he thought bitterly.

Bert's voice dripped with mockery as he asked, "How do you plead?"

Gabriel, utterly fed up with the spectacle, huffed, "Innocent, obviously."

Bert leaned back, pretending to consider the plea. "Hmm, that's what they all say." He glanced dramatically at the crowd. "What say the jury, should we skip straight to the sentencing?"

"Here! Here!" the crowd chanted in unison.

Gabriel could feel his blood boiling. He raised his voice, booming over the crowd's noise. "What kind of kangaroo court is this?! I demand the representation of a defence attorney! At the very least, a fair trial should give us a chance to make our case."

The crowd fell quiet, taken aback by Gabriel's commanding tone. "Or have you cast out your so-called humanity in favour of savagery?" For a brief moment, no one seemed sure what to do. No one brave enough to voice their opinion or make a move until it was obvious what the majority was going with. Nobody wanted to go against the grain. After a while, all eyes fall on the judge, waiting expectantly for the answers

Bert sighed theatrically. "Fine," he said, clearly annoyed. "I will grant you an opportunity to defend yourselves. But I warn you, I will accept no nonsense."

Gabriel scowled. "What evidence do you have that any crime occurred?" he demanded. "So far, it seems like you have the same amount of evidence you'd need to accuse everyone here of being a sentimonster."

The crowd stirred again, angry murmurs sweeping through them like a wave. "How dare he!" someone shouted.

"String him up already!" another voice called out.

Bert banged the gavel again, silencing the crowd. "Order! Order!" He turned to Roger Raincomprix, who had been standing off to the side. "Bailiff, to the stand."

Roger stepped forward reluctantly, his face set in a grim expression. Gabriel could see the tension in his posture, the way he avoided looking at Marinette directly.

"Name."

"Roger Raincomprix."

"Occupation."

"Head of Security."

Bert motioned for Roger to speak. "Please divulge the evidence against the defendants."

Roger took a deep breath, his voice steady but uncertain. "Well, the obvious one is that Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Gabriel Agreste are dead. It is impossible for them to be here." He paused, looking toward the crowd as if seeking validation. "I signed the reports on their deaths myself."

The crowd murmured in agreement, nodding along. Gabriel watched with narrowed eyes, waiting for Roger to continue.

Bert leaned over the bench, curious eyes bearing down on the officer. "And is there any way that either's death could have been mis-informed?"

Roger shook his head. "No. Multiple witnesses oversaw the burial of Marinette's body. Even if she wasn't actually dead, she'd have suffocated in her own coffin."

"And what of Mr. Agreste?" Bert made a lazy gesture towards Gabriel, flicking his gavel back and forth. "His body was never found as far as I'm aware."

"True, but we did have one eyewitness for his death." He narrows his eyes, his words falling like an anvil with their decisive weight as he turned them on Marinette. "And she's currently one of the defendants."

Gabriel's heart pounded in his chest as the noose tightened again, cutting off his air and causing his vision to blur. The weight of the crowd's bloodlust hung as heavily as the rope around his neck. His mind raced, desperation clawing at him, but no brilliant plan, no miraculous solution appeared.

He could hear the roar of the crowd, their calls for execution—"Hanging's too good for 'em!"—echoing in his ears like a cacophony of hate. Faces swirled before his eyes, twisted with anger, their venomous fury directed solely at him and Marinette.

How did it come to this?

Bert, standing tall on his mock tribunal, slammed the gavel down again with renewed enthusiasm. He peered curiously down at Marinette, a sinister edge to his gaze. "Well, Miss Dupain-Cheng, did you lie to the police on your report of Mr. Agreste's passing?"

"W-Well, no."

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, making a loud, wet smacking sound that Gabriel's ears seemed extra sensitive to. "Then it seems that it is impossible for you two to be alive."

"Objection!" Gabriel cried out, eyeing up the man to his right who seemed far too eager to jump over to the lever that would plunge Marinette and Gabriel to their ends.

After a moment of reflection, just long enough to drag out Gabriel's squirming and satisft Bert, the judge nodded. "Sustained."

"We are dealing with forced beyond comprehension here." Gabriel explained, looking over the crowd, desperate to find a face that seemed to understand his words. "Is it really so hard to believe that magic was at play to bring us back from beyond the grave?"

A sigh, Bert almost sounded bored of Gabriel. "And do you know which 'magic' is responsible for your miraculous survival?"

"Well, no, but I hardly-"

The gavel came down like a hammer, smashing through whatever words Gabriel could spare.

"I see no reason to continue down this line of questioning with nothing but guesswork." Bert held the gavel out to point at Roger. "Carry on, Mr. Raincomprix."

Roger cleared his throat, pulling a piece of paper from behind his bench, holding it up high enough that Gabriel could glimpse pictures of the Liberty and the surrounding area, all filled with confused people and carnage. "Not only is it impossible for the defendants to be who they say they are, but we have eye-witness accounts of two sentimonsters and an akuma attacking the Liberty and making off with Juleka Couffaine."

He scratched his forehead, rushing to add in at the last minute. "Eventually we found Miss Couffaine, accosted by these two, trying to break into the base."

Bert turned his eyes to the crowd, making Gabriel wonder if Bert thought Juleka would be walking among the crowd instead of testifying. "And where is Miss Couffaine now?"

"In a holding cell pending investigation, your honour." Roger explained, bowing his head. "We fear that she might have been compromised by the sentimonsters."

The judge slowly craned his neck over the defendants, a sarcastic, self-satisfied sneer twisting his face like clay. "And what do you have to say to this evidence?"

Gasps ripped through the crowd on a wave of fear and loathing, a cloud so thick it almost choked Gabriel as much as the rope. He couldn't deny it with hunches and assumptions, it was much too visceral; he could feel the emotions.

He could feel the spite and bile that rose at just the sight of his putrid visage, the bloodlust of the crowd was an overwhelming force that ravaged the room with the power of an earthquake, but Gabriel was the only one shaking. He could picture their wayward thoughts, those loose images of every perverse way they wanted him to suffer.

Without the butterfly miraculous, it should be nothing but delusions. But whether fantasy or reality, it was drowning him all the same.

"We're not sentimonsters, damn it!" He gasped out.

Marinette spluttered, "We were attacked by the two knights and chased by Meltdown, Juleka simply led the way."

Bert scoffed, "A likely story."

"It is the truth." Gabriel stated firmly.

"Baseless assertions do not belong in a court of law." Bert waved his gavel with an unprofessional, jester-like giggle. "I believe we've heard enough from you. On to the sentencing!"

"Wait-"

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

"For the crime of conspiracy to overthrow the resistance, you are hereby sentenced to death by hanging."

The ropes fastened around the two's necks, rough fibres digging into the skin until there was a burning friction with every slight movement, until all Gabriel had left were shallow gasps. He could hear Marinette choking back sobs, her body instinctively clawing at the rope and her feet desperately scraping at the floor, desperate to find something to hook under and stop herself from losing the ground.

Gabriel squealed once more, "Wait!"

"Effective immediately."

"I said wait god damn it!" A deep, guttural roar from the very pit of his stomach tore throughout his body, pushing out his throat just long enough to get the words through. They echoed across the crowd in a bellowing, broken plea. "P-P-Pull up her sleeve."

It was enough of a shock that the man holding the rope let his grip wane for the briefest of moments, letting Gabriel breath.

Bert narrowed his eyes. "I hardly see reason to-"

"Do it." Gabriel snapped, "We're talking about life or death here, so do this one simple thing."

Bert sighed, raising his hand to Roger. "I'll allow it."

Roger shuffled over to Marinette, suddenly timid and dazed now that he had to look at the girl he was going to let die. Cautiously, he leaned forward fiddling with her sleeve through awkward, beady eyes until it was pulled up to Marinette's elbow.

"Happy?"

Gabriel inclined his head down to Mairnette's arm, to where he had clumsily bandaged up the gash Senti-Sentry had inflicted on Marinette's arm with it's tail. "You see that there?"

"She has a bandage?" Bert asked dryly.

"She's bleeding." Gabriel spat through gritted teeth. How could they miss something so obvious? Why was everyone here so incompetent? Why must he suffer such abject stupidity?

"Sentimonsters don't bleed, you dolt!" He didn't care about the pain in that moment, he just needed to yell, to see the wannabe judge jump out of his chair and cower. Even if Gabriel Agreste was a mere man, the memory of Hawkmoth still held sway. "They don't have internal organs or veins, they're hollow creatures. She's human. You're about to murder an innocent woman for the crime of being kidnapped while she was busy saving your worthless hides."

Roger stumbled back, eyes wide and fearful. "…Oh god, he's right."

"Then they're really…" Bert sucked in his breath, barely able to keep himself from shaking. "You're really…"

"Yes!" Marinette gasped out, "We've been trying to tell you this from the start."

"It seems we were hasty with our verdict." Bert composed himself and stood tall, banging his gavel to silence the next wave of murmurs passing over the crowd. "The defendants are innocent of being sentimonsters."

Gabriel muttered, "Thank god."

Only for one of the audience members to nail him across the jaw with a jagged rock. Only for the noose to resume it's stranglehold on his neck and yank him back into the air. Only for the crowd's bloodlust, reignited and reinforced, to take root in his heart as the roars of boo's and jeers.

"Which means they've confessed to the greater crime of being Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Gabriel Agreste." Bert announced, raising his hand to his heart to mimic disgust and utter, heart-wrenching shock. "Paris' greatest villains."

All voices rose as one angry mob.

"Hanging's too good for 'em!"

"Get out the guillotine!"

"No, you don-" Gabriel wasn't allowed to speak anymore, the guard made that clear when they dove their fist into his stomach.

They didn't bother to assault Marinette, they were having too much fun watching her desperately cling to whatever breath she had left, watching as her face turned purple and pale.

For a brief moment, it looked like even Roger had seen the light of day. He saw the crowd, he saw the sadism of this so called 'justice' and he was disgusted. But the moment he got up, the guards turned to him and all that fire was swallowed by fear. A mob was only as intelligent and ethical as their dumbest member, after all.

Bert hopped down from his pedestal to saunter over to the restrained criminals, leading with his gavel as he positioned himself between them. "For crimes against humanity, for betraying your own people, for aiding and abetting the violent crusade of a terrorist," He leaned into Marinette this time, making sure every word was a hiss in her ear, making sure her crimes, the reasons she deserved death, were the last thing she'd ever hear in her life. "You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. Effective immediately."

All Gabriel could focus on was her face, on the tears streaming down her cheeks, on the light leaving her eyes, on the innocence being so cruelly ripped away from this innocent girl. She shouldn't be here, she shouldn't be dying with him, she should be getting a hero's welcome and tearful hugs celebrating her return. She deserved so much more than the same miserable fate he'd earned.

Gabriel shut his eyes and growled. He shouldn't be feeling like this, he wouldn't allow it. If this was to be his final moment, he wouldn't spend it deluding himself into believing he would ever worry about the well-being of that bug. He was… He couldn't care less about what was happening to her. He was just panicking because he knew that her death meant his own, that was it.

Just as Gabriel's breath started to fade and the world began closing in, a sudden crack split through the chaotic noise of the mob. A gunshot. His body jerked involuntarily before hitting the ground, the noose slackening just enough for him to draw in a desperate, ragged gulp of air.

The same sharp sound echoed once more, and Gabriel blinked through the haze, eyes searching the stage. His heart pounded with panic until, with a gasp, he saw the rope around Marinette's neck snap free as well. She slumped to the ground, coughing and heaving, her fingers clawing at her throat, grateful for the sudden release.

Gabriel wheezed, still trying to recover, as his eyes darted across the platform. There, standing with a smoking revolver, was none other than Mr. Damocles, the most improbable hero of the hour, wielding more confidence and authority than Gabriel ever thought possible for the man who cowered before the mayor's daughter on a regular basis.

He stood firm, both hands on the revolver, his voice booming over the angry crowd. "Stop this madness!"

In the midst of the stunned silence with all attention on Damocles, Juleka rushed past him, scrambling up to the stage and dropping down to free Marinette of her bindings. Another girl Gabriel didn't know the name of, but was sure he remembered mistaking her for Ladybug once, joined her. She was more hesitant to help him, but she did so all the same.

Gabriel couldn't help but roll his eyes, even as he sucked in much-needed breaths. Of all the possible rescues, it had to be the Owl?

Still coughing, Marinette dragged herself upright, her breath coming in short, shaky bursts. "Mr. Damocles? Socqueline?" she croaked, still dazed. She seemed as incredulous as Gabriel, blinking up at the self-proclaimed hero.

The two were hurried through the crowd, taking shelter by Damocles' side.

Damocles' hard gaze softened, becoming the more familiar, warm stare as he grasped Marinette by the shoulder. "It's good to see you, my dear." Damocles puffed out his chest proudly. "Justice may wear many masks, but it must always stand for truth! No matter how far the world has fallen."

Juleka was wrapped around Marinette's arm, croaking out hurried apologies. "I- I only just woke up, and you were nowhere and- Oh god, if Damocles hadn't just gotten back."

Bert was scrambling to his feet, having dived when the shots rang out, but he only found himself constantly tripping on his robe. "What in the—Damocles?! You bumbling—"

"Have you all lost your senses?" Damocles stowed the weapon away in his belt, but the crowd still shrunk away at his voice. "What is this savagery?"

"Stay out of this, Damocles." Bert, recovering from his shock, pointed at Damocles with a sneer. "These are traitors of the people, and people demand justice."

"This is not justice." Damocles replied coolly, "It is one thing to kill the soldiers attacking our home and slaughtering our people, but this? This is murder. The murder of a young woman who has been protecting us all since she was a teenager."

Bert fumed, his face turning red as his grip on the gavel tightened. "That vile wretch betrayed us all to Hawkmoth."

Gabriel and Marinette shared a concerned look. That sealed it, the truth was out; or, at least, enough of it.

"We don't know that." Damocles shot back firmly.

Watching the three of their saviours pull together to protect Marinette from the accusations, Gabriel couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt knowing that the accusations have some element of truth to them. And that Marinette was going to have to reveal that to these three eventually.

"We all saw the truth long ago." Bert spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You just refuse to accept it."

"It doesn't matter." The old owl's authoritative fervour returned at full vigour. "We do not decide who lives and dies, and, in case you forgot, we do not hold court proceedings without all of the leadership present."

The crowd, once roaring for blood, began to murmur uncertainly. Gabriel could feel the energy shifting. None had gone more silent than Roger as Damocles' gaze turned on him, a saddened, almost broken edge to seeing what the man had almost allowed to happen.

"Roger, I expected more from you." Damocles shook his head as Roger turned his head away. "What would Sabrina think?"

"Come with us, now," Damocles ordered sternly, his voice leaving no room for argument as the two were dragged into the nearest room.

It was only when the door closed them off from the crowd and into another hallways that Gabriel and Marinette allowed themselves to breathe. Though Gabriel had to admit he was the least graceful retreat of the group, stumbling forward like a drunk with blurred vision and an increasingly loud banging in his ear. It seemed his body was starting to catch up with all the cranial damage.

Marinette stayed by his side, keeping him from falling, but not drawing attention to it. So, following her lead, he decided not to either. For once, he showed himself capable of keeping his mouth shut and accepted her aid.

Gabriel, still rubbing his sore neck, couldn't help but mutter, "Quite the Mickey Mouse operation you people are running here."

Damocles, without missing a beat, was in his face, any warmth in his gaze replaced by the cold fury of his glare as he grabbed Gabriel by the collar. "Don't test me, Hawkmoth." His tone darkened, and the group's uneasy silence deepened. "I may stick up for my students, but I'm all too willing to see you hang if you give us an excuse."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, but he wisely kept his mouth shut this time. It was enough for Damocles to let go and move on.

As they started moving, Gabriel tried to get his bearings. "You mentioned a 'leadership'?" he asked, glancing around at the ragtag group that had gathered in their defence.

"When Paris started tearing itself apart," Damocles explained, "a lot of people barricaded themselves inside the school. Most of the faculty became the heads of that cell of the resistance, but not all of them are here right now."

Gabriel's mind raced. "Are they back up at the school?"

"No… No," Damocles replied, his tone turning somber. "Some are leading scavenging efforts, or visiting family members who didn't want to join, or gathering info. Dupont..." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "It's Rena Renegade's territory now."

Gabriel saw Marinette flinched at the name. Rena Rouge—Alya—one of Ladybug's closest allies. She'd be a formidable force, but if she was lost to an akuma, especially one that empowered her illusion capabilities, the situation was more dire than he had imagined.

Gabriel hesitated, his voice low and filled with more concern than he cared to show. "Do you know what happened to my son?"

Marinette, who had been walking quietly beside him, looked up sharply at that, her eyes filled with the same unspoken question.

"Or Chat Noir?" Gabriel quickly added, masking his real concern under the guise of professional curiosity.

Damocles shook his head. "I don't know any more than Juleka does, I'm sorry. He was last seen going after Chrysalis. After that, nobody knows. Before that…" Damocles trailed off, glancing at Marinette. "Well, no one saw much of him in public after the truth came out."

Gabriel's brow furrowed. He wasn't sure which "truth" Damocles meant, but he wasn't ready to let it drop. "Wait, which one?"

Damocles blinked. "Hm?"

"Are you talking about Adrien or Chat Noir?" Gabriel's voice was unusually tense.

Damocles hesitated for a moment, then gave Gabriel a strange look. Marinette joined in, piping up breathlessly, "Yeah, you keep using them interchangeably."

Juleka and Socqueline both froze, their expressions shifting to something between pity and shock. A sudden realization dawned over their faces, and Damocles' voice dropped an octave as he stared at Marinette with wide eyes.

"…Oh my god," Damocles muttered. "You didn't know."

Gabriel's pulse quickened. "Know what?"

The world seemed to stand still for Gabriel. The ground beneath him felt as though it had vanished, and the full weight of those words hit him like a freight train. He blinked, his mind racing, trying to piece together what it could be.

Somehow, in his heart, he'd already realized the answer.

Juleka, pale and wide-eyed, slowly turned toward him. Her voice was a soft, trembling whisper. "Adrien… is Chat Noir."

Gabriel's world had just shattered.

Next Time - Deep Cuts:

Nathalie didn't respond immediately. She just kept working, her thoughts swirling with the unspoken promises and the heavy truth that awaited her in the future.

However, her thoughts were interrupted. A loud banging, like someone smashing a jack hammer against the door, echoed from the entrance.

Nathalie and Tikki shared an uneasy look. "We're not expecting any company today." She muttered.

The two cautiously took to the steps, Tikki hiding away in Nathalie's front pocket as they went. No other knocks came, the visitor confident that he was loud enough to only need one. Which, for reasons Nathalie could quite explain, made her only feel more uneasy.

Soon, she arrived at the front door, pulling up the mansion's entrance camera feed on her tablet. She was not ready to see half the screen taken up by Chalot's coat and the other half taken up by his head.

Without her even announcing her presence, Chalot turned to the camera and gave a mock salute. "Well, howdy there."

Nathalie's heart pounded as she stared at the screen, Chalot's familiar figure looming large in the camera feed. There was no good reason why this man would ever be here, she was sure of that.

She drew a breath, steeling herself. "M-Mr. Moth? To what do I owe the pleasure?" she said, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her. "I'm afraid Mr. Agreste is not currently at home."

Chalot's unnatural grin widened. "Not to worry," he said smoothly, adjusting his collar. "I'm here for you, Nathalie."