A couple of months had passed since Gabriel's death. The memorial had been small, subdued—a private gathering of those who had known the man, really known him. The grief had been there, quiet and suffocating, and Nathalie had endured it alone, just as she had endured everything else.
But Emilie... Emilie had been different. Nathalie had kept her hidden in the basement, her body preserved in the coffin as if trying to hold on to the past. But even that felt wrong now. It was wrong to keep her in the shadows, to trap her in a cage of memories.
Tonight, Nathalie made a decision. She unplugged the coffin's power, watching as the heart monitor slowed and then flatlined. The silence that followed was deafening. Emilie's body remained still, lifeless, her once vibrant energy extinguished.
Nathalie stared at her, feeling her chest tighten, her throat closing. The grief was unbearable, and for the first time since Gabriel's death, she let herself feel it fully. She sank to her knees beside Emilie, her hands trembling, her mind spiraling.
She couldn't handle this. She couldn't do it anymore.
She had kept so many secrets for so long. She had held onto the lie that Gabriel's death would somehow set things right, that Emilie's passing would bring an end to everything—the conflict, the manipulation, the pain. But now, with Emilie gone, the weight of it all seemed heavier than ever.
How could she tell Adrian? How could she ever look him in the eye and tell him that his father had been Hawkmoth—the very villain who had torn their lives apart, manipulated them, and caused so much suffering? How could she explain that Marinette, the girl Adrian had unknowingly come to care for, had never known the truth about Emilie—how she had been preserved in the basement all these years, just another part of the twisted legacy they had created?
Nathalie's chest ached with the thought of the burden she would place on Adrian if she told him the truth. How could he live with that knowledge? How could anyone? The lies, the manipulation, the tragic web they were all caught in—it felt like it was suffocating her, consuming her.
"I'm sorry, Emilie," Nathalie whispered, her voice hoarse, broken. "I'm so sorry…"
But Emilie was gone. There was no one left to hear her apologies, no one left to forgive her.
All Nathalie had left now was the unbearable weight of her secrets—and the knowledge that the truth could destroy everything.
Nathalie stepped off the elevator and back into the quiet, sterile space of the atelier. The familiar smell of polished wood, fabric, and faint hints of perfume lingered in the air, but something about the room felt different now, almost ghostly. It was as though the essence of her old boss, Gabriel, still hovered around the place, despite his absence. She glanced around, taking in the array of half-finished designs, sketches, and mannequins draped in fabrics—his world, now cold and abandoned.
Her gaze drifted to the large digital screen on his desk. The same desk where he used to sit, pouring over designs, trying to keep up with the impossible standards. She had been his assistant—his right hand—but over time, that relationship had become strained. Gabriel had never been one to let anyone into his personal space. There had always been a clear boundary between their professional lives and his private world, a world Nathalie had always been curious about but too cautious to breach.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. The temptation was overwhelming. "Should I do this?" she thought, her breath shallow. He never liked me looking through his personal stuff… The thought of betraying that unspoken rule made her stomach twist with guilt. But then again, she rationalized, What if there's something important here? Gabriel had been secretive, but he had also trusted her with so much, or so she thought. Maybe there was something she didn't understand, something she had missed.
Taking a deep breath, Nathalie tapped the screen. It flickered to life, the familiar login prompt appearing. Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard. She knew the password—Gabriel had given it to her once, a long time ago, when they had worked late into the night on a project together. She had never asked why he'd shared it with her; it was just one of those unspoken things between them. But now, as her fingers typed in the code, she wondered if it was a mistake. Was it too late to keep secrets from the past?
The screen unlocked with a soft click, and a new design opened up before her. It was a sketch of a dress—an intricate design, with layers of flowing fabric and delicate lines that captured the light in a way that made it look almost ethereal. Nathalie's breath caught in her throat as she stared at it, mesmerized. The dress was a deep, iridescent blue, almost shimmering as if alive, catching every glint of light as though it held the sky within its folds.
Her eyes traced the delicate red bow cinching the waist, the thin spaghetti straps resting gently on the shoulders of the figure in the drawing. As she scrolled down, her heart began to race. There, among the flowing locks of hair in the drawing, was a red streak, striking and bold against the soft waves of the model's hair. Nathalie froze.
She leaned in closer, her hand trembling as she wiped at her eyes to make sure she was seeing clearly. It's me. Her chest tightened, and a knot formed in her throat. The model in the sketch wasn't just a nameless figure—it was her. The way the hair fell, the shape of the face, even the posture… It was unmistakable.
Gabriel had designed this dress for her. Before he died. Nathalie's breath hitched as the realization sank in, heavy and bittersweet. The thought that he had poured his creative energy into this piece, knowing it would be her wearing it, sent a flood of emotions crashing over her. She had never fully understood just how much he cared—how deeply he had invested in her, in their work together.
Tears welled up, blurring her vision, and before she knew it, they were streaming down her face. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, but they kept coming. This wasn't just about the dress—it was about everything she had missed, about all the moments of silent understanding, of quiet gestures, of trust that she had never fully grasped until now. Gabriel had believed in her. He had seen something in her, even when she hadn't seen it in herself.
The atelier felt colder now, the emptiness of the space pressing in on her. She wanted to scream, to shout, to tell him she finally understood, but Gabriel was gone. She was alone with his memory and this final, beautiful gift he had left behind.
Nathalie took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady her shaking hands. She wiped away the last of her tears and locked the screen with a quiet click. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, but she couldn't afford to break now. She needed to do this.
With one last look at the dark hallway, she made her way up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. At the door to Adrian's room, she paused. He'd been retreating from everyone since his father's funeral, keeping to himself in a way that made her heart ache. But she had something she needed to give him—something that should have been his from the start.
Her fingers slipped into her pocket, brushing against the cool surface of the ring. She pulled it out and turned it over in her hands, memories flooding back—the times she'd tried to take it from him, the lengths they'd gone to just to keep it away from its rightful owner. But that was all behind them now.
She shook her head, pushing the past away. It didn't matter anymore.
She knocked softly on the door.
"Who is it?" Adrian's voice was muffled like he hadn't bothered to move or even lift his head off the pillow.
Nathalie paused for a second, considering the question. She had known Adrian for long enough to recognize when something wasn't right. She could feel it in her gut now, the heaviness in the air, the way his voice sounded... off. As if he was trying to hide something, or maybe just pretending to be fine.
"It's me," she said softly, stepping closer to the door, her fingers brushing lightly against the frame. "I wanted to talk to you. I mean, if that's okay with you?"
There was a beat of silence on the other side before Adrian finally spoke again, his words carrying a hint of irritation. "Yeah, I mean... do I even have a choice?"
Nathalie closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling a slow breath. It wasn't the response she'd hoped for, but she wasn't surprised. Adrian had a way of shutting down when things got too real, too vulnerable. He had always been that way—closed off, guarded.
She pushed open the door with quiet determination, stepping into the dimly lit room. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the daylight, and the faint smell of stale coffee and unwashed laundry hung in the air. The room was cluttered—papers scattered across the desk, books piled up, clothes strewn across the floor. It felt like a reflection of Adrian's state of mind: chaotic, unsettled, and a little lost.
There he was, sprawled face down on the bed, the covers tangled around him like a fortress he'd built to keep the world out. His blond hair was messier than usual, falling over his forehead in disarray, and his shirt was wrinkled from being thrown on hastily as if he hadn't bothered to change in days.
Nathalie moved closer, her steps light, as if not wanting to disturb the fragile air that surrounded him. She stopped at the edge of the bed, watching him for a moment before speaking again.
"How are you doing?" she asked, her voice softer this time, tinged with concern.
Adrian didn't even lift his head. He just muttered into the pillow, his voice muffled but clear enough for her to hear. "I'm fine, Nathalie."
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady but not harsh. "You're fine?" she asked, her tone skeptical.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice growing even more muffled. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Nathalie didn't move, but the air around them shifted. She knew that "fine" was his default—his way of deflecting any real question, any attempt to peel back the layers of what was going on inside. She knew better. She could see the tension in his body, the way his fists were clenched under the covers, the way his shoulders were hunched in that all-too-familiar way.
"Adrian," she said, her voice calm but insistent. "I don't think you're fine."
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, there was a long silence. Then, with a small, almost defeated sigh, Adrian shifted slightly, just enough to turn his head so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. His gaze flickered over her, his expression unreadable. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, his tone flat but edged with something—something too raw to hide, even now.
Nathalie took a step closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. She didn't touch him, not yet, but her presence was like an anchor in the room. "I just want you to be honest with me," she said quietly. "You don't have to pretend with me, Adrian. You don't have to hold it all in."
Adrian's jaw clenched at the words, his eyes momentarily narrowing before he looked away again. He stared at the ceiling, a faint flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Honestly?" he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now. "I don't know what to say. I don't even know what this is anymore. I've been trying to keep it together... but I'm not. I feel like I'm falling apart and I don't even know where to start putting myself back together."
Nathalie's heart twisted at the rawness in his voice. She had never heard him sound so broken before. Adrian had always been the strong one, the person who hid his emotions behind a wall of sarcasm and self-reliance. But right now, he was just... human. And that scared him.
"You don't have to have it all figured out," she said gently, her voice a little softer now like she was treading on fragile ground. "You don't have to fix everything. But you don't have to do this alone, either."
He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment, the vulnerability in his gaze too honest to ignore. "What if I don't know how to let anyone in?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nathalie's chest tightened at the question. She could feel the weight of his words, the quiet plea for help that he couldn't voice any clearer. She reached out, her hand hovering for just a moment before she placed it on his shoulder. The touch was gentle, a quiet reassurance, but it spoke volumes.
"You don't have to have all the answers right now," she said, her fingers lightly squeezing his shoulder. "I'm here for you. Whenever you're ready to talk, whenever you need someone... I'll be here. You don't have to carry it all by yourself."
Adrian didn't say anything for a long time. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to pull away and retreat further into his shell. But instead, he let out a long, shaky breath, the tension in his body starting to loosen just a little. It was small—barely noticeable—but it was there.
Finally, he let his head rest against the pillow, his eyes closing briefly, as though he were just too tired to keep fighting. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he muttered, almost to himself.
Nathalie's hand remained on his shoulder, her voice soft but steady. "There's nothing wrong with you, Adrian. You're just... human. You don't have to have it all together right now. I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time in days, he didn't pull away. And maybe that was the first step.
"I have something for you," Nathalie said, pulling away from the hug and holding out the ring. "I believe this belongs to you... or should I say, to *Cat Noir*?"
Adrian froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. His heart raced. "W-What? How did you find out? Please, Nathalie, you can't tell anyone!" His voice was tense, panic creeping in.
"Don't worry, I won't. When Ladybug was here a couple of months ago, I recognized Plagg's voice. I'd heard it before and thought he was one of your friends."
"Oh. Does Ladybug know my identity? Wait, do you know Ladybug's identity? Can you tell me?" Adrian's questions came tumbling out in a rush.
"Adrian, one question at a time, please. You're giving me a headache." She sighed. "Yes, I know Ladybug's identity, but no, she doesn't know yours. And no, I will not be telling you both—her identity, and yours."
Adrian immediately fell silent, not wanting to cause his caretaker any more stress.
"Oh, Adrian, I didn't mean it like that," Nathalie said, her voice softening. "You can still talk. Today just hasn't been the best day for me. I've had a headache all day."
She opened her arms for a comforting hug. Adrian, feeling a wave of concern, hesitated for a moment before stepping into the embrace, grateful for her warmth.
Nathalie rested her head gently on Adrian's, her fingers softly stroking through his golden hair. She could feel the tension in his body melt as he snuggled closer, seeking the comfort only she could provide.
Adrian's need for physical touch was something she understood deeply—it was his way of expressing affection, of feeling safe and loved. In this quiet moment, she let him lean into her, offering him the reassurance he needed, just as he had done for her countless times before.
"Okay, I need to go make dinner. Do you want to join me, or stay and clean up here?" Nathalie asked, glancing around Adrian's room, which was in an unusual state of organized chaos.
"I'll clean up here," Adrian replied, his voice calm but steady.
"Alright," Nathalie nodded and stood up, but as soon as she did, she felt a wave of dizziness hit her. She staggered slightly, almost losing her balance. The only reason she didn't fall back onto the bed was because Adrian had reacted instantly. He jumped up and grabbed her arm, steadying her with a firm grip.
"Nathalie!" he exclaimed, his voice full of worry. "Are you okay?"
Nathalie opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, a sudden coughing fit overtook her. She doubled over, her hand pressed to her chest as the harsh coughs wracked her body. It lasted several moments, and when it finally subsided, she was left gasping for breath, her face pale.
"I'm o-okay," Nathalie murmured, though her voice was weak and breathy.
Adrian's eyes narrowed with concern as he looked at her. "No, you're not." His voice shook slightly, but his worry was clear. "I thought you said you were okay. You told me my dad healed you with the wish. So why... why is this happening again?"
"It's just a cold," Nathalie said, her voice a little unsteady, though she tried to sound reassuring. "I'm fine, really. I'll ask Ladybug if something happened with the wish, though."
She stumbled slightly, her vision blurring with black spots, and instinctively, Adrien stepped closer, steadying her with a gentle hand on her arm. The sensation was all too familiar—this illness reminded her of the one she'd suffered from after the broken Miraculous. But she *had* been healed from that, hadn't she?
She shook her head, trying to focus. Despite her wavering steps, she pulled open the door and walked out of the room, Adrien keeping pace beside her, ready to catch her if she fell.
Nathalie paused before leaving, turning back to him. "I'm okay, really. I'll see you for dinner, like we planned."
Adrien gave a silent nod, his worry evident in his eyes, but he didn't argue. He just watched her go, the concern still heavy in the air.
Nathalie stumbled toward the stairs, her hand clutching the railing for support. She dragged herself into the atelier, her steps slow and unsteady. With a sharp breath, she jumped out the window, effortlessly springing to the roof. Her movements were quick, but quiet, as she dashed toward Marinette's house. Landing softly on the balcony, she barely made a sound, but the thud still reached Marinette's ears.
Startled, Marinette rushed to the balcony, her eyes widening when she saw Nathalie—transformed and gasping for air. "Myura, what happened?!" she asked, panic rising in her voice.
"I'm fine," Nathalie wheezed, her voice strained. "Don't worry. The wish... it's not working. The sickness... it's back."
Marinette's gaze dropped to her earring, which was sparking with unstable energy. Her hand instinctively reached for it.
"I know what went wrong," Marinette murmured, her voice tight with realization. "The wish got damaged... because I accidentally broke my Miraculous."
Myura's eyes widened in shock as the truth hung in the air between them.
The evening air was cool, but Nathalie could feel nothing but the burning sensation in her chest and the coldness creeping up her spine. She had landed gracefully on the balcony, but the effort of getting there had drained her more than she was willing to admit. Her vision blurred with every passing second, and her breath was ragged and shallow. The weight of her body felt heavier than it had in days, and the air around her seemed thick with the oppressive pulse of something going terribly wrong.
Marinette's face was a mask of concern, her eyes flicking between Nathalie's trembling form and the unstable energy sparking from her Miraculous. The earrings were dull, the once-vibrant blue now a dull, flickering hue. It was clear to both of them that the wish—whatever Gabriel had intended—had begun to unravel.
"You… you broke your Miraculous?" Nathalie's voice came out as a rasp as if the words themselves had weight. She had been expecting something, but not this. Not this mess of fractured power, of broken promises.
Marinette's hand gripped the edge of the balcony as she looked down, guilt written on her face. The glowing earring flickered again, and her breath caught in her throat. "It wasn't on purpose. But… yes, I broke it. After the fight with the new Hawk Moth—when everything happened, I didn't realize that the damage I caused would be permanent."
Nathalie swallowed, her throat feeling like it was closing with the realization. The very foundation of everything she had relied on, the supposed cure that had healed her from Gabriel's curse, was falling apart. The thing that had promised freedom—the wish that had been made with so much hope—was unraveling.
"But the wish," Nathalie whispered, more to herself than to Marinette. "It worked... it healed me, it gave me my life back." Her hand clutched her chest, her pulse quickening. "It was supposed to stay fixed."
Marinette stepped closer, her expression turning to one of helplessness. "The wish… it's tied to the Miraculous, Nathalie. It was healed, but it was a patch. A temporary fix."
Nathalie's eyes darkened, her pulse rising with the panic that was bubbling up inside her. "What are you saying?"
Marinette's voice lowered, laden with regret. "I'm saying the wish was never meant to last, not without the full integrity of the Miraculous. When my Miraculous broke—when I shattered the magic—it destabilized the wish, too. And now…" She trailed off, biting her lip as she looked down at the shimmering piece of jewelry. "It's not just the Miraculous. It's the whole balance. The wish is decaying, and I… I don't know how to fix it."
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. Nathalie's head swam with confusion, anger, and disbelief. She had trusted that the worst of it was behind them, that everything was set to right. She had trusted in the Miraculous, in the promise of Gabriel's final wish. But it seemed it had all been too fragile, too imperfect, to truly heal the scars of the past.
"So what does this mean for me?" Nathalie demanded, the frustration and fear leaking through her voice despite herself. "What happens to me now? I can't go back to how I was before."
Marinette's gaze softened, but her hands trembled as she reached out, as though she wanted to reach Nathalie but was afraid to get too close. "I don't know. But we'll figure it out, I promise. I'll fix this. I'll get my Miraculous back—somehow. If I can do that, maybe the wish will stabilize, maybe you'll…"
Her voice faltered, and the silence between them deepened, filled with unspoken fears and regrets.
Nathalie was silent for a moment, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. She had lost so much already. Her loyalty to Gabriel had cost her Emilie. It had cost her her place in his world, his trust. Now, she was facing the consequences of those choices—a consequence that might cost her everything.
"I don't have time for that," Nathalie muttered, her voice sharp. She turned toward the edge of the balcony, her mind racing with too many things at once. "If the Miraculous is broken… and I'm breaking again… What happens to Adrian? What happens to him if I—if I can't protect him?"
Marinette's face darkened, and she stepped forward with determination. "Nathalie, we'll fix it. You don't have to carry this alone. Not anymore. Not if you—"
But Nathalie was already shaking her head, her eyes hardening as she stared into the distance. She didn't have the luxury of time or hope. There were too many questions still unanswered, too many pieces of the puzzle left scattered.
"I've carried things alone for too long, Marinette," Nathalie said quietly, her voice full of a quiet, resigned strength. "But this… this is too big for me. I can't fix it. I need to know where the next step is. If Adrian... If he finds out—"
The sound of a sharp breath caught in Marinette's throat. She understood then—there were things about Adrian's past, things about Gabriel's legacy, that Nathalie couldn't undo. And those truths were darker than anything she had been able to keep hidden.
There was no easy way forward. But as Nathalie turned back to face Marinette, her voice softer, there was a new resolution in her eyes. "If we don't find a way to fix this… everything will fall apart. And this time, no wish will save us."
Marinette nodded, her hand reaching out to touch the edge of Nathalie's arm, a silent gesture of support.
"We'll fix it. Together."
And with that, the weight of everything hung between them, a promise shared and an uncertain future.