Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’s young. About her age, with golden hair and hesitant but intelligent green eyes, but he seems so much younger. His skin is pale and his body frail and slim. He was harmless, like a tiny kitten. Except for his eyes. His eyes, smudged with dark circles, have seen too much for someone with such a soft life. He kept playing with the charm bracelet around his fragile wrist. She can see the blue veins running through his translucent skin. And the scars.

“It was hers,” he said quietly, of the bracelet, noticing her watching him. “My mother’s. I was hoping that somehow you could use it…to track her or something.”

She snorted and shifted in her seat, lifting one knee up and resting her elbow on it. He’d had her meet in a veritable fortress of a mansion. Everything around her was leather and marble. These were the best clients she got.

“I’m not a bloodhound. I’m an assassin. The only reason you’re not dead is because you hired me.”

“Of course,” he murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look, I know this is a long shot. It’s been so long, that she’s probably-” He winced and looked away out the window, not finishing the thought.

“Dead.” she supplied unhelpfully. “Probably.”

His lips pursed. Her words had stung him. “I just need closure. You understand?”

Those eyes again. They looked up at her with a searching, pleading glint that was all too genuine and openly vulnerable for her tastes. They read her even as she was reading them. She looked away in discomfort.

“I can understand 100,000 euros just fine. Although, I’ve got to ask. With all of Daddy’s pretty money, why not hire someone else whose job doesn’t usually end with the people found ending up in the morgue?”

The boy didn’t hesitate. “Because you can keep a secret. And you can hide. You have to know every inch of this city. You have connections and can find anyone you want. You’re also the only one I could think of who isn’t under my father’s thumb. Besides. It’s not his money. It’s all mine.” He unhooked the charm bracelet and held it out to her.

“And, if someone is keeping her from me, I want someone who wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to free her.”

When she didn’t immediately take it, he grabbed her hand and she flinched at the touch, shocked that he was bold enough to try and do so. No one ever touched her.

“Do you have a death wish?” she said, but her stern voice sounded oddly strangled.

He was gentle as he pried her fingers open from their tight fist and placed the bracelet in her palm. His fingers were solid and warm. Funny. She’d assumed they’d be cold.

“Take this. Maybe it’s worthless, but it would make me feel better if you at least tried to use it. Plus, it’s a good luck charm.

Ladybug’s blue eyes went wide. She coughed and jerked her hand away as if she’d been burnt. Her face felt uncharacteristically hot. Who was he to throw her off her game like that? Irritation rose in her voice.

“Now. Ahem. You said you last saw her ten years ago?”

“Yes. Mother would never leave unless something bad happened to her. My father has funded private investigations but refused to let the police get involved for fear that it would ‘taint the brand’.” He spat out the last words in vehement disgust. Ladybug raised an eyebrow. The little kitten had claws.

“Anyway, she put me to bed and we were supposed to work in the garden together the next day. And then she was just…gone. She left a note saying she needed a break and that she’d be back soon and that she was fine. I don’t have the note though,” he said hastily, anticipating her question. ”My Father was the only one to read it. He turned it over to investigators and we never saw it again.”

“That’s all you’ve got?” She folded her arms and surveyed him. “Do you know where she supposedly went? Who was she with when you last saw her? Any plans or extra offshore bank accounts? A pilot’s license? A death wish? Did she piss off the mafia?”

His shoulders slumped. He looked lost. “I…I’m sure something will turn up. Once we start investigating. I’ve done a bit of amateur work myself. It’ll just take some time, of course.”

Ladybug hummed and turned away toward the window, pressing one boot to the sill as she prepared to jump out into the night.

“Well. It’s a sad story, to be sure, but I’m not a charitable person. You’re not giving me many leads here. So unfortunately, I’m going to have to decline this job. Thanks for the souvenir though.” She bowed low and turned to leave, smirking under her mask.

Now came the fun part. Bargaining. Why settle for 100,000 euros? She could see for herself that this sum was nothing to him and it would be everything to her. He could offer much more than that, especially if it was going to be a hard job. All she was doing was providing a little…motivation.

“No. Please!” Adrien lunged to stop her and grabbed her wrist. Again? That snapped something in her. He needed to learn his place on the food chain. Who did he think he was, touching an assassin?

Ladybug twisted lithely and swiftly pinned his arm behind his back and slammed him into his bedroom wall. He winced and gasped, staring at her in shock.

Ladybug leaned an arm lazily on the wall above his head and stared right back. Her blue eyes were cold as ice. She studied him for a moment like a predator surveying her prey. He swallowed hard but didn’t move or flinch, even when she leaned closer until her breath tickled his ear.

“Don’t ever touch me again.” she murmured, shoving his hand further up the back of his shoulder blade. He was so thin that she could feel every vertebrae in his spine.

He leaned forward against the pain, coming nose to nose with her. Where was his self-preservation instinct? She could kill him in a dozen different ways. Their breaths mingled in the air. She could smell the faint sting of mint. He was a few inches taller than her and she noticed it now as he somehow, once more, managed to catch her off guard and make her feel small.

“But you’re touching me.” he whispered back. “My Lady.”

Chapter Text

Chat Noir loved the freedom of leather. Whenever he adorned his signature black suit, he felt his worries wash away and knew that he was making a difference. As Adrien, he had been pitiful. He’d spent much of his life without purpose or recognition. His early existence was endlessly insignificant and he’d resigned himself to rotting away in his room, only to be brought out at social functions like a pretty doll.

That had all changed six years ago when a teacher remarked on his outstanding test scores and requested to send them to an organization scouting for exceptionally gifted students for a special “Research Program”. Within the nervous first meeting he had with the organization’s president, he knew his life was going to change forever. The organization was a front for DSGE, France’s secret service agency, which trained young gifted recruits for the purpose of infiltration, espionage, and combat. They’d selected him as one of their newest assets. Since then, he merely existed as Adrien, smiling and nodding at parties, while he thrived as Chat Noir.

Memories flashed through his brain: Countless missions, countless adventures, countless dangers. Paris was a much more treacherous place than anyone realized, despite its elusive beauty. Due to his loyal and distinguished service throughout the years, Chat had risen through the ranks to become one of the best and most respected agents in the DSGE. His leather suit, complete with the agency’s signature colors and creed, symbolized his dedication. It set him apart in a crowd when he wanted to be seen, and cloaked him in darkness when he was on nighttime missions. At this point in his life, Chat felt more uncomfortable in his own skin than the uniform. However, sadly, today, the mission called for civilian attire, as he went undercover on the Coccinelle case, to remove one of the biggest thorns in his side of all.

The beautiful and confident Ladybug.

He had to hand it to her. She was certainly committed to her cause. She’d materialized one day, seemingly out of thin air, and ever since made his life a living hell. She’d singlehandedly toppled entire gangs by taking out the leaders and silenced some of the largest terrorists around. To the people, she was a hero. To Chat, she was the woman about to get him fired. Unfortunately, while she certainly had vigor, she lacked tact. She didn't discriminate when it came to murder, and that was her biggest flaw.

Chat would spend months tailing underlings to gather enough evidence to put away their bosses, and she’d go through and slit his targets’ throats, silencing any chance of Chat completing a mission with accolades. At this rate, he was never getting promoted. Sometimes it felt like she was doing it on purpose.

It was a shame that today he had had to forgo his usual uniform and go undercover as a civilian- even worse, as himself just to catch her. He usually bagged intel on diplomats at fancy cocktail parties and fashion shows and intercepted art heists at the Louvre. Now he, the infamous Shadow of Paris, was reduced to a pair of jeans, a white shirt, and sneakers. It was lucky that he was such a good actor. Pretending to not recognize his greatest rival was a challenge. And yet somehow, she believed his act that he was a lost boy who could only trust her and no one else. The ego of this girl was truly impressive.

She'd led him on quite the chase, effortlessly evading his attempts to sabotage or capture her in his Chat Noir form. And so, he'd reverted to what he knew best. Espionage. By going undercover as little rich boy Adrien and putting the word out via his bodyguard's underground connections that he was willing to pay a huge price for information on his missing mother, he'd put a bug in her ear of the promise of wealth that she couldn't ignore. Everyone, after all, had their price.

She would have done her research on him before she agreed to a meeting with a potential client, and so he had to make his story irrefutable. Everything about his mother was true. She had been missing but there was nothing that Ladybug could do to find her. Not when he’d exhausted every resource available and done his own sleuthing. His real life tragedy was merely serving as a cover story for getting close to her.

There was no doubt in his mind that Ladybug wasn't working alone. No one could be up at all hours of the night and day, leaving such a wide trail of blood in their wake without help. It wasn't enough to simply knock her out in an alleyway and put her in jail. No, this went far deeper. He wanted to get at the center of her nest and put everyone there away, but he needed her close to do it. And here she was, in the present. They were very close indeed.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she whispered in his ear before pulling away.

He studied her as she hiked his arm closer to his spine, making him wince. He'd never been close enough to see her face properly. She was wildly beautiful, with dark black hair and a red and black spotted suit that did nothing to disguise her slim curves. Her blue eyes flashed with irritation behind her mask. He could feel her breath. He shifted even closer to her, to throw her off her game with proximity. His shoulder ached, but it didn’t matter. As a spy, he’d endured far worse before. It was worth it to see the color stain her cheeks.

"But you’re touching me, My Lady.”

She yanked away from him so fast it was as if she’d been burnt. Finally, his arm was free to drop to his side.

“Thanks” he said wryly, rubbing the feeling back into it. He put his hands up in surrender. “Look, I won’t touch you again. Lesson learned. If you won’t accept 100,000 euros, then name your price. Don’t just leave. …Please.”

“One million,” she said flatly. “Ass.”

His eyebrow rose involuntarily. Oh? Had he gone too far with the nickname? Usually he could get away with things like that. His civilian self was so pitiful. No one ever suspected the frail Agreste boy who’d fallen apart when he’d lost his mother to be capable of anything. They also never got upset with him either. He liked Ladybug’s indignation. It was refreshing and he respected her for it.

“Ouch. Sadly, 200,000 euros is all I can do.”

“Hardly. I did my research. You are practically made of money. Make it 500,000.”

“Sorry. 250,000. Clearly you should have dug deeper into me. I don't have unlimited access to my funds in my shared accounts. My Father manages them.”

She hesitated, then relented. "Fine. I’ll accept 300,000 euros if you promote my work among the elites.”

“That’ll make for some interesting dinner conversations,” he muttered, trying to hide his excitement. Got’em. Now he just needed to keep her on the hook. “Alright, it’s a deal.” He started to shake her hand, but then remembered his promise to her and used his hand to cover a cough instead. He couldn’t lose her favor now. His eyes met hers. “I think we should meet daily to debrief as you gain evidence. Here, preferably, so I don’t end up dead in an alleyway.”

She scoffed, almost laughing before she collected herself. “I don’t kill my clients. It’s bad for business.” She looked him up and down. “At least…I don’t usually.”

“...Right. So it’s settled?”

“I do my jobs on my schedule. You can occupy yourself with getting me a portfolio of all the information you have on your mother. And your father, for that matter. In fact, anyone who even breathed in her direction at the time. Even better if you have photos. And get control of your own assets,” she added sharply. “You should never let anyone else control what matters to you.”

He smiled faintly but the words stung. She said it so simply. As if it were that easy. She had no idea what his life was like. He would never be free.

“That almost sounded like you care.” he teased lightly. Something about her sternness made it impossible for him not to throw out some light banter.

Did he imagine a tinge of color on her cheeks?
“I care about my pockets being full.” she said bluntly. “We will meet when I call the next meeting. Be ready.”

“Always,” he said, unable to stop himself from sweeping into a Chat Noir-esque bow.
She rolled her eyes, then turned and leapt lithely from the window and into the night. With her, went the microscopic tracker he’d placed on her when they were close. Chat saluted her fading figure with a smirk. Oh, he was more than ready. In fact, they’d be seeing each other a lot sooner than she thought.

Game on, Ladybug. Game on.

Chapter Text

That night, Chat Noir hunted Ladybug. He crouched on a roof, watching a tracker dot blink red on his phone screen. His little parting gift had gone unnoticed, just as planned.

With all the buzz about her being such an exceptionally challenging case, he'd half hoped she'd give him more of a challenge than this. But then again, no one ever suspected Adrien. Being good at his job really took the sport out of it.

Ah, well. Chat flicked through his phone with a yawn. It was getting late. She certainly was a busy little bug. Already she'd led him all over Paris.
Did this girl never rest? Against his better judgment, he found himself idly admiring her work ethic. It was a shame she had to be captured. In another life, she'd be invaluable as a partner.

Chat sighed and shook his head, pinching the space between his eyes. He didn't need distractions. He refocused on the screen. The tracker had changed. It was blinking very near his position. Practically right above him. Chat Noir whipped his head around and fumbled for his weapon. How could she have moved so fast? His eyes darted back and forth as he searched the dark for her. Then he spotted something. A shadow undulated along the chimney siding, moving closer and closer until-

“Meow.”

Chat blinked, confused. Huh? Before he could comprehend more, the owner of the shadow appeared. Instead of bright blue eyes, he was met with the feline stare of a small tabby cat. The cat stretched languidly. Around its neck hung the tracker, and a note.
Cursing fervently in every language he knew, Chat grabbed the cat and untied the device. He nearly ripped the note opening it.

On it, written in delicate cursive, read “Better luck next time. Catch me if you can. -Xoxo, Ladybug”

“Damnit!”He crushed the letter in his fist.
“Damnit, damnit!”
-

Ladybug wove through the shadowy underbelly of Paris with lithe ease, stalking her latest victim. Victor Karaskov. The night club owner operated in Pigalle, known as Pig Alley to those who were familiar with its seedier charms. She had been trying to get close to him for months. He was a spider at the heart of a twisted web that extended all over the city, and it was high time that she squashed him.

She landed on the famous windmill sign that glowed red above the Moulin Rouge. If her intel was correct, Victor frequented the cabaret with friends and clients and would be attending tonight. In his own club, which lay nearby on the strip, he was protected by an army of guards. Here, he was but one man. Isolating him now would be the best chance she had to cross his name off her hit list.

Unfortunately for Victor, rumors swirled in the underground network that he lined his vile pockets through trafficking. If the estimates were accurate, half of the guests inside his club didn’t make it out alive. Ladybug’s fingers cut into her palms. From what she’d heard, he did not seem to discriminate in who he trafficked, which made him all the more despicable.

From her spot high above, Ladybug could observe everything. It was early. The sun was still glowing weakly along the skyline, but night was soon approaching. The mood in the crowd below was raucous and lively, with tourists milling around below. Lights shone enticingly over the lewd shops. Attractive men and women mingled arm in arm, making their way inside clubs, flashing smiles at the bouncers. The air was scented heavily with cigarette smoke, delicious food, and cologne. Music played from inside the cabaret.

Ladybug checked her weapons belt out of habit. The plan was simple. Take him out, by any means necessary. The method of which had been left up to her, which she appreciated. It allowed her to express her creative side. She ran her hands down her sides, and adjusted her mask. If she was lucky, she could slip in after him and carve his heart out in the smoky back of the theater. Her lips curved into a crooked smile. Oddly, for once, she wouldn’t stand out in her skin-tight costume and disguise amid the scantily clad performers.

Ladybug mentally mapped out every scenario in order to lock down the one that would get her out unscathed. She couldn’t die now, not before she procured pretty Agreste boy’s pretty money for the recovery of his missing mother. His solemn green eyes flicked into her mindseye. They were so familiar. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they knew each other. It irked her. The last thing an assassin needed were strings tying her to others. She waved away the images with a gloved hand. She needed to focus. One thing at a time. Don’t get distracted. Eliminate Victor first. Then you can do the Agreste job. The sooner he was out of her way, the better.

Icy breezes tickled the back of her neck. There he was. Victor. She could see him walking steadily amidst a crowd of stumbling companions, their eyes already glazed with opium and alcohol. Nearby, a young girl, barely older than Ladybug herself, was crossing the street with her friends. She tripped on a cobblestone and went down. Her pale thigh showed through the run in her fishnets. Blood trickled down onto the ground. Her eyes, full of shocked tears, seemed to meet Ladybug’s. The assassin ducked behind the windmill, heart racing. This was not the time for her cover to be blown.

Victor stood not far off. He had witnessed the fall as well. He studied the girl with a cold, calculated hunger, his gaze flicking over her curves. Ladybug watched as he locked eyes with the bouncer of his club and casually ran his thumb across his lips and bottom teeth as though he was tasting her from afar. With a subtle nod, the bouncer ran to help her to her feet. His large hand engulfed her upper arm as he hauled her toward the club.

“Come inside. We have bandages.”
As easily and quickly as that, she was ushered behind closed doors. Victor smiled at his inebriated friends and strode into the Moulin Rouge as if he hadn’t just sentenced someone to a life of misery.

Ladybug wavered. If she went after Victor now, the girl could be stuffed into a car trunk and taken halfway to London by the time she got back. But if she lost sight of him now, how many more victims would meet the same fate? The girl's tearful gaze tugged annoyingly at Ladybug’s conscience. Was she responsible for what came next? It wouldn't take long for the girl's entire life to be ruined. Ladybug could save her…

But no. She was an assassin. Time wasn't a luxury for sale. Still… she had to do something.

Grimly, Ladybug slid down the roof and texted 114. It wasn't much, it didn't guarantee the girl would be rescued in time, but it was enough to absolve her from crippling guilt. Now her own window of opportunity was truly limited. It wouldn't be long before cops swarmed the area, ruining her chances. Swearing under her breath, she slipped into the dark cabaret with blades pressed between her breasts and deadly red lipstick on her plump lips. It was thirteen seconds to midnight for Victor. Unfortunately, it'd not be the slow, agonizing end he deserved. Not with the cops on the way. But still, she could drown him in his own blood.

The music in the cabaret beat seductively through her, deafening everything. People near the bar mingled with drinks in their hands, moving in rhythm to the beat. Those closer to the stage were seated to enjoy the show. It was here that her target sat, lounging with a glass in his hand. His gaze was fixed on an undulating performer.

Ladybug deftly grabbed a drink from another table and took a sip. Then she stumbled forward, purposefully splashing bourbon over Victor.

“Sorry, Monsieur!” she gasped and pawed at him with a napkin, searching him for weapons. There were none. She couldn't help but smile behind her mask while her head was down. Victor’s over confidence would be his end.

“Stupid bitch,” he swore in a thick accent, brushing her hands aside as he shot to his feet. Then he paused, seeing her beauty. His predatory gaze darted over her slim, curvaceous frame. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he sized up her price on the black market. “Ah… apologies.” He murmured. “It's the alcohol talking. Forgive me.”

Ladybug gagged internally, but her red lips curved into a coy smile.
“Buy me another drink and I’ll consider it.”

He looked irritated but nodded. “Anything for the lady.” With his hand lingering possessively on the small of her back, they wove through the cabaret. Neither of them would be returning to finish watching the act.

Once they were far enough away, she pulled him playfully towards the bathrooms. “I need to go. I guess I had too much,” she giggled, maneuvering him inside and into the single stall with her.

“What are you doing?” He said, as she pressed herself into his chest.

“Having fun,” Ladybug flung her arms around his neck and pulled him in close. “Hold still now; this might sting.” With swift precision, she flicked a switchblade into his throat.

Blood spurted across her face as he sank, wide eyed and gurgling to his knees. His fingers clutched desperately at his throat as he choked.

“Say hello to your victims, for me.” She said, stepping over his writhing form just as sirens screamed outside. Perfect timing Ladybug's hands rested on her hips. Her next move was unsure. Did she have enough time to help the girl, or should she call it an early night and let the cops handle this one? Surely they could manage now that she'd done the grunt work.

Suddenly, Victor lunged forward. “Bitch!” he screamed, a high pitched, inhuman sound. He grabbed her wrist with surprising strength and, before Ladybug could react, he stabbed her with a thin needle.

Ladybug’s brain blared alarms. How had he gotten a needle past her? She'd taken precautions. She'd done a pat check! Stupid. She was so stupid. She stared, horrified at Victor.

“What was that?” She shook him frantically. “What did you give me?”

He laughed viciously and spat blood and spittle into her face before he slumped down, eyes still open. Dead.

Stunned, Ladybug ripped herself free from him and stumbled for the door. This was bad. Very bad. She felt her way down the hallway and past throngs of drunken customers. All the lights blurred together. The music was oddly muffled and garbled like she was underwater. What had he given her? It was fast. Everything felt off. Someone kept laughing at her. Who was laughing? The room tilted. Ladybug instinctively leaned hard to correct and fell against the bar, sending glass shattering. Muttering scattered apologies, she righted herself.

She had to get out of here before she fainted…or worse. She couldn't be here when they found Victor. Jail wasn't an option she was willing to consider. She needed to stay conscious. Her lungs were on fire. Her limbs were leaden. Whatever he'd given her was strong. Too strong.

People stared at her, unwilling to help as she struggled. She crashed into a man in a dark leather jacket. He cursed and shoved her toward the exit of the cabaret, which was exactly the break she needed.

Miraculously, she managed to escape the cabaret’s depths. Sobbing lightly in relief, she forced herself to climb up a fire escape. She needed to get higher before she was spotted. With the last ounce of strength she had left, Ladybug hauled herself onto a rooftop. As her vision went black, she found herself thinking of the boy and his uncomplicated life of luxury in his mansion on the hill. In this moment, she'd have given anything to switch places. Her heart slowed. Should've done that Agreste job first, she thought hazily. Her heartbeat sputtered. Then stopped. She knew nothing more.

Chapter Text

Adrien knew nothing of the dying girl on the rooftop. He spent the morning eons away on the grounds of his familial home. The estate’s massive greenhouse was quiet, except for the gentle hum of fans, which ran constantly within the space for ventilation. In it, lived a mixture of tiny seedlings, too weak to survive the harshness of frost, and huge exotic plants from all over the world. Everything smelt of wet soil, leather gloves, and plastic tools. It was messy and sprawling, almost magical with its maze-like rows of plants. Like clockwork, the hiss of the sprinkler system went off, combining with the whir of the fans. There was life within these walls. It was peaceful. Adrien thrived here. It was the one place he could go where there were no cameras, no watchful guards, and no one to tell him what to do or who to be.

It was her space, really. His mother’s. She was the gardener of the family. She adored her plants. Under her careful eye grew even the most difficult vines and flowers, with such beauty and vigor that they had practically consumed the grounds outside. Now, the greenhouse stood empty of her tinkling laughter.

Adrien did his best to keep things running. Even when the days were long and he was exhausted, he made his way here. He couldn’t let the plants go. She’d be devastated to return to anything dying. She couldn’t bear even for a tiny beetle to perish under her care. Adrien loved that about her. After she vanished, his father refused to set foot in the greenhouse. None of the servants seemed to care for the forgotten plants either. In the end, Adrien was the only one left. In a way, it felt like by keeping the plants alive, he was keeping her alive and safe as well.

He grasped the waxy green leaves of a hoya carnosa, or porcelain flower as she called it. Deftly, he pruned a section away, letting it fall to the ground. It was a strange thing, pruning, he thought to himself. He had to kill part of a plant in order for it to thrive.

Without him realizing it, the carnosa was replaced by an image of Ladybug in his mind. He couldn’t banish the fear that he’d ruined his carefully planned con. She’d found the tracker so quickly. And the note! It weighed heavily in his pocket. She knew he was after her. It would be infinitely more difficult to trick her now. They were supposed to meet today in his civilian form to discuss how to locate his mother, and yet she was already an hour late. Would she even come? Had he really blown his cover so quickly with one small act? How foolish was he to think that she’d not notice. She was an assassin after all. He hacked away at the plant with a grimly gritted jaw.

“What’d that plant do to you?” a sleepy, drawling voice said. “You’re shaving it bald.”

Adrien flinched and whirled around, only to relax when he recognized the owner of the voice. “The greenhouse is off limits, Plagg.” He repeated the phrase firmly.

His butler yawned and stretched out, languidly leaning against one of the greenhouse counters. “And yet here I am.”

Adrien sighed and set down the shears. It was no use arguing with Plagg. He did what he wanted, never listening to anyone, which was both refreshing and endlessly annoying. “What do you want?”

“She’s not coming.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Adrien muttered. Suddenly the greenhouse no longer felt like a place of sanctuary. All of his annoyance and fears crashed down upon him. The twitch in his left eye returned in full force. “Did you just come to gloat?”

Plagg’s green eyes glittered in amusement. “Well, it is funny.”

“Right. I’m off,” Adrien said. He brushed past a snickering Plagg. “And you’re fired.”

“Aw, you wound me, Sir.” Plagg followed him out of the greenhouse, clutching his chest dramatically. “That’s the third time this week.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and strode back towards the house, ignoring his butler. She wasn’t coming, and it was all his fault. He’d thought he was clever, and yet once again, he’d underestimated her. She was unpredictable and he hated it. He wanted things in order- he was supposed to be the one in control here and yet she was beating him at his own game. How could he get to her now?

Her bright, intelligent blue eyes swam in his vision. He pictured her lounging athletically on his settee, relaxed externally but internally calculating every inch of the room and sizing him up. Even as he’d been caught up in capturing her, she’d been assessing him. Had she already guessed he was Chat Noir? Adrien groaned and rubbed his eyes with his palm. Was he really the cat or had he been the mouse all along?

“-What do you think? Should I bother?” Plagg said, his voice breaking through Adrien’s swirling thoughts. How long had he been talking? Adrien blinked.

“Hm?”

“Saving her.”

Adrien stopped in his tracks. “Who? Ladybug?”

“The Queen of England.” Plagg snorted. “Yes, Ladybug.”

Irritation and confusion flicked over Adrien. “What are you talking about? Save her from what? Are you her fairy godmother or something?”

Plagg smirked. “Calm down, Princess. Just thought you wanted her alive for now. My mistake.” He bowed theatrically and took off at a languid sprint for the house.

“You've seen her? Plagg?” Adrien ran after him. “Come back!”

Chapter Text

        “Ladybuggg. Come out, come out wherever you are!” 

Her eyes flew open and darted to her left and right. It was deeply night. Her breath puffed in the freezing air. Her spine pressed against…tile? 

The roof. She was still on the roof. How long had she been out? Instinctively she reached for a weapon, but her hands were pinned to her sides. Right. Victor. His poison still ran through her veins, rendering her utterly useless. 

       “Laaadybug.”

There were three men. She could see their shadows wavering along the chimneys, growing larger with each step. They were hunting her. They called out for her coaxingly, like she was a small pet, their voices dripping with menace. Ladybug’s mind screamed at her as footsteps crunched closer to her position. Alone and paralyzed on the rooftop by the injection’s poison, she would be easy prey. 

Her skin crawled. She had to hand it to Victor’s men. They hadn’t taken long to catch on to her scent. In any other scenario, she’d have appreciated a bit of a chase. It kept work interesting. But now…Now, she might be in actual trouble. 

With panic crawling its way up her limbs, she tried to use the last drops of her strength to scoot herself behind a chimney. 

 Unfortunately, her luck had run out. 

          “Cyka, there you are! Wake up,” one of them sneered in a thick, Russian accent. “You kill my cousin! Why the hell you sleep now!?” 

Damnit. She scrabbled to reach her earpiece to contact Tikki-Nothing. She must have lost it in the club. Alarm bells blared in her head. This was bad.

Before she could think further,  Ladybug was dragged viciously up by her hair. Her scalp screamed, yet she couldn’t move. The drug coursing through her veins kept her in a haze, stuck between this world and the next. Her thoughts wove in and out of consciousness. Was this how she was going to die? Or would her fate be worse? 

         A brutal, grimy boot slammed into the side of her temple, sending her crashing back to reality. Blood gushed free, coating the roof in slick red. Ah, so a beating it was to be. She could take a beating. As long as she could stay conscious, she had a chance. The next blow ricocheted through her ribs, and she felt a neat snap. Next was her nose, snapped to the side. Her left eye. Her right. 

          Ladybug’s vision danced with stars. She could feel herself prying loose from her shell of a body with each kick. Numb and yet everything burned cold and hot like icy flames, swirling in her thoughts until she was nothing but pain. And yet, she was floating above the pain. A ghost, unable to react or stop herself from meeting death.

Her antagonists dangled her over the edge of the building, laughing raucously.  Through her muddled vision, she could see all of Paris. The lights were beautiful. 

        “I wonder if this ladybug flies,” one jeered. 

No! That snapped her out of her haze. Claustrophobic panic scrambled in her chest, desperate to be free. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Or perhaps, that was all she could do. Breathe. If she could just breathe, maybe she could figure out how to survive this. If she could inch her hand to her ankle, she’d be able to reach a switchblade. She fumbled weakly. Her fingertips brushed steel, but they were too far away. She couldn’t grasp it.

A choked, exasperated groan passed her broken lips. 

      “I hear they call her the Angel of Death,” another man said, shaking her over the edge of the roof. Hot, rank breath stained her face as he shouted, spraying spittle onto her.  “Where are your wings now?” 

    “Right here, Gentlemen.” a new, unexpected voice purred. 

At that moment, three things happened.  

One.

Startled, her attackers whirled around to face the newcomer. 

Two.

Her fingers grasped the knife. With one desperate flick, she jammed the blade into the palm of her nearest attacker. Unfortunately, she was still very much close to the edge. 

Three. 

The last thing she saw as she plummeted off the roof was a pair of frantic green eyes. 

-

Chat couldn’t lose her. Not now, when he’d come so close to victory. He dove off the roof after her, wildly praying his suit’s latest upgrades would withstand their combined weight. 

He reached out to grab her mid-air. His fingers brushed fabric. Wind whipped around them. Damnit! If she died, so did everything he’d worked towards. With a monumental lunge, he secured her in his arms, just in time. His suit’s tail shot out, coiling around a nearby drain pole, snagging violently. The strained jolt shot through him, rattling his bones. They swung precariously, the pavement glistening mere feet below them.  Safe. 

    “I’ve got you,” he gasped, cradling her to him. His voice wavered.  He was shaking all over from the adrenaline rush. “I’ve got you. …That was a close one, huh, ‘Bug?”  

Silence. Chat’s heart raced as he yanked his tail free and dropped to the ground, examining her in the moonlight. Her beautiful face was a mosaic of bruises. Blood smeared her cheek. Her eyes, so calculatingly clever, were closed, and her lips parted. Unmoving.  Bad. Very bad. He shook her, gently at first. Then harder, willing those blue eyes to open. Nothing. It was like shaking a broken doll. 

     “Wake up.” he barked. He patted her cheek. Was she…? Had he been too late? “ Ladybug.”

He held his fingers to her lips, trying to feel for a breath. Nothing. His panic threatened to crush him. 

He’d spent countless hours imagining her downfall—her clever kills undone, her relentless pursuit stopped.  Maybe they’d end things in an epic fight, or maybe he’d take her by surprise and trap her at her own game. In every scenario, he emerged victorious. But now, that felt hollow. He didn’t mean for it to be like this. Never like this. 

Before he could check for a pulse, furious shouts and pounding boots on pavement echoed in the air, coming alarmingly close. The morons on the roof were tenacious. Cursing in every language he knew, Chat clutched his nemesis close and took off into the night.

     “Plagg, order me the hotel room.” he ordered tersely into his earpiece as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. He’d planned to celebrate her downfall there, away from the prying eyes of his father. Now, it’d have to do for a hospital… or a morgue . 

     “With or without champagne, Sir?” his butler drawled. Chat could hear the faint clicking of a keyboard.

     “Get towels, alcohol swabs, and two fresh changes of clothing. Make sure they remember the “do not disturb” sign this time.” 

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

The “hotel,” as Chat’s main hideout was aptly named, was hidden in plain sight. Its facade was a rundown warehouse, complete with exposed beams, graffiti, and decay. Yet, past the abandoned storage crates and trash scattering the ground, beyond the many locks and security measures, there lay a plain and functional refuge. It was simple. It held an old-school kitchenette with a sink, refrigerator, and a microwave, along with a bed and bathroom. The space was windowless and sparse. It existed purely for lengthy stakeouts. The bedroom contained a lamp, bed, chair, and a side table. A single aloe vera plant- a gift from his mother,  lent the only touch of life and  color.  It was clinical, but to Chat, it beat his elegant rooms at home or staying in headquarters, where he was constantly monitored by his superiors.  Here he was the one watching. Behind the plain walls, he’d quietly outfitted it with hidden surveillance systems and weaponry.  This place was untouchable-his sanctuary. 

He scanned his eye and pricked his thumb to  satisfy the door’s biometric locks. They clicked open and he  burst in and gently lowered Ladybug’s limp body to the pillows. He fumbled  for a pulse.  Nothing. Her skin was clammy and cold. He squeezed his eyes shut and adjusted his placement on her throat. Please be alive . Finally, he felt it- faint fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. Relief shuddered through him. A breath escaped that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He chuckled weakly. So. He hadn’t killed her after all. Good. Now he just had to keep her that way.

His gaze swept the room. As requested, medical supplies lay on the side table, along with an unexpected plate of camembert. Chat rolled his eyes. 

Plagg’s favorite cheese, with its pungent, moldy aroma, tended to take over any place it occupied. Chat hated it. As such, Plagg made it a point to make it a staple wherever he went. But now, he was oddly nowhere to be found. 

       “Who is that for?” Chat asked, peering into one of the cameras hidden in the corner of the ceiling. 

       “I figured maybe she has better taste than you,” Plagg’s voice crackled smugly through his earpiece. He must’ve retreated back to the control room at the mansion. Chat flipped him off and grabbed the supplies, hastily dousing cotton in alcohol. He had work to do. 

The lamp cast a harsh light over the  growing bruises and leaking cuts that covered the girl on his bed. They were everywhere. Her suit, already red, was dark and spattered with wet  bloodstains. Chat’s jaw clenched as he hovered over her.   Where should he begin? He’d seen the men kicking her.  It’d struck a hot well of anger that he didn’t know he had. They had not held back. She’d be lucky not to have any internal bleeding.

His fingers traced along her collarbone, searching for a zipper to her suit. They paused as they found it, lingering. He looked at her, conflicted. To treat the wounds beneath, the suit would have to come off. But what if she woke up and saw him there? He was going to look like a total creep. Still, he couldn’t leave her like this. He’d just have to be careful. Or maybe he should start with her face instead... 

     “First time, Sir?” Plagg’s voice crackled in his ear. 

Chat snatched his hand back, heat rushing to his face. He swore under his breath, suddenly remembering his audience in the surveillance room. “Shut up , Plagg.”  

Chat disconnected his earpiece and pressed a hidden button on the side of the bed which deactivated the cameras in the room. The suit removal was for medical purposes. Nothing more. He would look only where required  to get the job done.  The last thing he needed right now was his butler ogling the scene like it was a reality show. 

She stirred slightly and groaned and Chat jerked back again. His heart pounded. Then he shook his head, scolding himself. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t a child. If he let himself wait, he might as well start digging her grave. Infection worked quicker than his hesitation. Soberly, he tugged at the zipper, keeping his eyes averted as he draped her strategically with a sheet. 

When he tugged at the corner to reveal her stomach and side, Chat’s breath hitched.  He had patched up wounds of his own after skirmishes when missions went awry, but nothing of this magnitude. Her skin, where it wasn’t lacerated, was a dark plum color and angrily swollen. Her bruises formed  boot prints. 

His stomach churned with anger. Even an enemy deserved better than this brutality. If only he’d found her sooner.  Quickly, he swabbed her skin, wiping up blood from her wounds and sterilizing them the best he could. Her skin, once cold, was now hot to the touch. He pressed the back of his hand lightly to her forehead-it burned. 

Not good. He hesitated, debating turning back on his earpiece to ask Plagg for advice. But no. He didn’t need any snarky remarks right now. He turned his attention to her shoulder near the crook of her neck, which was also streaked with blood. As he cleaned it away, he noticed an old silver scar emerging underneath. The indentations formed  a date. Chat’s eyes widened as he realized it had not yet occurred. It was three months from today. Who was this girl? How'd she go from strong and capable to paralyzed on a roof? 

She whimpered softly, turning her head away from his touch. Like this, she looked so young, like someone he'd run into in university and take classes with. Not like a dangerous vigilante who killed with wild abandonment. He pulled his hand back slowly, careful not to hurt her further and finished wrapping her wounds. 

What kind of life are you mixed up in, ‘Bug?

His gaze lingered as he tucked the blanket snugly around her. Her face, usually so determined, was slack with pain, her brow creased. She cried out faintly, her limbs twitching as if still locked in a fight. Unconsciously, Chat smoothed the hair away from her face. It was habit-something his mother always did when he had nightmares. 

    “Shhh.” He murmured. She stiffened, before letting out a soft sigh, her body relaxing. Her hand reached up and weakly clasped his wrist.  Chat froze mid-motion. His face heated. He pulled his hand away sharply. What was he doing soothing an assassin? If they switched places, he'd be dead right now.

The earpiece clicked back on. “Plagg,” he said briskly, forcing himself back into focus. “Give me the report.”

     “She tangled with Victor Karaskov. Known ties to human trafficking rings, gambler, and socialite- real charmer. She went after him in his club on the strip and sent the police after a girl- young- that he swiped off the street. They found her drugged and chained in Karaskov’s private office.” 

Chat’s jaw tightened. “And the fallout?”

     “Not great. They got the girl out, but now Karaskov’s men are scrambling. This proves the trafficking ring is active. Word is, they’re coming after Ladybug. They want her alive to send a message. She poked quite the powerful hornet’s nest.”

Chat glanced at the bruised and battered girl in his bed. He’d arrived just as they were dangling her off the roof. “They have a funny way of showing it,” he muttered. Brave, reckless girl. What have you started?   His consciousness twinged.  Taking down entire operations took months, or even years.  If his agency had been on this case, they’d have found the victim months later, rotting in a storage unit on a ship headed overseas. Ladybug’s way might’ve been crude, but it  got results. She saved lives. And yet, here he was, preparing to crush her. 

     “Her actions just painted a target on you too.” Plagg continued. “Reporters  arrived on the scene with the police and someone snapped a picture of you escaping with Ladybug. It only takes one internet detective to figure out who lies behind that mask of yours. The agency’s furious. They’re calling for you to return to headquarters for a debrief immediately. They want answers.” 

     “It’s always paperwork with them,” Chat groaned. “Look, I’m not coming in tonight. It’s three in the morning.  They can wait.” 

     “But Sir-”

     “Do we have any chicken soup, Plagg?” He’d strode over to the kitchenette and was rummaging through the cabinets. Perhaps spurred on by Ladybug's independent actions, he felt reckless. 

Plagg’s tone was incredulous. “Are you even listening? Your ass is on the line.” 

    “My ass is fine? Really, Plagg. At least buy me dinner first.” He  straightened, triumphantly holding up a packet of chicken ramen. “Aha! This’ll do.”

Chapter Text

Ladybug woke to the smell of something delicious. For a fleeting moment, she thought she was back in her childhood bakery, her mother humming softly while she stirred a pot of soup. She could feel the warmth of home wrapping around her. Then, reality hit. That bakery was long gone, and she would never get it back. Her eyes flew open.

Instead of  her former kitchen, she was in a small, sterile room. Her eyes darted to the corners, assessing her surroundings. Cameras.  Her fingers  felt instinctively for her suit’s weapons, but grasped only soft, knitted folds. No weapons. She wasn’t wearing her suit. Panic bubbled up in her chest. Where was she? Then she saw him. She wasn’t alone.

A masked man, tall, handsome, and slender, covered head to toe in dark leather, leaned casually against a set of kitchen cabinets. He flipped  an empty bowl absentmindedly in his hands while a microwave hummed.

Ladybug frantically searched her mind. The club. Victor. The red spray of his blood. And then-....what happened next? Her fingers twitched against the sheets. Who was this man? She had to get out of here.

Determined, she went to swing her legs out of the bed and let out an audible gasp as white hot agony rocketed through her like a lightning strike.  She doubled over, clutching her ribs. The room spun. Stars danced in her vision.

The man’s head snapped up. Concern flashed through his green eyes. So familiar. She didn’t know why. He rushed to her side, catching her as she started to pitch forward. His touch was steady but gentle, and set off more alarm bells in her head than any punch would.

     “Careful,” he said, his voice effortlessly warm. “You’re injured.”

Adrenaline surged. Ladybug jammed her elbow into him and wrenched herself free, stumbling back from the bed. She swayed on her feet, her legs like jelly,  but stood tall. She refused to appear weak. “Don’t touch me,” she rasped.

    “Easy,” he said with a wince, raising his hands in surrender and taking a cautious step back.

    “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice hoarse but edged with steel. Her eyes darted around the room. The door- it was sturdy but not unbreakable. She could rock from its hinges with a good kick. But doing so  required her to stay conscious. Easier said than done. Her attention flicked back to the stranger. “Why am I here?”

He eased closer, going slowly so as not to startle another attack response. “You’re safe.” He eased himself into the chair beside the bed and leaned forward. “You were hurt. I brought you here to… help.”

Her eyes narrowed, scanning the room and then him. “Safe?” she repeated, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Where’s my suit?”  She gestured sharply at the sweater, voice raising. “What the hell did you do to me?”

His face flushed slightly and he shook his head. “Me? Nothing. You were covered with a sheet. You were bleeding out when I found you—I treated your wounds. That’s all.” His tone was earnest. “I promise.”

      “Convenient,” she said bitterly. She nodded at the room’s corners. “And the cameras? Are they also there to make me feel extra safe? Or are your buddies getting  a private show?”

      “They’re off at the moment,” he said, crossing his arms. “It’s just me. Look. You’re not exactly in a position to fight right now. Don't waste your strength.”

Ladybug’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her breaths shallow and labored. Her eyes darted back to him, sharp and calculating. “Why? What do you want?”

He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his blond curls. “Maybe I don’t like seeing people get curb stomped to a pulp,” he shot back, his voice rising before he caught himself. He sighed, forcing calm into his tone. “Look, I… don’t want anything from you. I saw what they did to you. I couldn’t let you die.  So here we are. Now sit. You’re badly injured.”

She blinked rapidly, searching the fragments of her memory. A brawl? That would explain the agony in her side. Did she take out Victor? What about the girl? Was she safe? She sized up her supposed rescuer. He was no civilian—his gear, his demeanor, even the calm way he held himself screamed professional. He wasn’t part of her guild either. Whoever he was, he was a liability and he had to go. Who knows what he’d seen while she was out? Had he tried to remove her mask?

    “So,” she snorted, “You’re just the Good Samaritan type, huh? How stupid do you think I am? People don’t do things out of the kindness of their hearts.” She inched toward the lamp. If she was quick enough, she could slam it into his skull. Just one solid swing.

He shrugged. There were dark circles smudging his beautiful eyes. The mask accentuated them. Where have I seen those eyes before?  “Believe what you want. You can leave the second you’re strong enough to stand. Until then, rest. Please.”

Ladybug’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You think I’m staying here? With you? Adorable.”

    “Unless you’d rather go back to the streets where Karaskov’s men have a bounty on your head,” he  replied evenly, turning to the kitchenette. “Pretty sure they’d love a second chance to finish what they started.”

He turned back moments later with a steaming, full bowl in his hands. “Ramen?”

The tension hung thick between them. Ladybug stared him down. She sniffed at the bowl. “...Chicken?

    “Of course.” He strode closer and produced  a pair of chopsticks. “Here. I’m sure you’re hungry. Let’s pause this for now so we can eat.”

Ladybug’s eyes didn’t leave his as he plopped down in the chair beside the bed and stirred the ramen. “Join me,” he coaxed.

    “Give me my suit.”

    “It’s filthy. Let me wash the blood out at least.”

    “Give me. My. Suit.”

He eyed her, then sighed. “Fine. But I took the blades out.”  He rummaged around until he produced a crumpled bundle of red. He held it out while cradling his bowl of ramen in the other hand. “Here.”

Ladybug snatched the suit from him. “Thanks,” she said.

    “You’re welcome. Now will you please ea-”

Her first swing came fast, slamming into his handsome face. A quick sweep of his legs sent him toppling back, arms windmilling wildly. The bowl flew in the air.

He yelped, gasping, eyes wide. “Shit!” Blood exploded from his nose and stained the floor.

Ladybug hesitated. She could have left. Had she  just ran for the door, she’d have made it. But instead, she went for one last swing. She had to make sure he wouldn’t follow.  Unfortunately, he was ready. With cat-like reflexes, he had somehow righted himself enough to catch the bowl before it shattered. Using her momentum,  he deflected the next blow which sent her stumbling into a nearby wall. The lamp crashed in the process.

   “That was an antique,” he said ruefully.

Ladybug didn’t hesitate. She launched herself at him again, with flying elbows and vicious kicks. He dodged one attack, then another, standing his ground but refusing to strike her.

Suddenly,  Ladybug felt her legs buckle under her. She doubled over, clutching her side as she slid down the wall with a low groan. What was happening to her?

In one fluid motion he scooped her up into his arms, despite her protests, and carried her to the bed. She fought against him weakly but he didn’t flinch. He set her down gently, but even that was enough to make her cry out.  She curled into herself, trembling with rage.

   “Sorry.” He wiped blood from his nose. “I tried to warn you.”

   “Screw you.” she hissed.

   “By all means, get in line. You’ll be waiting a while, though. It’s a long one.” There was a heavy pause. “Look. Believe what you want, but I’m not your enemy.”

Ladybug refused to look at him, her back to him like a wall. He hovered over her for a moment longer, before he retreated to the chair, the shattered lamp crunching underfoot.

Chapter Text

Ladybug couldn’t resist slumber for long. Against her will, she tumbled into oblivion. Each  breath pulled her deeper, darker. Then-everything stopped. She’d hit something. A buried memory. Something ancient, undulating beneath the surface. Fragmented images twisted into whirlpools of dread as it stirred, writhed, and began to rise—like a wave swelling beyond measure, looming over her. She was a prisoner, helpless as it crashed and dragged her into the past. 

 It was evening. The air was fresh and balmy but the slightest nip hung in the breeze. She was twelve; she skipped along the familiar cobblestone street toward the bakery, humming a nameless tune. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow- it was finally ready. The talent show. A culmination of many sleepless nights spent crafting her entry- a dress covered with a thousand red satin roses. Clutched in her hand were the last two. One for each of her parents. At the show, she'd have them pin the final ones on, as symbols of their love and support. Excitement swelled in her chest, buoying her steps. She couldn't wait for them to see it. Tomorrow she would shine. And maybe- just maybe- she’d win a prize.

 If Chloe didn't bribe the judges, that is. 

The memory splintered. 

A block from home, her world changed forever. The air was thick with smoke.  Its acrid heaviness clung to her hair and coat. Blurry figures brushed past like startled birds. One clipped her shoulder roughly. 

“Hey!” she yelped, rubbing the spot. The man didn’t stop. She caught him in flashes-tall, wiry, limping. Clothes torn, muttering under his breath. Her anger shifted into unease. She shook her head, turning her attention back home.

The sky had darkened, swallowing the sun. She couldn’t see where the smoke came from, but every breath caught sharper in her throat. Last summer they’d caught a boy setting fireworks off in the alleyway. Had he returned? 

The crowd thickened. Instead of walking, people weaved erratically, eyes darting. She had to practically push through them to avoid being pushed into the path of cyclists and cars.  What was going on? 

Despite herself, the panic of the crowd seeped in. Her pulse quickened. She had to get home. Had Maman called? Did she know about this? She fumbled for her phone--

A blur of wheels- then wind. A bicyclist streaked past. She jumped. The phone slipped- skittered-kicked out of reach by a passerby. 

“No!”  She gasped and dove, hands slapping  the ground. Papa would be so disappointed if she lost his gift. 

Slam. 

 A knee crashed painfully into her temple. Stars pricked her vision. She curled inward, hacking and coughing. The ground trembled under her palms. Windchimes clanged madly somewhere overhead. 

 This wasn’t fireworks. 

Ladybug whimpered in her sleep, subconsciously twisting away from what came next.

 A flash- bright enough to burn through her eyelids. 

BOOM.

Glass shattered.

 The blast hurled her into an alley. 

The roses tore from her grasp. 

Debris crashed down, pinning her to the sharp cobblestones.  

Acrid gray choked her hacking lungs.

 Crumbling.

 Everything spun.

 Silence roared in her ears.

 Red brick dust-or was it ash?- coated her skin.

She couldn't see.  

Maman. Papa.  

Her lungs screamed. No air. 

She writhed, trying to crawl towards something-anything. Flames crackled somewhere nearby. 

Heat scorched her face as she curled behind a piece of rubble for protection.

Low, frantic voices emerged through the smoke. Her head was so heavy. She couldn't force it up to see the owners. Ladybug strained against the dream, willing her head to raise. Nothing. Her limbs were lead. She could only relive helplessly.

“It’s done.” Muffled. Distant.

“No one saw you?” A second voice. Sharp and insistent -almost paranoid.

A humorless chuckle. “I didn’t stick around for a chat. They’re not talking now, anyway.”

“What about the kid? Was she upstairs?”

“There’s no way she got out.”

“Are you sure?” The second voice grew more insistent. “The boss doesn’t want loose ends.”

“I can lock a damn door, Butch,” the first snapped back. “No one’s getting out of there.”

The conversation dissolved into indistinct murmurs, the words swallowed by the hiss of rain. Ladybug’s heart pounded as she struggled to cling to the fragments. Butch ? She strained desperately to hear more, but the conversation was swallowed up by sirens.

Ladybug bolted upright, gasping and shaking.  The nightmare clung to her like spiderwebs.  She tried to take in her surroundings. Where was she? Broken lamp. Microwave. The thick scent of ramen. Faint cologne. Focus. She dug her fingernails into her skin, adding to the peppered white crescent scars lacing her palms. The sharp, familiar, pain calmed her racing heart. She was still in the hideout.

Her rescuer  snored lightly in the chair beside her, his chest rising and falling peacefully with each breath. His golden curls fell forward, covering part of his masked face. His lips were parted slightly, breath soft and steady.. Ladybug found herself unintentionally matching the rhythm. Her shoulders slowly unknotted themselves. 

He was younger than she'd thought. Around her age. In another life, they'd have been classmates. Here, with his face peaceful, and his neck exposed, he was utterly vulnerable. How he could sleep next to an apex predator was beyond her. Civilian behavior. And yet…the suit screamed that he was more. Ladybug pursed her lips. Yet another mystery. She'd deal with him later. She had bigger things on her mind. 

She swung her legs out of bed. New hope swirled inside her chest, warming her. As painful as the past was, she couldn't help but feel it. A lead after all these years? It was almost too painful to accept and yet…She took a deep breath and winced as her ribs screamed angrily at her. Oh. Right. Baby steps. She was getting ahead of herself. She had to get out of here in one piece first. Another sharp pain ripped her side, demanding her attention. Woozily, she stood, and slunk to the bathroom, swiping the medicine kit that lay on the side table. The man didn't stir. 

“Some watchcat you are,” she muttered. As convenient as it was for an escape, it irked her that he saw her as so little of a threat that he could take a nap. Villains feared and hated her, but they rarely underestimated her and lived. Behind the locked bathroom door, in the view of the mirror, she could more clearly assess the damage.   She steadily lifted the corner of her shirt and peeled away one of the soaked bandages to see the damage. As an assassin, Ladybug was used to injuries that others would run from, but this was… A soft curse escaped her lips.

 Her attackers had been thorough. Her side was a web of bloody lacerations and blackened bruises. Beneath the skin lay cracked ribs.  She could only hope there was no internal bleeding. No wonder  breathing felt like she'd inhaled white hot blades. She gritted her teeth and grimly went to remove the other wrappings, soiled with her blood. The man in the chair had tied them delicately, with small knots, firmly, but not so tight around her sides as to pain her further. She always bound her wounds tightly. Less bleeding. More pain. But his methods were…gentle.

She could still smell the ramen he'd offered wafting from the kitchen. It was so foreign to feel kindness in her world, especially from someone in a uniform similar to her own. She couldn't help but see it as a trap. Maybe that made her paranoid, but distrust kept her on top and her enemies in the grave. 

Quickly, she redressed her wounds tightly and slipped her suit back on. The suit would speed up her wound healing. One of its perks, for sure, even if parts of it were tattered and ruined. She’d have to mend it. Her stomach growled and she pressed a hand to it to silence it. 

“Not now,” she murmured. “We’ve got work to do.” Her eyes squeezed shut as she leaned over the sink, letting memories wash over her again.  Butch . The name roused an itch  in her blood. She didn’t recognize it from any of the crime syndicates she haunted. Finding its owner would mean everything. But where could he possibly be?

Tikki would know. Tikki could find any one. Ladybug instinctively reached for her earpiece to contact her scout. Her hands met soft flesh. Nothing. Ladybug swore harshly as her memory returned. It had flown off in the fight. Oh this was bad. That meant she'd been out of range for hours. Tikki freaked out when Ladybug sent goodnight texts late. The assassin squeezed her eyes shut. Her petite wingwoman was probably scouring every security camera in the city for her. Ladybug would never hear the end of it. Last time she'd gone AWOL, Tikki had given her the silent treatment for a week.

“Sorry,  Tikki,” she whispered. 

She peeked out of the door. Catboy was still snoring softly in the chair. Good. She needed to get out of here before Tikki blew up the neighborhood in search of her. She slipped out. The door’s keypad and eye scanner mocked her. She cursed quietly. Who kept those on the inside of their hideout?  She didn't have time for this! She glanced at the man. If she had more strength, she could force those pretty eyes open to unlock it. Then there was the keypad. He'd never give that up without significant pressure-preferably via a blade twisting in his kidney. She patted her sides. He'd taken her weapons. In a fit of irrational frustration, she grabbed the door handle, shaking it violently. To her shock, it glided  open with ease. Alarm bells went off in her head as she looked between him and the door. Had it been unlocked this whole time? Had he opened it while she slept? What was he playing at? He had said she was free to go after she healed… She hesitated at the threshold. Was he more of a fool than she'd thought? Or was this a trap as well?

Before she could ponder more, the snoring abruptly stopped. That gave her the jolt she needed. Ladybug sprang into action. She ran for the door, stumbling away and down stairs and graffiti covered walls until she burst out into the freedom of the night. 

-

Chat opened his eyes. He’d woken just as she was slipping out, but kept still until he could no longer hear her footsteps.  Once she was out of range, he quietly switched his surveillance cameras and earpiece back on. A tiny well of admiration grew in his chest. Even injured, she refused to stay in the safety of a cage.  

It wasn't much of a headstart- just enough. All he could afford to give her. 

 Stay in the shadows,’Bug. 

“Where is she?” Plagg demanded as soon as he was back in contact. 

“Gone.” Chat answered simply. 

“Are you insane? You let her go?” His butler’s voice yelled through the earpiece. Chat winced, plucked the earbud out, and dropped it on the side table. It quivered faintly as Plagg’s now distant tirade buzzed on. “You do understand that people don't actually get fired from the agency, right, Kid? They just disappear. Float face down in the Seine. And it won't be you that they dump, Golden boy. As your glorified babysitter, it'll be my unidentifiable ass washing up in a trashbag.” His voice rose to a shriek. 

“I just...” He murmured softly, ignoring Plagg's theatrics. “Had to. She never would have given up her hideout while trapped.” 

She didn't belong in a cage.

 He had seen it in her wild, intelligent eyes- too proud to kneel, too fierce to tame.

 She'd die before living as he did.

Yes, he’d find her lair. But not like this.

It was too easy trapping her while she lay broken.

That wouldn't solve the problem. She wasn't alone. If he cut off the head, two more of her team would rise in her place like a Hydra. 

No, he needed all of them eradicated. She was the key. 

But catching her now? 

That wasn’t justice. 

It wasn’t victory. 

And it certainly wasn’t fun . 

He intended to win her fair and square. 

“I hope she cuts your ears off,” Plagg stewed. “Though knowing you,  you probably wouldn't notice-you never listen to the plans anyway.” 

“Oh ye of little faith,” Chat said. He leaned against the door and pressed ‘send’ on a message. The notification ping echoed in the empty space. 

Funny.

 It’d felt so much fuller when she'd been there.

 “Trust me, Plagg. We're just getting started.”

Chapter Text

The catacombs of Paris were deadly in the dark. Twisting over four hundred miles under the city,  they formed a labyrinth of unending tunnels and dead ends. Their walls, said to be the most haunted in France, were  packed with the bones of millions--a macabre decor unmatched in scale.  Once a light went out, even the most experienced person could be lost forever--their screams swallowed up by the busy streets a mere few feet above on the surface. As legends went, if one explored far enough, they’d find the doorway to hell. It was illegal to enter, except on guided tours. However, criminals, cult leaders, and curious adventurers thrived there. Officials busied themselves blocking off every entrance, but every once in a while, someone ordinary found their way down. Most never made it back. 

Among those who thrived in the shadows was Ladybug. She knew the catacombs as intimately as a child knows their mother. Their yawning emptiness beckoned her. They allowed her to travel the city like a spectre in the night, emerging to slit throats, and vanish again without a trace.  The maze was her playground and home. She’d never give up its secrets. 

With deep, painful groans, she descended down through a sliver of earth, crawling in places and ducking until she reached the catacomb’s central arteries and could stand. Only there could her lungs truly open. The air was cool, ancient and dusty, like time itself had settled there. The police never ventured after her. They were too scared, or too indifferent to investigate anything beyond surface level. As always. 

Ladybug leaned against a stack of femurs. Now came the more difficult quest: finding the right room. As experienced as she was, she still needed to concentrate.  Pain screamed at her, clouding her thoughts. It was easy to get cocky and take a wrong turn into oblivion. Ladybug closed her eyes. They were useless anyway. Her mental map was infinitely more reliable. She caressed the carved sides of the walls, fingers running delicately over curving stone and bones. Deftly, she wove deeper down, to the heart of the beast. 

Eventually, she reached metal and glass. A cracked lantern hung there, long dead. She’d lit it herself with trembling hands, back when the dark had still made her cry. Then she learned it was safer to become the dark herself. I’m coming, Tikki . She ducked to avoid a chandelier of skulls, and passed through the arch of jawbones. Suddenly, there was light. 

The lair was a tangle of candles, blades, and memories. She’d spent her youth dragging everything from mattresses to medical supplies down the passageways, building a home that a landlord could only dream of. The catacombs had room to spare. And the rent? Fantastic. 

On the stone walls, dozens of names were scratched. Gang leaders. Corrupt cops. Arms dealers. Some were crossed out. Others were circled. She wouldn’t rest until every name became dust. Ladybug wearily grabbed a knife and slashed through Victor Karaskov’s name. More filth gone. She could only hope that the girl at the club had been rescued before becoming his victim. 

Her thoughts flickered to the men on the roof. Victor’s cousin was still out there. She could still see his vicious smile as he curb-stomped her. She had a feeling that he would hunt her until one of them ended up dead.

 Ladybug sighed and shifted her attention back to the wall. She’d deal with the repercussions of murdering Victor later.

Her hand trembled as she reached a blank space, ready to fill it with a new name. The most important one yet. The name echoed in her skull, taunting her. 

She gritted her teeth as she carved.

Butch. 

He’d murdered her parents, but not alone. 

Her pulse pounded as she stepped back to examine her work. A fresh piece of the puzzle, jagged and unfamiliar. A deep frown cut across her face.

Whose orders had he acted on? Who wanted her parents gone, and why?

She barely had time to tense before—

“Ladybug?” 

A shocked, feminine voice chirped, cutting through her haze.  

Ladybug wasn’t able to brace herself before she was crushed in a fierce hug that made her yelp.

“Easy, Tikki,” she groaned, coughing heavily. 

The petite redhead jerked back, hands still resting on Ladybug’s shoulders. Her worried eyes scanned the assassin’s battered frame.

“Girl,” she whispered. “You look like hell.”

“Good to see you too,” Ladybug said dryly, gently sidestepping her colleague in search of a cold drink. Now that she’d stopped moving, her body screamed at her for ignoring the basics. She could feel Tikki’s eyes on her back as she moved. Her companion tended to catastrophize missions that went poorly. Ladybug had learned to balance her fretting with nonchalance. “It looks worse than it feels. Besides Victor’s dead. That’s all that matters.” 

“No, it isn’t.” Tikki was on her heels instantly. “You went dark for two days. I thought you were dead. I checked every feed in the city. Where were you?” 

Ladybug exhaled through her teeth, rounding the corner. “I’m fine, Mom. ”   

“You’re bleeding through your suit.” 

Ladybug didn't respond. She grabbed a drink and dropped into a chair with a heavy thud. Her body felt wrong-- like armor left to rust. Too stiff. Too brittle. She needed rest. But there was no rest for the wicked. The lid clicked open. She took a long swig, downing half of it in one swallow. She could taste coppery blood in every sip.

Tikki didn’t let up. She  hovered nearby, arms crossed and jaw tight. A faint yet familiar twitch formed under her left eye.

“Well? Where were you? And what happened to your suit?”

“Victor’s cousin happened. Bigger asshole than Victor, honestly. He and his crew didn’t take the family update very well. I had to improvise.” 

“You’re not invincible, you know,” Tikki said, voice cracking--no longer punishing, but  pleading in a way that was somehow worse. “I thought- No, I felt, that you were gone.” She looked away, blinking too quickly.

“I’m right here,” Ladybug said quietly, placing her hand on Tikki’s, grounding them both. “I’m not planning to die anytime soon. Not until we get rich, anyway,” she added to lighten the mood.

Tikki squeezed her hand tightly, then sniffed and pulled away. “You make it hard to believe sometimes.” The redhead rummaged around in her bag and tossed something into Ladybug’s lap--a new communication device.

 “Here. To replace the one you dropped when you fell off a roof. ” The words were pointed and disapproving. 

Then she held out her phone. “Now explain this.”

On the screen was a photo. Grainy. Unforgiving. 

Ladybug’s stomach dropped. 

Cat boy stared back from the shot, his arms wrapped around her; her limp body was bloodied, head lolling back. Vaguely she remembered pitching backwards into empty air before she’d woken in his hideout, but the details were fuzzy. This was how things ended that night? 

She looked wrecked. Exposed. Like prey. Meanwhile, he looked like a superhero from a comic, confident and capable. Infuriating. She snatched the phone from Tikki with a curse and hurled it aside, as if that were enough to get rid of the image.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” she growled, dragging her fingers through her hair. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

“So,” Tikki pressed. “Who is he?”

Ladybug rubbed at the bruises blooming along her jaw.  “No idea. He just showed up on the roof and took down three guys. Didn’t even break a sweat.” She’d been too busy trying to stay alive to care.
“He’s not one of ours though. He’s too…” an image of his bright, welcoming smile hit her. “...Shiny.” 

Tikki raised an eyebrow. “You let him help?”

Ladybug winced, remembering the boots. The blows. She flexed her hands instinctively into fists. “I didn’t exactly get a vote.”

Tikki tilted her head. “So he was just…in the right place at the right time?”

“Allegedly. I don’t believe in coincidences,” Ladybug muttered.  Absently she rubbed at the scar on her neck as she talked, picking at the silver, puckery flesh. Then she sighed and relented, beginning her tale. She danced vaguely around the events, telling just enough to appease Tikki, and leaving out the parts that were still raw and aching-her confusing dream and the unlocked door in Catboy’s hideout. To keep Tikki from focusing on it, she ended instead with the job she’d pushed to the back burner. Agreste. 

“Wait, you blew off a client?” Tikki yelped. “Why?”

Ladybug sighed. Maybe she should’ve left that out too.  She knew what Tikki would say next. Every client matters!  But she’d had bigger things on her mind--planning Victor’s murder had taken all of her time and brainpower. The pretty rich boy with his missing mother had faded into the background. “He can wait his turn. I’m doing him a favor.” 

Tikki glowered, hands on hips. Her fiery red hair framed her delicate face like a halo of an avenging angel.  “He was offering clean money. No death, just a missing persons case. You don’t get to pick and choose anymore, not with—”

Ladybug snorted, remembering the pleading look in his eyes. The way he grabbed her wrist with reckless desperation, like she was his salvation- like he didn’t care that she could kill him. 

“Relax. He’s not going anywhere. Trust me, he needs us much more than we need him. Besides, I have plenty of other jobs lined up.”

Tikki didn’t answer.

That silence scraped deeper than any insult. The lack of a lecture was enough to make Ladybug glance up from the boots she’d been easing off her aching feet. 

Tikki’s face had changed. No longer just tired. Not just worried. It was the look of someone holding a truth too sharp to say aloud.

“Not anymore,” she murmured, not meeting the assassin’s eyes.

Ladybug’s hand froze, one boot halfway off. The world stilled.

“What?”

Tikki glanced away, just for a second. “They pulled out after seeing the photo. Underground’s crawling with it. I deleted what I could, but... it wasn't enough.”

 A beat. Then another. Something inside Ladybug tipped. The boot fell to the ground with a solid thud. 

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, trying to make sense of things and failing. “One photo? It’s barely anything.”

“Not to them.” Tikki's voice was low. “Down here, it’s all image- and in that photo? You looked fragile, like you were the one needing saving.”

Ladybug’s throat went dry. Clients did abhor incompetence. 

“Who?” she rasped, even though she already knew. “Who pulled out?”

Tikki swallowed. “Duke. Chelsea. All of them.”

Ladybug’s pulse pounded in her ears. She stood suddenly, chair legs screeching. “That can’t be.” 

“You know how this world works,” Tikki said, softly. “Power is perception.”

Ladybug exhaled. A sharp, barking laugh. Her stomach bottomed out beneath her. 

 She’d won. Ended a powerful man. She should be celebrating. She should be feared. Respected.

 Instead? She felt sick.

“Even Duke?” she murmured.  That bastard owed her his kingdom. Where was the loyalty? She clenched her fists. “Damnit, Tikki. You deleted it.” 

She clenched her fists, trying to focus. She just needed a minute. Just a breath. A plan. 

But the walls of the catacombs felt smaller now. The names carved on them stared back at her like accusations.

“I need a shower,” she muttered, before her own voice could betray her. She was already standing, already walking—fleeing more than moving.

Tikki didn’t try to stop her.

Ladybug staggered toward the makeshift shower, suddenly needing something— anything —to ground her. She peeled the suit off her shoulders. Blood crusted along her ribs. The icy water hit like glass; she welcomed it.

Her spine hit the damp stone wall. 

She’d bled for this life. Every scar, every calculated kill, every mission; were they to be erased by a single shutter click?

It couldn’t be possible. She could almost hear them now, whispering about how the great Ladybug had fallen; had gone soft . 

A thousand thoughts collided like wreckage in her skull: anger, humiliation, betrayal, and disbelief. But one rose above the rest like a flare. 

Adrien Agreste.

She closed her eyes. 

He’d begged her for help. She’d left--knowing what it was to lose a mother. Dismissed him. Told herself he could wait, that she was the one in control.

But she wasn’t.

Not anymore. And maybe that made her a monster.

The others had pulled out. Her contracts were gone.

And the people she owed didn’t do overdue notices. They sent body bags.

If she didn’t deliver soon, she’d be next on a slab—just another cold case no one bothered to solve, right next to the mother he’d begged her to find. 

And now?

The only job left was the one she'd nearly tossed aside.

The water wasn’t soothing anymore. It was hollow.

Ladybug shut off the water. The silence wrapped around her like a shroud.

The fear, the respect, the near-mythical rumors of her prowess—they were swirling away like the water in her shower drain, circling out of reach. 

“It was one photo,” she murmured. But somehow, it was enough to unravel everything.

She stood still. Dripping. Shivering.

Tikki was right. 

She couldn’t afford to lose him. Not with the underground whispering. Not with her reputation on the line.  She needed this contract. Surely she wasn’t too late. Two days wasn’t very long. Was it?

She would have to crawl back. Grovel. Pray that he hadn’t found someone else.

Wasn’t that just perfect.

The bitterness rose fast in her chest. Too fast to stop.

With a snarl, she slammed her fist into the wall. Pain bloomed across her knuckles. Blood welled.

But at least that —the sting, the split skin, the heat of it—was hers to command.

Chapter Text

Adrien found himself back in the greenhouse, but the beautiful vines and foliage he usually tended with joy, held no magic today. He plucked, weeded, and watered in dull repetition, trying to drown out the morning’s chaos. 

The agency hadn’t been pleased about the photo — or that he’d gone radio silent, disabling cameras and listening devices. They were livid when they learned he’d let his target walk. Now they had him strapped into a damn seatbelt, refusing to let him move without Plagg shadowing his every step. He was confined to the mansion until further orders.

Adrien hacked at an overgrown bush, jaw clenched tight.

Why had he done it? Plagg had asked. The agency had demanded.

Adrien’s answer hadn’t sufficed.  The agency thought in black and white: Get the job done or get out. Normally, Adrien liked that about them. He never had to guess when it came to missions. He got a dossier and he followed it and went home happy. 

But this…this was different. He couldn’t get her bloodied form and wild eyes out of his head. He couldn’t just take her in. This case required finesse. Playing a long game. 

 He’d sent her a message—one last push, telling her time was running out. No response.

Adrien hissed as he pricked his finger on a thorn. He squeezed the tiny wound, watching ruby blood bubble up. 

Unfortunately, it seemed like the agency was right to distrust him as the hours ticked by. At first, he’d been arrogant, bragging to Plagg that he had everything under control. But Ladybug didn’t show up. Had she dropped the job? Gone against her promise to him? 

Oh how the mighty fall. He’d had her at his mercy- he should have turned her in right there and then. And yet he’d let her go.  

Ping!

The soft chime shattered the silence like glass. Adrien snatched up his phone, pulse spiking as he read the message.

On the screen was a single message that changed everything. 

“See you soon.” 

A wide grin cracked across his face before he could stop it. She’d taken the bait. Maybe he could save this after all.

 “Plagg?” he shouted. He knew the butler was lurking just outside. “We’re back in business.” 

Adrien didn’t have to wait long. She appeared like a wraith from the shadows, leaning against one of the large fruit trees that grew from the center of the greenhouse. His breath caught in his lungs. 

She looked whole again. Beautiful. Collected. Lethal. Like she hadn’t been bleeding out in his arms days before.  His brain scrambled. He hadn’t prepared for this. How could he renegotiate now, when she’d regained the upper hand?

But he couldn’t falter. Not now. 

He forced himself to remain calm. If she sensed even for a second that this was a trap, he’d lose everything. “You’re late,” he said, voice steady despite himself, as if it were just another day in the office. Let her think he didn’t care. Let her believe he didn’t need her anymore. It was her turn to want this.

Deftly, she plucked a peach from the branches. Her smile was cool and unbothered, but something about it was off. As though she’d painted it on before arriving. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” 

He arched a brow. “Fondness doesn’t close deals.”

Ladybug’s lips pursed. For a moment, something flickered, brief but real beneath her usual mask- pain, frustration, anxiety; but it was gone before he could read it. She recovered with ease, rolling her eyes languidly. He wondered what she’d used to cover the bruising. 

She held up the peach, rotating it; examining it.  “Choosing the right peach requires patience," she said. "Pick one too early… ”

 A small knife glinted as she slipped it from her sleeve. 

Adrien tensed, instinct flaring, but she made no move toward him. With practiced, steadied moves, she peeled. The blade whispered through the skin.  Ribbons of it curled onto the floor. “...and it’s bitter.”

She bit a slice straight from the blade, her teeth flashing. Juice glistened on her mouth.  Adrien’s throat tightened.

“Delicious,” she murmured, drying the last of it from her fingers. “Well worth the wait, don’t you think?”

Adrien swallowed hard. Focus. Don’t let her lead . He folded his arms tightly across his chest.  “Timing is everything,” he agreed evenly. “Wait too long, however, and they rot.”

She tossed the peach pit. It landed hollowly on tile and rolled under a table. “I’m here now. Let’s get started.” 

His palms were sweaty. 

Keep your voice steady. Make her believe this is her loss, not yours.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, tone detached. Like she hadn’t haunted every corner of his mind for the past forty-eight hours. “Not after you walked.”

“Things got…complicated.” she murmured, wincing. Wasn’t that the understatement of the year? Absentmindedly, she tugged at the sleeves of her suit.

 Adrien knew then that the wounds hadn’t been healed. They were there, hidden by fabric and makeup and smiles. Part of him felt guilty. She was in no state to do the job he’d asked, and yet, he couldn’t stop now. There was too much at stake. Now he just had to make her want this. 

“Unfortunate.  I had to pivot. This is time sensitive after all.”

She froze. He could see it. “What?” 

He pressed further. “I hired someone else.” 

There it was. He dropped the line with careful indifference, but inside, his heart rioted in his chest.

Please don’t call my bluff.

Her expression didn’t change, but he could see the shift — a subtle tightening around her eyes. She hadn’t expected that.

Good.

“Who?” she asked, voice flat.

“A freelancer. Reliable. Didn’t ditch halfway through negotiations.”

The lie slid out too easily. But he clung to it like a lifeline. She couldn’t know how badly he needed her. How the agency was one mistake away from cutting him out completely. How the entire operation hinged on her being desperate enough to swallow his terms.

Now she was hurt. Angry. Her eyes flashed like blue flames.  “It was two days.” Her teeth were gritted. “I’m better than anyone in the city for finding people and keeping things discreet. You begged me for help.” 

“Turns out I didn’t need to. I didn’t call you to offer it back,” he shot back, turning just enough to watch her reaction. “I called you to tie up loose ends.”

She moved then. One step closer. He made himself stay in place. They were close now. He could feel her breath on his skin. She was shorter than he remembered. 

“Adrien.”

He’d never heard her say it before. Just his name. But it landed with more force than any blade.

“I need this,” she said. His stomach turned. Seeing her vulnerable like this, subdued and small, felt so wrong.  Was this how he’d looked when he’d pleaded with her? 

“And I need my mother back,” he said softly. 

“You think you can pull this off without me?” she asked, more force now. Her desperation was palpable. “Without my contacts? My knowledge of the city? You’ll be lost.”

“It’s no longer your concern what happens to me.” 

The blade came so fast that if he hadn’t expected it, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it centimeters before it pierced his throat. Their heavy breaths mingled as she stared him down. Blood dripped between his fingers as the blade sliced through tender skin. There it was. She was still wild. She took what she wanted. He liked that. 

 “I want back in.”

His hand lashed out, grabbing her wrist with enough force for the blade to clatter from her grasp. He twisted as years of combat training kicked in, pinning her arm behind her back. It was a dangerous game to play, and one he knew he wouldn’t win if he didn’t have the element of surprise on his side, but for now, she still underestimated him.  

“You have a funny way of showing it,” he muttered. 

She wrenched herself free, cursing and rubbing her wrist. “Who do you need dead? Your father? I’ll do it. I’ll get you your trust fund, just honor this deal, damnit.”

“The deal is over. Unless…”

She didn’t move. The silence held her question. 

“A partnership,” he said smoothly. It was now or never. If she didn’t agree, he was doomed. He had to land this. 

“No.” she bristled, pride flaring. “I work solo.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then walk.” 

She didn’t. 

He doubled down. “You don’t get to negotiate anymore. You work with my freelancer. You take their lead, and you split the payment.”

“That’s—”

“Non-negotiable.”

A beat of silence.

“You expect me to trust some nobody ?” she spat.”You said it yourself. I’m the best this city has.”

“You were.”

 He let the sting hit her. It was cruel, but he was in too deep to stop now.  “Look, it’s simple. You want back in, you play by new rules. You don’t get to disappear on me again.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Fine.”

Adrien exhaled, tension bleeding from his spine. She was in. He turned to hide the relief threatening to break through him. 

 “Excellent. Now. Up for a little fishing?” 

Chapter Text

Port de Granelle seemed unending as she wove along the cobblestone path. Overhead on her right towered huge vessels in every color. For some, it was  their permanent resting place; they were stationed solidly and adorned with flowers and signs beckoning people in. Others lingered only a day or two, bobbing gently in the current. Further down the row, charm gave way to luxury, as a fleet of sleek yachts docked in the neighboring marina. 

The summer air was thick with fish, algae, and the faint scent of freshly baked bread wafting from a nearby bakery. Ladybug shuddered. The scent blindsided her—thick, inescapable, dragging old ghosts up from the riverbed of her memory.
  She couldn’t avoid them. Not here. She had to finish this job quickly. She tried to keep her vision straight ahead as she wove past parked motorcycles and pedestrians. 

Fishing, he’d said. 

When she’d pressed further, he’d slipped an address into her hand and sent her on her way. But this wasn’t a vacation. She was here on business. 

It made sense that she’d end up back here. 

 The real catch of the port wasn’t fish--it was secrets. Information flowed as easily as water down the Seine, making it a perfect place to dig for traces of her.  Emilie Agreste. A beautiful young socialite, vanishing overnight, leaving behind a grief-stricken husband and a lonely boy.

Ladybug remembered when the news broke ten years ago. She remembered Emilie’s glossy face on the cover of a magazine, curling into ash. Crumpled pages made good fuel to warm trembling limbs. 

The reward for information had been staggering. That’s when she’d first realized how rich the Agrestes were. And yet, despite the many eager tips that flooded in, nothing tangible surfaced. She became a local mystery. 

Ladybug took another glance at the address before tearing it neatly to pieces. The pieces fluttered into the Seine and flowed away along with a duck which bobbed peacefully in the swell. Its iridescent feathers gleamed handsomely in the fading light. 

Oh, to be as free as him.

Drifting where he pleased. Flying off when things got too cold or dangerous. Working alone.

She gritted her teeth. 

She hadn’t been told who her partner was, just that they’d show up when she needed them. Like some knockoff  guardian angel.

  Well. She’d be damn well sure she’d never need them. 

She eyed the walkie talkie in her pocket, tempted to toss it in as well. But no. She had to play nice if she wanted this job. She hated Adrien for backing her into this deal. Hated that he was her only way out. 

She skipped up onto a curb, balancing expertly on it as she made her way to the one ship that might have answers. The Callais. Tikki had already sent her a detailed report on the man: Captain Lemac, a lecherous drunkard who claimed to have seen Emilie a few years back. The police had already investigated him many times, but to no avail.

 Ladybug snorted. Not that that meant anything at all. The police didn’t use brute force to get what they wanted. They’d rather let a trail go cold than ever exude actual effort. She was well aware of that. 

She broke into a run, lungs burning as air tore through them. Every step lit her wounds on fire, but she didn’t slow. Pain was familiar—manageable. She let it bleed into the anger she carried for Agreste until it became fuel, vibrating in her veins.

This was what she understood. Movement. Violence. Control.  It felt so good. If Captain Lemac refused to help,  she’d carve usefulness out of him.

Her smile was feral by the time she reached the ship.

She didn’t knock. She strode up the gangplank and onto the deck of The Callais as if she owned it. Confidence was everything in this career. 

The boat was dark, already closed for the evening, save for a faint light glowing from a small window. Ladybug headed there, ducking under a potted plant swinging gently from a jutting boom. Honeysuckle. She reached up, brushing her fingers against a blossom. Its delicate scent cut through the briny air. Not what she expected from the captain. Shifting her weight with the rocking of the ship, she reconsidered her approach. 

Maybe subtlety would serve her better tonight. For once.

 She plucked the flower and tucked it behind her ear. Armed and ready, she slipped silently below deck. 

Ladybug approached the cabin door in silence, each step measured, letting the lull of the ship’s movement cover her advance. Her hand hovered near the weapon hidden at her hip, but she didn’t draw it. Not yet. The door wasn’t locked. She opened it in a smooth motion. 

Inside was a confusing sprawl of items. No  empty beer cans. No mahogany. No cigarette smoke. Instead, there was a macrame hammock. Record covers on every wall. A set of drums in the corner. Beaded curtains on the windows. Everything was light, airy, and welcoming. 

Somewhere nearby, a windchime tinkled.

In the corner, with his back to her, sat a man, spine curved as he bent over a guitar and gently strummed it with practiced precision. His fingernails were painted black. The fabric of his  shirt pulled as he moved, lifting up enough to show a tattoo of waves on his side.

 Could this be the drunkard Tikki described? She’d never mentioned his age, but Ladybug had assumed he’d be old and vile. Not...this. Then again, he had the tattoo Tikki had indicated. A rolling wave. Ladybug’d  learned long ago not to judge by appearances when it came to criminals. Sometimes the sweetest old woman was a serial child murderer and the glowering man smoking in the alleyway was an upstanding citizen, tired of his day job. 

The tune he played was light, melodic—utterly unique, yet deeply familiar. Mesmerized, Ladybug found herself taking a step forward. The floor creaked. 

His fingers froze on the strings. He looked up with eyes like seawater in a storm. They widened in curious surprise. “Uh, we’re closed,” he said. His voice was low. Melodic. Unbothered.

He studied her as she studied him. Without fear.

 His quiet, intelligent gaze was too open for her liking. Too intimate. He set his guitar aside and stood. He was tall. Fluidly, he moved toward her with open, unthreatening arms.

“Are you lost?”

The gentle concern was such a disarming approach that Ladybug felt her breath catch. She was used to distrust. Anger. Fear. Not this. Did Lemac have a son?

“Is this the Callais?” she asked sharply. 

He nodded calmly. He leaned against the doorframe.  “The one and only.” She only then realized she was standing outside the room. Somehow, without force or fuss, he’d maneuvered her. Oh, he was good. 

She then saw another tattoo on his wrist, nearly hidden by several macrame and leather bracelets. A cursive L. For Lemac? 

None of this felt right. The scent, the setup, the look in his eyes—it was all wrong. But the address led here. And she didn’t have the luxury of doubting herself. The photo of her had burned every other avenue to the ground. This needed to work.  It had to be him. 

Still, something about him felt… off. Too grounded. Too clean. Too present. But there was no time left to be cautious. The trail was hot. She had to press.

She decided to shoot her shot. “I’m here for the truth.” Her tone was clipped. Professional. “About her. Not the watered-down version you gave the cops. The real story. Where is she?”

His face shifted—wariness now, and something harder tightening behind his eyes. They were stormy now. There it was. He wasn’t as tame as he’d looked. This was closer to the Lemac she’d expected. 

“You’re one of them, then,” he said, voice low. “I told you all after the last guy that we weren’t interested in answering any more questions. She barely got out alive. She’s been through enough.” 

Excitement raced through her. Emilie?

He pointed toward the port. “There’s the exit. Please leave now before she wakes up.” 

Ladybug’s heart pounded. Was her luck about to change so quickly? Could it truly be this easy?  “She’s here?”

“Look,” he said firmly, taking a step forward, moving her back onto the main deck of the ship. “She’s not a story. She’s a person. The tabloids already ran her name, and it nearly killed her. She needs time to heal.” 

Ladybug pressed a palm to his chest to stop him herding her any further. He was warm. Solid. She looked up, locking eyes with him. “I’m not a reporter,” she said steadily. “I’m here to take her home, to her family.” 

He looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “I'm her family.”

Chapter Text

The honeysuckle fell from her hair. He’d backed her against a mast and towered over her. He pointed again to the shore.  His gaze flashed with determination.
“Leave. You really don’t want to be here when my mother wakes up.” 

“Are you threatening me?” she said, reaching for a blade at her hip. 

Wrong move. 

A roar split the air- half human, half beast. 

“Get the hell away from my son!” 

Ladybug barely had time to process before instinct kicked in. She grabbed the man and dragged him backwards, pressing her knife to his throat. She needed the upper hand for whatever attack was about to commence. She could feel his rapid breaths mixing with hers, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch or struggle. 

Then her vision cleared and she saw her would-be attacker. A plump, bespeckled woman; her wild gray dreadlocks spilled out from behind a vibrant bandana. In her white-knuckled fist, she clutched a frying pan. Her eyes were storms, and they were locked on Ladybug.

“Who do you think you are, threatening my family on my ship ?” 

 Ladybug growled. Stupid. She had overreacted. It was just an old woman. And yet, maybe she could use this to her advantage. She slowly maneuvered her hostage toward the gangplank. She needed this to look believable if she was going to get information that was of any use. Let them think she was a rabid psychopath. “Your ship? What about Captain Lemac?” 

The woman’s nostrils flared as she barreled closer. “You’re damned right it’s my ship. Bought it off that miserable lout fair and square. And since this is my property, and you’re trespassing, I’ve every right to send you packing. Now get your hands off my son!” 

“Woah, Mom, it’s okay,” the man said loudly. “Let me handle this.” He shot Ladybug a sideways glance that said ‘see, I told you.’  

Under his breath, he muttered to Ladybug, “Look, I don’t know what you are, but I’ll give you all the information you want. Just leave my family out of this.” 

“Your family? Like Emilie? She isn’t yours to keep,” Ladybug hissed. 

“Emilie?!” He and the woman said in unison—his voice confused, hers caught on something deeper. Older. Fear and recognition drained the color from her face.

Aha. Ladybug’s eyes locked on the woman. She knows.

Ladybug pivoted her attention fully to the captain. Her captive winced as the blade nicked his Adam's apple, letting a trickle run down his pale throat. 

“Give up Emilie,” she said, “Or you will never see him again.” 

With a rabid warcry, the old woman moved like lightning. She swiveled, sending a neat roundhouse kick aimed at Ladybug’s side that sent one Birkenstock flying. Ladybug gasped, dodging the attack, but the strain tore open Tikki’s careful stitches. The knife clattered to the deck. The man didn’t hesitate—he twisted free, slipping from her grasp like water. He stood side by side with his mother, both with a look in their eyes that did not bode well for her. 

“Wrong choice,” Ladybug seethed. Stupid to assume the woman was harmless.  Damnit. She could feel warm liquid pooling in her suit. She didn’t have long now if her wounds were opened. She had to end this. Now. She reached for her secret weapon. Tikki had insisted on it after last time. 

It felt heavy in her fist. Ladybug’s eyes flashed around the ship. She needed to find- ah, there it was. A fuel tank. With the clock ticking, she sprinted over to it, and held her device high for them to see. “Back off, or I light the whole damn boat.” It was a bluff, but one she desperately hoped they'd believe.

The woman’s eyes widened and her face blanched. She lowered the pan an inch. “Now, don’t be hasty.  There’s no need to-”

Ladybug looped her finger around the device’s pin. “Emilie. Now.”

“She’s not here,” the man said. “We’re the only ones on this ship.” His gaze darted quickly to the ship’s interior and then back again. Liar. She didn’t have time for this. 

Ladybug tilted the device, just enough to make the metal glint in the light. Her finger stayed firm on the pin.

“Tick tock,” she sang.

“Wait! Just put that thing away and we can talk.” The woman’s pan clattered to the ground. Her arms raised in surrender. Ladybug could see the worry in her eyes as she stared at the small grenade. “Please.” 

“Maman?” 

A sleepy, quiet voice floated up from the shadows. A girl, a little younger than Ladybug slipped into view, hugging one of her arms shyly. Her dark hair covered most of her face. Her eyes, a deep violet that matched the feathers and stripes in her hair, widened as she took in the scene. However, when they locked on Ladybug, they held not fear, but warmth. 

“You,” she said, stumbling forward like a shaky fawn. She pushed past the stunned fighters and ran to Ladybug with open arms.  “It’s really you!” 

Ladybug’s fingers slipped.

Three things happened at once. 

One. The grenade fell.

Two. The girl tackled her with a fierce hug that knocked the air from her lungs.

Three. The man shouted a warning and leapt for the grenade as he hit the deck, grabbing it last minute. He curled around it, using his body to cushion any blast. 

“Run!” he bellowed, eyes squeezed shut. 

The woman charged, fists blazing-

“Stop!" A slim, pale hand shot out, catching the fist mid-swing. 

The girl positioned herself between them, her small frame effectively keeping the two women from killing each other. 

“Why are you attacking her? She saved my life!”

Ladybug blinked. Saved her?

The girl continued, looking back at Ladybug. “At the nightclub. I saw you.” Her voice trembled as she relived it. “That man… pretended to help me. Then I looked up—and you were there. Watching us.”

Ladybug’s breath caught. The nightclub. The scraped knee. Victor, with his predator eyes, tracking his prey. 

“You.” she whispered.

The girl pressed on.  “The police said an anonymous woman called  them from near the club. They wouldn’t have found me otherwise.”

“I didn’t think anyone saw,” Ladybug said quietly.

“I did.” Her violet eyes shimmered with tears. What horrors had she met before she’d been saved? Ladybug prayed that she’d been spared. The girl swallowed hard. “I’ve wanted to thank you ever since.”

The woman’s fists dropped. Her lips parted, stunned. “You… saved my daughter?”

Ladybug hadn’t expected this. The tension that had gripped the ship just moments ago was washing away, mixing with the swaying waves that rocked the boat. She recalibrated. This could still work. She could still get what she came for.

“I just texted 114,” she muttered. It hadn’t been much- not nearly as much as she should have done, but she had had Victor to deal with. “They saved her.”

“But you stopped it,” the girl whispered. “You stopped them .”

She looked from her mother to the man, which must have been her brother. Then she took Ladybug’s hand.

Ladybug’s eyes widened. The girl’s palm was warm. Solid, soft, and undeserved. Something about the contact curled into her chest and stayed there. She considered yanking free. She didn’t.

The girl gave her hand a quiet squeeze. A simple act.  Heat prickled behind Ladybug’s eyes before she could stop it. She looked away.

“I’ll vouch for her,” the girl said. Her voice was steady. “Please. Stop fighting.”

Quiet settled over the deck. A terse truce. It wasn't much, but it was something.

The man slowly uncurled from around the grenade, peeling himself off the deck with a grunt. He held the object between two fingers like it was coated in acid. 

“The pin’s still in it,” Ladybug said quietly, reaching for it.

 He stepped back and lobbed it neatly into the Seine. 

“Hey!” Ladybug ran to the side of the ship. The water was all ripples. There was no sign of her grenade. “That was expensive.”

He strode over and leaned against the railing beside her, looking out at the water. “So was this boat.”

She growled, ready to sock him in the jaw, but she stopped herself. No. She couldn’t go off like a gun half-cocked. She’d just been given a lifeline with violet eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry for…that.  I thought you knew someone I’m looking for. Someone I…also want to save,” she ad-libbed. With her biggest weapon gone, she would have to convince them that she truly was on the side of the angels. In her head, she was busily constructing an elaborate backstory. She was an undercover cop hired to help save Emilie and bring her home to her loving family. Yes. That’d do. To win now, she had to lower her defenses and play the hero.

“Emilie?" he said, raising an eyebrow. “You have a strange way of showing concern.”

“I’m desperate,” she said. 

And for once, the words weren’t a lie.

Chapter Text

“So, you’re…a cop?” The man, Luka, asked, strumming his guitar in search of a new melody. 

“Undercover,” Juleka, the girl, reminded him. She sipped her mug of tea and stared at Ladybug across  the table as if she’d hung the moon and stars. 

They’d moved below deck into a cramped breakfast nook, complete with a foldout table with booths and a humble kitchenette. It felt cozy, and that made her uneasy. Comfort was unpredictable.

Anarka, the mother, said nothing from her booth. She drained her coffee cup and poured another. Her many rings clinked quietly against the chipped ceramic. 

Ladybug nodded, then gave her cup a subtle sniff. She knew enough poisons to guess some by scent alone. Cyanide held sweet almond notes. Oleander, powdery vanilla.
This held…nothing.
Not that it meant anything. Many poisons left no trace.

Poison isn’t always in the cup though, her master used to say. Sometimes it brews in people instead.

Her hand hovered near the mug, but she didn’t drink.

Instead, her gaze swept the room. Warmth lingered in the yellow table, faded cushions, and the softness of  guitar against the wood-paneled walls. The ship swayed faintly beneath her, but the room felt... anchored. A far cry from the catacombs.

Anarka cleared her throat and lifted the kettle, raising an eyebrow at Ladybug’s untouched cup.
Ladybug stiffened. She wasn’t used to attention. She worked best in the shadows. But now she had to blend in. 

Her fingers curled around the mug. Surrounded by strangers, she saw only their bond—the way Luka smiled at his sister, how their mother had placed herself between them like a shield. They had each other’s backs. It was rare.

Something she’d lost.
Something she missed.

Trusting them was a gamble. But she’d won with worse odds.

She took a sip.
Warmth slipped through cracks she hadn’t patched. She hated that it felt like home.
“It’s good,” she lied, setting the cup down. “Thank you.”

Anarka nodded gruffly. “Picked the herbs at our last docking.”

More silence. Ladybug found herself watching Luka’s pale, slender fingers. He played as effortlessly as breathing. But his melody was incomplete. He kept shaking his head, tweaking the tuning. A pencil hung from his lips. He scribbled something down on a spiral notebook. Then he looked up.

Something passed between them. Suspicion? Or something gentler… understanding, maybe. His gaze lingered on her, steady and quiet, as if he saw past the mask and didn’t fear what lay beneath. 

She looked away, breaking the connection.

Juleka picked at her bracelets, buzzing with barely contained nervous excitement. She was the real reason that Ladybug was welcome here, and yet, it was strange to be treated like a celebrity rather than a threat. Ladybug found it hard to respond to her. Especially when half her questions surrounded a lie. 

“What’s it like being undercover?” Juleka leaned in, bracelets jangling. “What’s your biggest case?”

Ladybug coughed on her tea. “Ah. Well.” She leaned into the ruse.  “There’ve been many cases.” Her mind drifted to the walls of the catacomb, scrawled with endless names. So many late nights and narrow escapes. “Most cases blur together after a while, but I’d say that the ones that stay with you the most are the ones that remain unresolved. My job is to provide closure to people.”  It was true. Her type of closure just usually ended up filling the morgue. 

“And who would that be now?” Anarka finally said, her voice clipped. She skipped the small talk. Ladybug respected that.

“My employer.” Ladybug said reflexively.  She didn’t name names unless she had to. She was here to gather answers, not hand them out.

Anarka scoffed, muttering something unpleasant under her breath. Without waiting for more, she swept the used dishes into her arms and carried them to the sink. She clearly didn’t appreciate the ambiguity.

Ladybug watched her go, pulse ticking at her throat. She could see the door of opportunity closing. She couldn’t lose her. 

“Her son hired me.”  The words hit the air like a shot. Anarka froze. 

Ladybug pressed on, taking a cautious step toward the woman, so as not to set her off. “He never gave up hope. He just wants to bring her home.” 

Behind her, the guitar fell silent. 

Anarka turned slowly back to the conversation. Good. Ladybug hadn’t lost her after all. 

“That boy should have never gotten himself involved. That’s the last thing she would have wanted.” 

Would have?  Past tense. 

The woman dropped back down solidly into her seat. 

“Well. If he trusts you with this, then I will too. But you need to be the one looking for Emilie. Not him.” When Ladybug didn’t respond, she yanked her drink away and glowered over the table at her. “You keep him out of this. Understand?”

“Maman!” Juleka protested, putting her hands on her mother’s brawny shoulders. She massaged them until the woman’s bristling subsided and her shoulders relaxed. “You’re scaring her.” 

Ladybug almost blew her cover with a snort, quickly masked as a cough. Scaring her?  No. Her terror wore a different face. But she shoved that down. Tight. Neat. Back in the vault. Luckily, only Luka seemed to notice her outburst. He took it in stride, observing, but saying nothing.

“Don’t worry. Agreste  has no interest in getting his hands dirty,” she said. “I, on the other hand, will do whatever it takes to bring her home.” She crossed her legs. “He sent me here to find Captain Lemac and the Callais.”

Luka and his mother exchanged knowing glances. “That bastard Lemac wouldn’t know his head from his ass,” Anarka said simply. “He told the press a load of shit. She would have never associated with him. She was special.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ladybug murmured. “How do you know her?” 

Anarka sighed, relenting. She leaned forward, hands clasped and resting on the table. “She was my best friend. Before she met her-” her lip curled, “husband.” 

Her fingers picked absently at her nails. “She stood up for people. Always wanted to do the right thing. She was going to be a cop, like you.” She looked up at Ladybug, almost as if seeing Emilie in her place. Then something in her expression shifted.

“After she got married… and had the boy… she wasn’t the same. She left the academy.” A bitter laugh escaped. “Started showing up at galas and fundraisers, dressed to perfection but empty-eyed. Like a doll someone wound up and forgot about.”

Her words were laced with venom. “It was all him . Her husband.” She glowered heavily at the wall.

Ladybug wanted to ask more, but pressing now risked sending Anarka spiraling. She needed Emilie too much to take that chance. What could frighten someone like her enough to vanish? 

Anarka went on. “I stopped hearing from her after the accident. Only learned she disappeared from the news.” She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

The weight of tension pressed down as they waited for Anarka to continue. Juleka rubbed soothing circles on her back. Luka leaned forward, sober and focused, elbows on his knees, hands clasped beneath his chin.

“I was at sea. Couldn’t do a damn thing about it. They said she just…disappeared. No one was ever charged.” Anarka shook her head in disgust. “I haven’t been back here since. Too many memories. She would never leave her son. Someone made her disappear.” 

“That was the last time you heard from her?” Ladybug said, heart sinking a little. Anarka hadn’t offered anything Adrien hadn't shared. Had the trail really run cold long ago?

“I never said that,” Anarka snapped. 

“It started with postcards. Every three months, like clockwork. Always from a different port. She never signed them, but I knew it was her.”

She rubbed her wrist, absently. “No idea how she found me out on the water. But Emilie was always clever. Too clever for her own good.”

Her voice faltered.

“Then… they stopped.”

Anarka blinked hard, clearing the fog of memory. “Two years ago, she showed up out of nowhere. Looked like absolute shit. Scared like I’d never seen her before. Left these-”

She withdrew two small items and slid them across the table without a word.

The first: the charred remains of a letter with loopy, delicate handwriting, tucked carefully into a sandwich bag. The second: a rusty metal charm with a design stamped into its circular middle.

Neither looked like much, but Ladybug’s body hummed in triumph at the sight. Surely this was proof for Agreste that she could handle the case alone. It took everything in her not to snatch them both from the table. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap, forcing herself to let Anarka lead.  

“She kept begging me to help her.” The woman swallowed and licked her lips. “I-” she cleared her throat. “I kicked her out. She kept ranting and raving. Paranoid as all hell.”

Ladybug blinked. She hadn’t expected that. 

Anarka laughed once, humorless. “I know how it sounds, but at the time, all I could think about was my kids below deck. I got spooked.” Ladybug noticed her wrist, complete with a set of neat scars in the shape of fingernails. Emilie’s doing? 

Tears welled in Anarka’s eyes. “I never should have let her go.” She rubbed at her face and sighed shakily. “This is all I have left of her now.” Anarka tapped the table. “Said to give them to her son.”

With a subtle nod of permission, Ladybug reached out, her fingers brushing the crinkled plastic. Inside, a scrap of scorched paper fluttered like a fragile wing. She lifted the bag gently, careful not to damage what remained.

The letter had been all but devoured by fire. Its edges were blackened, the ink smeared and faded. Most of the text was lost. But one corner had survived. She squinted, piecing together the faint lines:

……..Garnier…

……
Aus: Die Zauberflöte (Anhänge aus dem Archiv der Oper)
“Der Klang, der bindet”
Arie der Letzten Hüterin
(Andante grazioso – a-Moll)

Juleka leaned in, her voice soft with curiosity. “It’s a… book?”

Luka rose  quietly from his seat. He padded over, his gaze fixed on the page. “It’s an opera.” 

When no one reacted, he tilted his head. “Die Zauberflöte,” he added, like it was obvious. “The one with the flute?”

Ladybug’s breath caught.

“La Flûte Enchantée,” she murmured.

And for a moment she was small again, hand in hand with her father, curled in a velvet seat, waiting in the hush before the overture. The opera followed a brave prince who, manipulated by the lies of the Queen of the Night, goes to rescue her daughter, aided by a magical flute that charmed its listeners and brought joy to those in despair. But the queen had lied. She wasn’t a savior, but a villain, and the prince had nearly lost everything believing her. In the end though, good triumphed and they lived happily ever after. 

Back then, she believed in beautiful lies like that. That truth always came out. That justice always prevailed.

Naiveté was a luxury. One she could no longer afford.

She turned the letter over in her hand. Nothing on the back. Whatever else Emilie might have been trying to say was gone.

Her eyes drifted to the second item. The charm was even less helpful. Its circular design bore a delicate silhouette of a butterfly centered in the circle, wings spread in flight.

She didn’t know why, but it made her uneasy. There was no inscription. No mechanism. No reason it should make her heart race. And yet… It stirred something. A faint, fragmented familiarity. What did it mean? Was it a name? A symbol?

It slipped away, even as she tried to grapple with it. But then she stopped herself. What was she doing? This was Agreste’s past. Let him be the one to recognize what she couldn’t.

Ladybug rose, pocketing both items. Outside, the sun dipped low; time on the ship felt like it had stopped.

“Thank you for the tea,” she said quietly. “But I should get these to him. He’s been waiting for an update on the case.” 

Before they could stop her, she slipped from the room and out onto the deck of the ship.

The wood creaked beneath her boots. She was nearly to the gangplank when she heard them: footsteps behind her. Light. Hesitant.

A quiet voice rang out behind her.

“Wait! Please.”

Juleka.

The girl looked like a ghost in the light, her skin so pale it nearly glowed. She moved closer, footsteps barely brushing the deck, until she stood at Ladybug’s side.

“This won’t take long.”

Ladybug contemplated vaulting off the gangplank just to escape the moment, but she couldn’t. She needed them to see her as an ally. Besides, she was curious.

 Juleka had seemed so unaffected by the incident- as if it were routine to be caught in a human trafficking ring. It was unnerving, but then again, everyone wore their masks differently. 

“I can’t sleep,” Juleka blurted. 

Ah. There it was. The truth. 

“I keep seeing that club, and you, and wishing I hadn’t been stupid enough to go in.” She hugged her arm, rubbing it. Her nails still held the same color polish she’d worn that night. Now chipped. 

“Everyone’s treating me like I’ll break at any moment. They won’t talk about it. It’s awful.”

Ladybug wanted to ask, but she didn’t want the answer. 

“I’ve thought about you so many times,” Juleka continued. “What I’d say if I ever found you. “ 

Her voice dropped to a whisper; gone was the nervous, sunny energy she’d carried all evening. Her gaze was solemn now. Honest. 

“You know, this was the first night I’ve left my room since…” she pursed her lips. “Nothing I say could ever be enough.” 

Ladybug shook her head. Unwelcome guilt pricked at her. If anything, she was the reason she’d ended up there. She’d chosen the mission over this girl. Let her walk into hell.

Was that really what doing her job meant? 

“Don’t. You got out. That’s what matters.” Then she added softly, “Don’t make me your hero. You’re the one fighting the battle.” 

Juleka wiped swiftly at her eyes. “I’m not brave.” Her tone was changing now. Back to its soft, timidity. “Not like you. You save lives. You saved me.” 

Guilt hit like acid.

It felt like an arsonist being thanked for lighting a match.

Her hand slammed the railing before she could stop it. “I didn’t mean to.” 

The words hung in the air. 

Juleka startled at the sound. Took half a step back, like she was the one who ruined everything.

Ladybug froze.

She hadn’t meant to raise her voice. Not like that. Gah—she’d scared her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

And for a moment, she and Juleka were one, lungs filling and emptying in unison. Two broken girls on a boat at night, in the soft summer breeze. 

Then, a sound-the flapping of a loose tarp in the wind, broke the still. 

Juleka jumped.  She glanced over Ladybug’s shoulder. 

 “I should go,” she whispered, already stepping back. “Good night.”

“But-” 

She grabbed Ladybug’s hand and squeezed it. “Saving me might not have been the plan, but at the end of the day,” she said. “There were a dozen other people who saw me go into that club, but you made the call. You’re more of a hero than you know.”

Before Ladybug could stop her, Juleka was gone, swallowed up by the ship.

Ladybug stood there alone, the wind whipping strands of hair into her eyes. The silence wasn’t empty. It was smoke: thick, choking, impossible to outrun. Her stomach curled in on itself. Hollow and hot. She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Tried to steady her breath. 

The harbor creaked beneath the stars. Somewhere, a bird screamed. Her pulse wouldn’t settle.

She’d done her job. Taken out Victor.

She’d handed it off to the system. It had been in their control.
That was the pretty lie she’d let herself believe.

A punishing voice rose in her mind, rhythmic and merciless.

You knew it would end like this.
You just didn’t care.
Didn’t care.
Didn’t care…

 She gripped the railing, letting its cool, solid form anchor her. She didn’t deserve Juleka’s trust.

Then she sensed a presence. 

Ladybug turned, tense and raw, and saw him.

Luka. He’d appeared like a wraith from the shadows. He was watching her. Close, but not intruding. His eyes searched hers. 

“You’re shaking,” he said.

Ladybug didn’t respond. Couldn’t. The guilt was still a weight in her throat.

Luka’s voice lowered further. “Juleka was here, wasn’t she?”

Ladybug looked away. He didn’t know that she was responsible for Juleka’s pain. She wasn’t ready to see another pair of eyes change from kind to cold.

Wind stirred his hair. The ship groaned quietly beneath their feet.

“She’s stronger than anyone I know,” Luka said. “But she shouldn’t have had to be.” His hands balled into fists, then relaxed again. “It was good to see her smile again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

He hesitated, then took a breath,  like someone preparing to peel back a wound. His fingers hovered at the hem of his shirt. 

“I can’t stop thinking… if I had gone with her, could I have stopped it?” He gazed out at the water. She asked me to come. Said it was no big deal. I told her I’d meet her later. I had a melody in my head I didn’t want to lose. What kind of pitiful person does that?” 

Ladybug squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been drowning in the same question. 

“I need strength. To protect them. But I don’t know what to do in a fight.” His gaze fell on her. “You do.” 

He stepped toward her. She stepped back. 

A flicker of quiet determination crossed his face. “Show me how. I’m a quick learner.”

Ladybug snorted. It was so absurd. Asking for help from an assassin. She wasn’t a mentor. Half the underground was after her, and the other had turned their backs. She could barely help herself. 

“Please. I can’t sit by and let anything else happen to my family. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She hated his earnest eyes. That hope. She’d worn it too, so long ago. Pleading for the same thing. 

He had no idea the price of his request.

“I’ve got my own problems.” she said flatly, turning away. She’d overstayed her welcome.

“Wait-” 

Ladybug kept walking. She was doing his soul a favor. He just didn’t know it yet. 

“You need me.” His voice caught. “I know about Emilie.” 

Her footsteps faltered. Then stopped. 

She turned. 

He pressed on. “Mom didn’t tell you everything,” he said, voice low and urgent. “There’s a reason that letter was burned. And why I have this—”

He pulled up his shirt.

Her face blanched; a chill threaded down her spine at what she saw. She sucked in a breath.

Luka let the fabric fall.

“This was the price of that letter.”

Chapter Text

Adrien sat at the foot of the fountain, watching it bubble and cascade down elegantly carved marble until it pooled below. The water flowed from a statue of a Grecian woman, eternally pouring from a jar. Commissioned by his father after her disappearance, it was meant to represent the outpouring of love Emilie had for her family. A living memorial.

Adrien hated it. His mother would have too. She’d always preferred her garden and her music over anything showy. 

“How dreadfully useless,” she’d say. She hated waste. “Doesn’t look anything like me.” She’d have crinkled her nose and splashed Adrien with water before chasing him down and catching him in a warm hug.

Alone in the present, Adrien let his hand rest gently on the water, palm flush against its surface.

As much as he hated the statue, he needed to feel her presence now. 

He’d told himself not to think about her after he gave up the search. It was his penance for not trying harder. And yet now, with Ladybug on his last trail of breadcrumbs to The Callais, an odd sense of hope kicked uninvited in his chest. Had he given up too soon? Maybe she would find something after all. Even the tiniest news could be the closure he needed to quiet guilt. 

He replayed his mother’s last words infinitely. 

“I got you something. Do you like it?” He remembered the strain behind her puffy eyes. The dullness in her smile. The slight tremble in her hands as she slipped her gift onto his finger.

 He cursed his younger self for never thinking to ask what was wrong. For letting her leave. If only he’d begged her to take him to the park that day. Maybe she would still be beside him now. 

 In his memory, she took his hand and kissed it. “Promise me, you’ll wear it. It represents my love for you.”

Yes, Maman, he answered now, twisting the ring on his finger out of habit. I promise .

“Adrien,” a cool, crisp voice said behind him. Adrien startled, nearly falling into the fountain. He snatched his hand off the water and brushed it dry on his coat. Then he looked up. 

“Father?” 

Gabriel Agreste looked effortless in his freshly pressed, pale gray suit. His tie, a deep plum, was the only pop of color about him. He rested one slim hand on an intricately carved cane. His eyes, piercing and lifeless as ever, studied him. 

Adrien felt small. He nervously adjusted his appearance and stood, bowing slightly at the waist. His mind raced as he straightened up. What was his father doing here? He never came out on the grounds- especially anywhere near the memorial. If anything, he avoided anything to do with his wife. Including his son. 

“What were you doing out here?” 

Adrien hesitated. “Just…getting some fresh air.”

“Without your phone?” 

Adrien’s hand reflexively reached for his pocket. Oh. Right. He’d left it in the greenhouse. 

“I’m sorry, Father,” he murmured, head down. 

“Hm. I’ve been calling for you,” the older man continued, turning and walking back towards the mansion. “See that you keep your phone turned on at all times from here on out.” He didn’t look back. Adrien struggled to match his lanky pace. 

Once they were back inside, his father turned sharply on his heels, staring down at his son. 

“Your butler tells me you haven’t RSVP’ed to the gala yet.” 

Adrien blinked, then frowned. “Which… gala, Sir?”

He’d turned down dozens of events since he’d become involved with the Coccinelle case, and Ladybug. He couldn’t count how many sudden illnesses he’d mysteriously come down with at the last minute. Plagg usually came up with something convincing to appease any questions. As a result, Adrien’s stack of invites had piled up, untouched.

“Sir? I’ve told you not to call me that,” his father snapped, eyes flashing before cooling again. “You’re not a servant. You’re an Agreste.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It makes you seem weak.”

Adrien’s lips pressed together automatically. He nodded.

Whenever he was around his father, his life as Chat Noir felt like a fever dream. Gone was his freedom  to move through life on his own terms. Even now, he felt the invisible shackles settle onto his limbs, sapping his will to resist. 

He wasn’t Adrien.

 He wasn’t Chat.

He was a marionette at his father’s command.

“Does nothing matter to you anymore?” Gabriel continued. “Are you content to fritter your life away in that ridiculous greenhouse? I expect better for you, Adrien.”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped, but he remained silent.

The man sighed, then ran his fingers over the top of his cane, feeling every indentation of its design. “You will attend the Palais Granier fundraiser gala. And every other event from here on out without excuses.”

Adrien’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest, but the fight died in his chest. There was no point in resisting. He never won, no matter how hard he tried. 

But what about Ladybug?  He couldn’t finish the mission, the most important one of his life, if he was imprisoned by duty. He twisted the ring this way and that for comfort, rubbing his skin raw.

“Do I make myself clear?” Gabriel’s gaze pinned him like a butterfly to a card. 

Adrien pressed against the compulsion to obey until the muscles in his neck bulged and his skin felt like it was on fire. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. He couldn’t resist. 

His thoughts turned viscous in his head, as if something else was wading through them, sifting for resistance. He heard himself answer. 

“Yes, Father.” It came out a whisper. 

“What was that?” Gabriel’s voice was as cold as steel.

Tears pricked in Adrien’s eyes as he raised them, surrendering. What else could he do? His thoughts roamed unwittingly to Ladybug. How free she was. Unchained. Untouchable. She would never bow to another’s control. Unlike him; choking on obedience.

He was utterly pathetic. 

“Yes, Father.” He wanted to scream. To run. To vanish. Instead, he swallowed it, fists curled tightly at his sides.

He could only watch himself dance on his strings. “I will attend the gala.” 

Gabriel’s demeanor softened minutely. Satisfied. “Your success matters. Attending galas gives you a chance to interact with important people who are making changes in this world. We are nothing without advancement.” 

Adrien flinched as his father reached out and plucked something from his hair. A beetle. Gabriel crushed it neatly underfoot. 

“You cannot live in the shadows if you want to matter, Adrien. Your mother wouldn’t want that for you either.” 

“Don’t.” Adrien whispered. 

“Pardon me?” Gabriel’s tone was dangerously soft.

Adrien’s nails dug into his palms until they stung. The sting was real. It helped him focus, to fight through the fog. “You don’t know her at all.” 

The blow sent his face whipping to the side. 

Adrien couldn’t breathe. He staggered, gasping. Humiliation and heat seared his skin. The handprint pulsed like a brand. A mark of ownership. 

Gabriel flexed his fingers, then slipped them into his pocket. He was all business. “The gala is in two days at 8:00pm. I’ve instructed your butler to use the white carriage this time. It’ll look better in photographs. See to it that you get ice on that. We’ll need you looking your best.” 

And with that, he strode away, leaving his son reeling. 

Ladybug clutched her freedom close as she hurried through the quiet Parisian streets toward Adrien’s mansion. It was nearly midnight. She should have been deep in the catacombs by now, navigating black tunnels and peeling back secrets with the precision of a scalpel. That was the plan.

But something kept her aboveground tonight.

She told herself it was strategy. Efficiency. Just a quick stop before returning to the depths. But she knew better. She wasn’t ready for Tikki’s motherly scolding. Or worse, the soft, understanding questions that always came with it.

She moved along the edge of the Seine, keeping to the shadows. Her boots made no sound on the stone. Her body was on autopilot, trained and fluid. But her mind kept circling back to Luka.

His voice had stuck with her; raw, pleading. Help me. The words punched through the armor protecting her heart. 

Helping him was reckless. She couldn’t even help herself. Half the underground wanted her dead, the other half had turned their backs. She had debts to settle. Ghosts to bury. She didn’t have time to train someone with a death wish.

So then…

…why had she told him yes?

A sudden screech made her jump, hand darting for her knife.

A black cat shot across her path, weaving between her legs and nearly knocking her down. She stumbled but caught herself, heart pounding. The cat leapt gracefully onto a nearby half-wall and regarded her with steady golden eyes.

Meow.

Ladybug cursed her own jumpiness. With Victor’s crew hunting her, every shadow felt like a fight waiting to happen.

She hurried on. Luka’s words still echoed from the docks. 

She winced, remembering  the angry snarl of burn scars that climbed his chest like vines. The urgency in his eyes. 

They’d been hunted. Burnt out of their last ship, The Liberty , by masked men with explosives who locked the doors with them inside. All because they’d known Emilie Agreste. Their freedom. Their safety. Burned out like it was nothing.

Was it the same group who stole hers?

Ladybug could still smell the smoke.  

She knew how Luka felt.  Helpless. Paranoid. Full of an intimate ache for revenge. The kind that carved you hollow.

It was like looking into a damn mirror.

She hadn’t meant to promise him anything.

But…she had. 

He’d told her the truth, and in her world, truth was a currency. 

Emilie wasn’t just a doting wife and mother. 

She had secrets. Government secrets. 

And someone was willing to destroy the world to keep them buried.

Ladybug’d asked Luka offhandedly if he’d seen anyone clearly, hoping for a name. Maybe Butch .
But no. Everything happened too fast.

 All he’d remembered was a man’s arm reaching through shattered glass, into the room where his family was hiding.

A butterfly tattoo on his forearm.

Ladybug slipped a hand into her pocket. The charm Emilie left was still there, nestled and cool.

Again with the butterflies. First on Emilie’s charm. Now inked on a killer’s arm.
Was this what they were after? 

What the hell had Emilie been trying to say? And why did it feel like a warning they were too late to heed? 

Her head down, she continued on like a wraith in the night. She was nearly to the bridge into Agreste territory, when--

“You’re looking better.” 

The voice was quiet. Smooth. Too close.

Ladybug’s head snapped toward the sound. Her blade flashed to life in her grip as her gaze darted wildly.

Nothing. 

Nearby, a few yachts bobbing peacefully in the water, oblivious to her turmoil.

Her heart thundered in her chest. 

“Careful. You’ll open your stitches.”

That voice again. Disembodied. Strangely familiar. Somewhere above. 

She looked up. 

A pair of striking green eyes watched her from the dark tangle of a tree. The rest of him was swallowed by shadow. Just the eyes remained. Amused, unblinking, and lethal. Like a panther. 

“You’ve got three seconds to give me a reason not to gut you,”  she demanded, circling the tree, never taking her eyes off of his. 

The stranger grinned. “Three? How generous.”

“Two.” 

He swung a leg out of the tree. “Maybe you do like me after all.” 

“One,” she hissed.

Her blade flew.

A sickening thunk.

It pinned him to the tree by the shoulder. Blood trickled from the small wound, down the knife hilt. He grunted, eyes widening in shock. 

“You stabbed me!” 

“I warned you.” 

“In retrospect, I could have used an extra second.”

He yanked the blade free with a wince and rubbed at his shoulder. The knife clattered to the ground at Ladybug’s feet like a frisbee dropped by a playful dog. She blinked. Confused. 

Who was this man?

“Come down,” she ordered, her voice laced with caution. “The next one won’t miss your heart.”

“No need. You had mine the first time, M’lady.” He leapt down with the careless grace of an alley cat, landing silently nearby. His black suit melted perfectly into the shadows.

Was he…flirting? She growled and reached for another weapon. She’d expected him to rush her. Clearly he’d been hunting her by his comments about her wounds- not visible unless someone’d been paying attention. 

He emerged from the shadows, and suddenly it clicked. The easy tone. The way he hadn’t flinched. 

Oh. 

Recognition flashed through her like lightning. The ramen. The gentle knots at her ribs. The way he’d let her go without a word. It didn’t make sense then. It made even less now. 

“ You. ”

Catboy. Why was he here? Had he changed his mind?

She moved; one step back, then sideways, circling him. She needed to focus. Instinct over emotion.

“The one and only,” he said with a sweeping bow and grin. 

They stood, facing each other, their suits glinting in the moonlight. Obsidian on crimson.

Outwardly, she appeared stone faced, not allowing him for an instant to see her shock. 

Inwardly, she was running through every curse she knew. This was bad. She never planned to cross paths with him again. Was he stalking her now, aligned with the men after Emilie? What did he want? 

“You’ve got a bad habit of popping up where you’re not wanted.”

“You wound me,” he said, hand resting delicately over the cut she'd given him. “Actually, I’m exactly where I was hired to be. By your side.    

… Partner. ”

Chapter Text

10 years ago...

Paris frolicked in unseasonably good weather that summer. Everywhere citizens picnicked, emerging from their homes to celebrate the sun’s warmth on soft green lawns or smooth cobblestones. Children laughed and chased after gallumping dogs with bright frisbees. Friends took selfies. Couples curled into each other contentedly by the water’s edge. 

She wove past them all. 

Unnoticed and insignificant. 

The sunshine couldn’t reach her. Her shadow barely graced the ground.  

She was a living ghost. 

Every pulse was a vicious reminder that she was there and they weren’t.

It never stopped. 

She wanted to carve the life from her veins, but her fingernails were gnawed stubs. Even they had betrayed her. 

She walked past a girl and her father getting ice cream from a cart. The girl’s dark pigtails danced as she bounced with excitement. The father’s gentle chuckle and soft hand on his daughter’s shoulder were agony to the broken girl watching. Memories seared into her brain, then crumbled into dust. 

Nothing remained of her home but rubble.

She longed to curl into the debris and disappear, but even that was cordoned off to her by yellow police tape blaring warnings. 

Caution. Hazard. Keep out.  

She’d found her own obituary in the trash. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 12, of Paris, passed away alongside her parents, Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng, in a residential explosion believed to have been caused by a gas leak at their home and bakery.

Marinette attended the Collège Françoise Dupont. Known locally through the family-run Boulangerie Dupain-Cheng , she was pursuing a career in fashion design.

“She was always a loner,” said former classmate Chloé Bourgeois. “Unfortunately, not everyone is born to be noticed. At least now, she’ll get the attention she wanted.”

No immediate family members survived. Authorities are continuing to investigate the incident. No foul play is suspected.

A gas leak. 

That’s what the police claimed. They wrapped up the biggest tragedy of her life in a lie and filed it neatly away. No investigation. No alarming autopsy reports. Just an “unfortunate accident” that claimed a family of three. 

The world was content to move on without them.

She stumbled on, through alleyways, listless. Her hands shook as she rummaged through garbage cans. She chewed robotically, tasting nothing. Ash coated her throat. 

As months dragged on, she found herself absentmindedly measuring rooftops, calculating how high she’d need to be to feel something, and then nothing at all. 

Or maybe slipping from a bridge into the Seine would be better.

It’d be a quiet, fitting end. One she should have met long ago. 

She could do it with ease. 

There was no one left to care if she disappeared beneath its depths.  

It was comforting.
And horrifying.

Her hand found the locket at her throat, tugging at the chain out of habit. It was a gift from her mother, with a photo of the family tucked inside.

It hung so heavily that it threatened to choke her. 

But she couldn’t let it go. 

It was the last thing linking her to humanity.

It wasn’t enough.

Loneliness suffocated her.

At first, she’d wanted people to just look at her. 

But they were lost in conversation or buried in their phones.

After time, they started crossing the street when she got too close. 

Like she was a sickness. A stain. 

With every refusal to meet her gaze, she slipped further into the shadows.

Just look at me, she wanted to scream. I’m just like you. We’re neighbors.

But she wasn’t. Not anymore. 

She was flesh rotting from bone, and somehow, they all could sense it. 

As seasons changed, she dwindled.

She curled up in plain sight on a bench to sleep. She sat for hours with a little bowl for change in front of her, breaking her back from hunching over. It didn’t matter what she did. 

As long as she never tried to steal, people didn’t bother interacting. 

Then. Someone stopped. A dark shadow, covering her.

Numbly, she waited for them to move on. She’d lost the will to care. Hope had long since drained in the summer heat.

The figure didn’t budge.

She looked up.

An elderly man, so hunched over that he looked like a collapsed marionette leaned over her. He relied heavily on a small wooden cane, snarled and twisted. He reminded her of her grandfather, but his eyes weren’t warm. They glittered, not with pity, but with calculation. Evaluation.

He was dressed all in black, like a grim reaper come to claim her. Or was he Death himself?

For a moment, they were frozen in time.

He saw everything: 

Her rags.

Her bruises. 

The life she had. 

The life she lost. 

The surrender in her eyes. 

Something like hope flickered in her chest, but it died when he shook his head, sharp and decisive.

“Not yet,” he said. His tone was dismissive. 

She could do nothing but watch him walk away.

His words didn’t follow him. They stayed behind and locked onto her ribs like shackles. It hurt.

She’d fallen short of some invisible metric.

Even Death had standards she couldn’t reach.

The locket was gone.

Three boys with jeering grins like blades had seen her too. They’d rushed her, hurling insults and sharp little kicks into her gut until she folded in on herself and let the first tears since his death stream down her sunken cheeks. 

They left her in the street. 

Crushed. Vulnerable. 

They didn’t have to hide.

She was dead anyway, bleeding out from wounds they didn’t leave.

They’d torn the locket from her brittle hands. 

Her last lifeline. Gone. 

She hadn’t called out for help. Who would answer?

She hadn’t fought.

Couldn’t.

Her body wouldn’t rise anymore. 

The ringleader wore the locket around his neck like a trophy. It swung tauntingly, a cruel and delicate pendulum ticking in her head. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth.

Later, on the edge of the Pont Alexander III bridge, she let herself sway. One foot hovered midair, over the water. 

Then, a soft, deliberate cough sent it back to the ledge. 

She turned, eyes glazed. It was him. The man again. Dark, ancient, calm. Still watching. Still waiting. What did he want from her?

He didn’t speak at first. Just peered at her with those impossible eyes, like he was looking into her soul and weighing what he saw. Her hands trembled. Her lips parted, but no sound came.

She wasn’t ready to speak.
But she wanted to be accepted. Even if only by Death himself. 

The moment hung breathlessly in the air.

Then he sighed. Shook his head, dissatisfied once more. “Not yet.” 

The words hit like a slap.

A laugh broke through her throat. Sharp, barking, wrong. The sound, so foreign after months of silence, startled her. She jolted, slipping on the ledge. She caught a statue just in time. 

Her breath stuttered as angry tears stung her vision. 

Why don't you want me? Why am I not enough?

She wanted to scream it, but her voice was locked away.

He looked at her and said nothing. 

Then he turned to go. 

“Wait,” she croaked, barely emitting a sound.

He paused, tilting his head slightly, as if he’d heard something faint and inconsequential. An insect on the wind.

But he didn’t turn back.

Her voice was so weak. Her parched lips barely formed words. She had to know. 

“Please.” 

She begged him silently to turn- to acknowledge her again. To end her suffering.

Nothing.

He walked on. Into the dark.

Abandoned again, she sank to her knees.

The locket was gone. 

She reached for it and felt only clammy skin. Tucked in an alleyway, she rocked, replaying the man’s words in her head like a mantra. 

Not yet.

Not yet. 

Not yet.

Not yet. 

She hated him. For seeing her. For giving her hope. For dashing it again. For making her live. The anger was warm, fueling her trembling veins with adrenaline. Her fingers curled into fists. 

She hated the boy too. The one who kicked deepest. Sneered the longest. Who saw her not as a human but a plaything for his amusement. Who let her scramble and scratch him in desperation and laughed at her feeble efforts as he shoved her to the cobblestones. 

She hated the police most of all, for ignoring every sign. For failing them. For letting the truth escape to maintain a deluded sense of order and power. For discarding her to her fate. 

She could no longer roll over and take it. Rage vibrated through her limbs. Crackling. Demanding.

She rose. 

In her hand, she clutched change. For better or worse. 

The boy was alone. That was his first mistake.

Swinging his legs on the edge of the Seine, he laughed as he watched something idiotic on his phone with one hand and chomped down on a drumstick with the other. The locket glinted in the sun with every swing of his chest. He didn’t even notice her.  He was too busy snorting over his screen. Too busy living.

She could smell the meat in the air. The bites, sloppy and massive, turned her stomach. Her lip curled.

She nearly backed away, but an invisible hand at the back of her spine shoved her into his shadow. 

Her body moved before her mind did.

She didn’t remember shoving the drumstick down his throat to muffle his screams. 

She only knew she needed him quiet.

To get the locket.

Please, stop screaming. 

He was choking now, clutching his throat and rolling on the ground like a pig in the mud. 

His face, bright red, burned the outlines of his freckles. His eyes bulged, wide with panic.

For a moment, they were two sides of a coin. Flipped. 

He, pleading. Her, powerful. 

She shrank back, hesitating. She hadn’t expected him to look. 

And now that he had—

Her hands froze. For the first time in months, she was naked. Exposed. Terrified. 

She’d waited so long to be seen. 

But not like this. 

He groaned and reached for her, breaking the moment. One hand clutched his throat. The other was frantically outstretched, not in attack, but begging for mercy. 

She meant to save him.

Instead, she could only watch helplessly as her fingers deftly lifted the locket free. 

She opened it. A photo. Smudged with her tears.

She knelt beside him as he twitched and writhed. 

Her parents smiled up at her.

Unchanged.

Untouched.

The air grew eerily silent behind her. 

She didn’t turn to check if he was breathing. She hoped he was.

She couldn’t move.

The only pulse she wanted was the one in her palm, warm and golden, resting between their faded smiles.

She curled around it, willing the world to vanish as sirens squealed in the background.

It was later, through the mist of hot tears streaking down her cheeks, that she saw him again. The man.

Lingering. Wraithlike. 

As their gazes locked, he nodded. 

He knew what she'd done.

Unease writhed in her chest. Was this what he’d waited for? To see her fall this far?

… Did she even care anymore?

Her limbs tensed as he approached, but he only held out his hand. 

It was an act so simple, yet so foreign it burned.

She followed his gaze from his hand to the locket clutched in her palm. 

“No,” she said, her voice raw.  She took two steps back. “You can’t take them.” 

But he already had. Moving like lightning, he swept in, twisted, and snapped a kick at her wrist.
Pain lanced up her arm as the locket flew from her grasp.

She gasped, clutching her forearm. Then rage returned.

She lunged at him, clawing for the locket he now held right out of reach. She couldn’t lose it again. He sidestepped, surprisingly agile, and struck her down with his twisted cane. 

A wild scream tore loose. She seized the stick, turned, and slammed it into his gut. 

He grunted, eyes wide, and crumpled to the cobblestones.

The stick clattered from her hands.

For a heartbeat, all she could hear was her breath. Shaky. Too loud.

The blind fury that consumed her moments ago faded, like a storm receding. Cold rushed in to fill its place. She felt hollow and vast.

She dropped to her knees beside him.

What had she done?

The locket lay between them.

She reached for it slowly. Her fingers hovered, trembling, then closed around it like a lifeline.

She pressed it to her chest. The cool metal bit her burning skin.

Who was this stranger?

The man wheezed, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

He looked up at her.

Not angry.
Not afraid.

He smiled.

“Now,” he said, voice raspy but clear.
“We can begin.”

The first training session was brutal. 

She soon learned that his feeble, elderly exterior was a facade.

In training, their fates reversed. She was weak. Starving. Clumsy. He was a warrior--merciless, precise, and impossibly fast. He used every flaw to his advantage, slamming her to the ground until she was a mess of bruises and humiliation. 

When the match ended, he dragged her to her feet.

She coughed, blood and dust mixing in her mouth. Her legs buckled beneath her. She swayed and leaned into him gratefully to steady herself, too drained to bear her own weight. “Thank you,” she groaned. 

It was the wrong move. Before she could react, he shrugged free of her weight, sending her crashing to the ground once more. 

Her forehead pressed into the dirt. Silence stretched between them, taut as wire.  It was a dirty trick, kindness then cruelty. She wanted to scream. She wanted to disappear. But all she could do was tremble.

He sighed, surveying her. “You want to live?” His gaze sharpened as he looped his finger around the locket.  “Forget connection. You’re alone. That’s a strength. Rely on it, not me. Others are liabilities. Every one of them will fail you when it matters most.”

She forced her eyes open. Saw the dirt caked under her nails, the bruises blooming on her arms, the man crouching over her.

Then she saw the locket swinging. It had flown open. 

Her father’s laugh. Her mother’s eyes, filled with love.

Something in her chest cracked. Snapped. She tensed, using what little strength she had to yank free and sit up.

“You’re wrong,” she said, barely audible. “I was stronger before.”

“Oh? Where are they now?” he countered harshly. “Gone. They couldn’t save you. You must become your own defense. Kill the part of you that holds you back, or it will destroy you. There are things in this world more painful than death.” 

He pushed himself to his feet, towering over her.

She stared up at him, eyes glassy. “You don’t know me at all.”

“I know this,” he said. “If you lean on someone in a fight, if you open your chest and let them inside, you’ve already handed them the knife. You’ve lost.”

The words hit like stones. Heavy. Final.

She didn’t want to believe him. How could she? Her parents had always trusted others, their kindness was a fragile shield against the world’s darkness. She’d held on to that same hope, but now, it was scorched and torn apart. Her mind spun, caught in a spiral of pain and anger.

Everyone had turned their backs. Except this man. He faced her with unflinching honesty, his words cutting deep.  Her heart hammered wildly as the truth sank in.

Memories of the bakery, the river, her family crashed over her. They were gone. The loss had nearly consumed her. Would closing her heart finally stop the crushing ache? Or would it turn her into a monster?

“Trust no one,” he said gently, as if he understood the storm inside her. “Love no one, and you might survive.”  

He turned to go. “Remember that. Carve it into your bones.” He paused. “Or don’t. Makes no difference to me.”

And just like before, he walked away. 

This time, she followed.

Chapter Text

Partner. 

The word hit her solidly in the chest. 

This was her replacement? This man in leather wearing cat ears? 

He was taller than she remembered. He easily had a foot on her. His body was lanky, yet agile. His suit clung too tightly to leave much to the imagination. Every movement showed muscle he had no business having.

Noticing her staring, he rolled his shoulders and raised a coy eyebrow. His self-satisfied grin was so cartoonishly flirty it made her want to drop kick him into the Seine. 

She looked away. 

Her teeth ground together. 

A partner was the last thing she needed. Least of all him. He was the reason she was in this mess. If he hadn’t been caught in a photograph, heroically glinting in the moonlight and holding her like a sack of potatoes, she would have had it all. 

Money. Recognition. Control. Freedom. 

He’d made her look weak. 

She never should have left him alive. Mercy was a mistake. 

Now he’d come sniffing around, expecting her to share what she’d learned at the Callais. She pressed her hand to her pocket protectively as his curious gaze drifted there. 

“Did you find something?” he asked, stepping closer with a familiarity he hadn’t earned. She jolted back, nearly toppling a row of neatly parked bicycles. For a heartbeat, she teetered.

“Careful,” he said, catching her elbow with a steady hand. It was warm and solid through his glove. The genuine concern in his expression only made it worse. 

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?” she hissed. 

“What?” The confusion in his voice was infuriating. Of course he had no idea what that one image had cost her.

She snatched her arm free and started walking quickly in the opposite direction. “I don’t need help.” 

He followed, his long stride effortlessly matching hers.

“So…how was the Callais?” he pressed. “You didn’t use the walkie talkie. I was getting worried something happened, since…well last time you weren’t doing very well. Did you learn much?”

“It’s none of your damn business what I found,” she spat. 

“So you did find something,” he said, looking at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. His energy was exhausting. “Go on. Sharing is caring, Partner.”

She flipped him off and continued on, quicker now, leaving him far behind. Who was this fool? Did he think they’d been hired for summer camp? Were they going to braid each other’s hair next? Make friendship bracelets?  

This mission meant everything to her. She wasn’t about to give up her lead now.

She turned a corner, only to find him already waiting there, crouched on a ledge above like some smug rooftop gargoyle.

“How did you-?” she started. 

“Shortcut,” he said. “I figured you’d know it.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You didn’t exactly seem the type to take things slow when we last met. Or were you purposefully going for the scenic route this time?”

It took everything in her not to throw a dagger straight between his smug green eyes. Curse Agreste for changing the deal. If only he’d trusted her. She could have delivered her leads and left with money in hand. But no, he chose to pair her with a debonair flirt who had no concept of what he had cost her.

She stood, hands on hips, glaring up at him. “You think I owe you something because you decided to get off on being a hero that night? I didn’t want your help then, and I don’t need it now. Quit acting like we’re close. We never will be. Find someone else to cling to.”

She’d gone too far. 

The teasing spark left his eyes. His jaw twitched.

“Right,” he said quietly, dropping lithely to the ground in front of her. “Silly me. Of course you had it handled. I guess jumping off a roof after you and dragging your bleeding, unconscious body to safety was the wrong move. But what would I know? Apologies for my incompetence, My Lady.” He bowed low in bitter contrition. 

She scoffed and folded her arms, but inwardly, his words found their mark. 

She hated that she owed him her life. 

Others didn’t bother to acknowledge distress.

Why had he?

And worse, why did she feel like she should apologize?

“Next time,” he added, walking past her, sarcasm dripping, “I’ll make sure to check whether you want to be saved.”

“There won’t be a next time,” she said under her breath, taking off in a jog. 

She moved in silence. The thought that he could be nearby, tailing her in the dark, made her run faster, even though the action sent shooting pain into her side. 

Once far enough away, she slowed, pacing back and forth as she caught her breath. Her hand pressed tightly to her wounds. They’d opened at Luka’s. She needed to take it easy if she was going to make it home without another scolding from Tikki. 

She hadn’t expected to see him again. Pain and exhaustion had dulled her edge that night. It was the only explanation for leaving him snoring in the chair instead of smothering him with a pillow... wasn’t it?

Why had he left the door open for her? 

Snap. 

A twig broke underfoot. She whirled around. He appeared again out of nowhere, windswept and maddeningly composed. Not even breathing hard.

“Look.” His tone was even. “You’re not the only one who got dealt a shitty hand in this. I didn’t ask for a partner either. If all you want is to fight, I can give you that.” He glanced her way, green eyes full of sincerity. “Or, we could actually try to make this work.” 

“C. I pick option C.” 

“Which is…?” 

“We fake it in front of Agreste and work solo the rest of the time. We don’t share leads. We don’t talk. We don’t interact. That way, we both get to essentially reshuffle the deck in our favor without losing the job.” 

Something of a smile twitched at his lips for an instant, before vanishing again. “Don’t you think he’s smart enough to see right through that?” 

Her thoughts drifted back to the boy in the mansion. He was clever, she’d give him that, but his deal had screwed her over. If she could test his limits, she would. She’d seen how his eyes followed her. How his Adam's apple pulsed when she got too close. Felt the heartbeat race in his wrist when he’d reached for her. He was clearly more afraid of her than he let on. She could get under his skin.

“Absolutely not. Just let me do the talking, Cat boy.”

He chuckled. “Cat boy? I have a name, you know.” 

“Oh? Whiskers ?”

He gave her a lazy two finger salute. “Chat Noir. At your service, My Lady.” 

“Chat…Noir?”

He winked. “That’s me. Don’t wear it out, Buggaboo.” 

“It’s. Ladybug. Can you be serious for five seconds?” 

“You seem to have the intensity thing down pretty well. I would hate to encroach on your brand. After all,” his green eyes glittered behind the mask, studying her. “Opposites attract.”

Her face flushed with annoyance as she looked away. What was his angle? It made no sense. He’d taken on the men on the roof and held his own. He was clearly capable of acting normal. So why all the childish posturing?

“Are we doing this or not?”

“We?” he purred. “I do like the sound of that.” 

He was seconds from finding out if he had nine lives, or just one. 

As if sensing the danger, he held up his hands in surrender. “Too far. Got it.” He ran a hand through his hair in contemplation. His cologne lingered in the air. Woody. Masculine. A hint of mint- or was it pine?  “I accept. But if Agreste finds out, I’m denying everything. As far as he’s concerned, we’re as thick as thieves. Alright?” 

“Deal.” 

“Wasn’t done.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead.” 

His expression was one she couldn’t understand. “You can run, ignore, and berate me. But if things go south and you end up on another rooftop, I’m not leaving you behind. That’s non-negotiable.”

“But-”

He stepped closer, bridging the gap between them. The corner of his bottom lip swelled with a small, dark bruise. It hadn’t been there before. Someone had gotten close enough to land a blow. But who?

“If I lose you,” He met her gaze, all traces of banter gone, “I don’t get paid. So please, try not to piss anyone else off until we’re done finding my- er- Emilie. For both our sakes.” 

Me? This is all your fault for being sloppy.

She wanted to snap it out, but she held her tongue behind gritted teeth. Tikki was right. Her pride had cost her too much already. She needed this to work. 

“Look, don’t focus on me. Just do the job. Don’t screw up.” She jammed a finger into his chest. “And don’t get media involved.”

A nod passed between them. A tense truce. 

“Alright, well. See you tomorrow?” he said hopefully, slipping from serious back to teasing so quickly that it gave her whiplash. Which was the true version and which was the lie? How many masks did he wear?

“-Or whenever you end up in another fight. I’m sure I won’t be waiting long.” He backed up, miming holding a phone to his ear. He mouthed the words, “Call me.”

She turned to look out at the river instead, not about to give him the satisfaction of a response.

The sound of his boots retreating in the opposite direction echoed for a few seconds, then faded. 

Alone again.

She exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the familiarity of silence.

It was late.

The Seine glittered below. The city lights shimmered on its surface, golden and scattered, hiding the dark depths beneath.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling the fragile paper tucked against her hip. Still intact. She needed to get it to Agreste before anything else happened. 

One clean exit. One quick report. Then she could disappear for the night and get some sleep. 

Was peace really too much to ask for? 

A footstep thudded behind her. Then another. Not his. They were too heavy. Too deliberate.

She spun as three menacing figures melted from the shadows, wielding sinister smiles and weapons.

She groaned and reached for her blades.

Of course it was.

Chapter Text

They were too relaxed. That was her first warning sign: she wasn’t facing amateurs.

One swung a rusty chain with a padlock on the end of it, the second flicked open a switchblade. The last man twirled a cattle prod lazily in one hand. When he saw her looking, he smiled, and let it drag along a nearby pole. It crackled with electricity. One hit and she’d be out.

She rolled her shoulders, her blades flashing in her hands.

Let them come.

They advanced in a semi circle. She kept her body facing them, legs crossing gracefully as she tracked every move. Never looking away from her targets.

The Seine glinted to her left. Hedges boxed her in on the right. Cobblestones were underfoot, uneven and treacherous. No room to run. No room to miss.

Her canines glinted in the dim light. 

Good. 

They wouldn’t be making it home. 

“Look who keeps crawling back,” the leader with the switchblade purred. His gray eyes were dead behind his lashes. “Thought we squashed you last time.”

She twisted to keep him in view. “Didn’t realize you were so clingy.”

They moved slowly, working in perfect synchronization to herd her closer to the water. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be taking a swim. 

The one with the chain jerked his thumb in the direction Chat had run. “Not flying solo now, huh? Got desperate… or just lonely?” 

Ladybug’s heart thumped. How long had they been watching her?

Had they seen her reach for the leads in her pocket? Overheard the deal?

“You sound jealous,” she said, ignoring the question.

The snap of the cattle prod electrified the air.

“Keep yapping,” its owner snarled. “I’m gonna enjoy breaking that pretty mouth.”

“Bet you say that to all your victims.”

They lunged as one, fast and coordinated. 

Ladybug closed her eyes. 

She was seven. Her hands shook as she gripped the knife and hovered over the table, surveying the perfect sphere of sourdough blooming there. 

She'd watched her father do it hundreds of times. It was called scoring. Swirls, petals, lattices, carved into the tops of the loaves. He made flour-dusted magic. Now, it was her turn… and she couldn't move.

What if she messed everything up? Her previous attempts on smaller chunks of dough were all jagged and uneven. The designs wouldn’t form. 

She leaned in for the fifth time to make the cut, then shrank back. The sourdough quivered. It was so round and smooth. She could almost imagine it breathing. Her shaky scratches would ruin everything. 

Her pulse echoed in her head. Thud dum. Thud dum. She wanted it to be perfect. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. Then another. They hit the dough. She sniffled loudly. 

Then her father was there. Warm. Solid. Smelling of cinnamon and yeast.

“Hey, no pressure, sweet bun. It’s just bread. Bread loves you.”

She huffed, frustrated.

“But what if I mess it up?”

“Then we eat that one first. Win-win.”

She smiled in spite of herself.

He adjusted her grip carefully, then leaned in, whispering like it was a secret recipe.

“You don’t need to fight it. Just let the blade glide. It's your tool. You just have to show it where to go.”

His large hands wrapped around hers, steadying them. He twisted her wrist ever so slightly and rested her pointer finger on top of the blade. 

“Don’t hack it. Take a deep breath and let gravity do the work. Every mark is yours. All it takes is a little confidence to make magic happen.” 

She nodded, eyes wide.

“Go on,” her father patted her shoulder with pride. “Show that loaf who’s boss.” 

She sucked in a breath, squared her shoulders, and sliced. 

Crimson bloomed on the cobblestones. The man with the switchblade crumpled, clutching his wrist as red sprayed in rhythmic bursts, but not before he threw the blade. It grazed her side, narrowly missing vital organs, stinging as it tore through suit and skin.

First blood. 

Pain and adrenaline sang through her veins, each pulse heightening her focus.

The chain whipped past her ear. Too close. She ducked, gasping, then snapped back into action. 

They were good. 

She was lethal. 

The second man lurched for her. She let him. Momentum was a weapon too. She ducked, twisted, and sliced neatly through his Achilles, sending him crashing to his knees. Then she kicked the chain from his hands. It clattered off the cobblestones and into the Seine. 

Two down.

A flash of silver. 

Her next dagger sank into the cattle prod owner’s shoulder. He howled, stumbling back.

Her pulse was steady now.

Her hand didn’t tremble. Her aim was clean. 

Her father’s voice echoed encouragingly in her head.

“That’s my girl.”

As the fight continued, Ladybug relaxed into an instinctive rhythm. Slash, duck, roll, lunge, repeat. It was a dangerous dance that wove and grew from her flying limbs until it reached a frenzy. 

With quick, deadly bursts of energy, she moved them closer to the river’s edge. 

That’s where she’d bury them. Gulping down mouthfuls of polluted water as their wounds stained it red. 

A fitting end. 

The one who’d lost his chain was cracking. Fear slicked his eyes. She doubled down on him, carving her best work into his flesh with swift slices. A slash across the thigh, a deep cut under the ribs.

She scored with care. Just like her father had taught her. 

Then the man was on his back and she loomed over him. A final blade hovered at his throat.

They locked eyes. His, wide. Hers, cold, and blocking out the sky. She was the last thing he’d ever see. 

“Bitch,” he whispered, clutching at her as she pressed steadily on his throat, letting the blade tip caress his pulse. 

As his strength drained, hers grew. 

This was what she’d missed. Feeling so alive she could snap. She was an unstoppable force. 

No going back now. 

She angled her blade and ended it.

His hands fell slack.

And then there were two.

The others were feeling the fight’s toll. 

The switchblade owner was on his knees, frantically trying to staunch the blood flow of his injuries. His pale face told her that it was a battle he’d already lost.

Only the cattle prod, with its cruel elegance, remained in play. They faced each other. Her dagger remained lodged in his shoulder. He hadn’t bothered to remove it.

Smart. 

It’d stop him from bleeding out. 

She needed to get close and kick the prod free. He ran for her. She feinted and dove, skidding along the ground. Her lungs heaved. She drove her last blade into the back of his thigh, letting gravity drag it down, leaving a deep gash in its wake. 

He toppled forward, landing on top of the still electrified cattle prod. The scream he let out was high and almost inhuman as his body jerked and twitched. 

She wiped the sweat from her face and stood, stepping over him as he went still. 

She surveyed the scene. Bodies sprawled before her. The Seine behind her.  Her limbs thrummed. She grinned wide and wild.

She was ice ablaze.

But something was off.

It was too still.

She wasn’t alone.

A soft click undid her.

She never saw the fourth man. Or the gun. Or the bullet screaming toward her skull. 

Just a blur of black and gold slamming solidly into her, shoving her clear. 

Taking her place. 

The bullet hit. 

Chat’s body jerked, teetering at the Seine’s edge. 

Their eyes met. Dulled green and frantic blue. 

For a suspended moment, it wasn’t Chat who hovered there. It was him. A ghost she’d long since buried.

She couldn’t breathe. 

Then his eyes rolled back in his head. He crumpled into the river. 

And her world cracked open.

She dove. 

Chapter Text

The world had ended like this before.

With hands slipping.

A garbled spray of bubbles.

The current wrapping around them like a shroud.

Dragging them down.

A boy kicking. Thrashing.

Going terribly still.

She’d lost hold of him in the dark, her screams swallowed by the river. 

Now, old panic stabbed her chest. Sharp and merciless.

She couldn’t lose another. 

She clawed at the murky water, her fingers burning with cold, reaching for anything solid. Nothing. Only fronds of algae brushed her fingertips.

The current tore at her, trying to pull her under.

She fought it blindly, frantic. 

Her lungs screamed. Her vision danced between present and past. 

She kicked deeper. 

Not only for Chat. For him. 

Another lost boy, from long ago, who'd seen her, broken and angry, and hadn't flinched.

The one with the crooked smile. The freckles. The wildflowers he’d stolen just for her.

The boy who couldn’t swim.

Who jumped after her anyway. 

And never came back.

Maybe this time would be different.

There.

A boot thudded against her chest, heavy and real.

A halo of blond hair floated just beyond.

She reached, hooked her fingers into the fabric of his leg, and kicked hard, dragging them both up, before her lungs gave out.

The current had catapulted them down the river, spitting them out past the nearby bridge. 

The gunman was nowhere in sight.

She collapsed next to Chat, hacking and shivering on the embankment. His pale lips and skin were motionless. 

Tears sprang in her eyes. It was happening again.

No. 

“Wake up,” she hissed, wetly slapping his cheek. 

Nothing. 

She shook him. It was like shaking a corpse. His head lolled back. A frantic finger jammed to his pulse confirmed the worst.

She slammed her body weight down against his chest. Once. Twice. Three times. She could feel his ribs straining. Fighting her. If she continued, they’d snap. 

But he was already flatlining. 

She kept going, arms straight from shoulder to wrist, shoving rhythmically into his chest. Down. Up. Down. Up. 

Muscle memory kicking in. 

The same beat had once rattled through her as she’d screamed another’s name.

Her arms trembled with fatigue. She squeezed her eyes shut and slammed her hands down harder. Why had he leapt in front of the bullet? It should have been her. It was meant for her. Did he have a death wish? 

“Come on. Breathe, you idiot—”

A cough.

Wet, wracking. Violent.

He rolled onto his side, spewing out river water, hacking and retching onto the ground.

Still locked in the past, she repositioned her hands to strike his chest again.

His hand shot up, catching her wrist mid-motion.

She froze. 

Their breaths mingled sharply in the evening air. 

His dazed, haunted gaze locked onto hers. 

“You, ” he croaked, eyes darting over her face as though he was seeing her for the first time. He sat up. Droplets streamed down his face, dripping along his shaking jaw. 

Alarm bells blared in her skull, but she didn’t move. Couldn’t. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered deliriously. 

The intensity of his words burned through her. 

The world blurred around them. 

She was shaking all over, high on adrenaline. 

From the fight. From the water. From–

His thumb gently brushed her pulse, as if to calm her.  

And for a moment, she let him.

It wasn't  him.  She knew that. And yet–

Her other hand still hovered above his chest, ready to strike again. It twitched once, then curled into a fist and dropped to her lap.

Then.

“I missed you,” he continued. “So much.”

Ah.

That snapped her out of it.

He thought she was someone else. 

He leaned in unsteadily, reaching for her.

It was too much.

She flinched and stumbled back, jerking to her feet. Her heart pounded.

She’d thought— 

But no. 

She wasn’t a fool. The tender words were clearly not meant for her. He must have hit his head on the way down. 

Her gaze dropped to him, so pale, soaked in river grime. His eyes weren’t teasing. They were aching.

Jaw clenched, she turned away.

They were each longing for their own ghosts. 

He coughed again, crumpling to the ground. He curled onto his side, eyelids fluttering open and closed until he finally went still.

She hovered there until his breathing began to even out.

She should have left. 

She took a few steps away from him to gather herself. Wind tore down the river channel, slicing wet fabric against her skin. 

She stood there, guarding him. Eyes fixed on the water.

It didn’t look the same as it had that day, so many years ago. It was calmer. There were no storm clouds ahead. The water didn’t rage and spill over the embankment onto the streets. And yet, the emotions swirling in her head felt the same.

She’d been stuck in an endless whirlpool of regret and guilt that always ended in him slipping through her grasp in the dark. 

And yet…this time, she’d managed to surface with another. She hadn't thought it was possible to break the cycle. 

To finally breathe. To rewrite the truth.

It felt inexplicably wrong. As if by saving the man on the bank, she was betraying his memory.

As if she ever could.

The ache was unbearable, but she let it grow and fester with every breath. It was her penance. Living was her ultimate punishment. 

Distractedly, she shoved her hands into her soaked suit pockets.

It was a mistake. 

Her fingers brushed something soft and sodden.

A low cry escaped her lips. The whirlpool crashed around her with renewed ferocity, crushing her. Claiming her.

She knew what it was before she even looked.

She pulled it out with trembling fingers.

Soggy. Fading. The delicate script had blurred so that it was indecipherable. 

She stared at the ruined scraps in her hands, mind spinning. 

No. No. 

The one lead that actually meant something.

The burnt corner of Emilie’s letter. Useless.

She sank to her knees.

She’d fought and bled for that lead. 

All that time. All that risk. 

For nothing. 

For him, whispered a voice she didn’t want to hear.

The boy who wasn’t there. The man who was. 

He was destroying her.

And still, she’d dragged him up. Still, she’d hoped.

Saving him lost her the one thing that could’ve led her forward. How much more would he cost her before this was done?

She looked back at him.

Ah. He was awake now. Less groggy. Watching. The odd, aching look was gone. Did he remember anything? 

His eyes flicked to the scraps in her hands, then back to her face, reading the devastation there.

Before she could speak, he looked away, clearing his throat awkwardly.

He busied himself with wiping muck from his suit.

Then, slowly, shakily, he stood. 

“Are you alright?” he said carefully. She could still hear the rasp in his voice. “You’re bleeding.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut. He’d nearly died. Why was he concerned for her? It made it so much worse.

He moved closer and held out a hand. “I told you I wouldn’t leave you in a fight.” 

Oh, how she wished he had. 

And yet…if he hadn’t.

The bullet would have ended her. 

The bullet. 

Her eyes darted to his chest, assessing him for injury. Where was the blood? The ripped fabric? The wound? 

“My suit’s bullet resistant," he said, noticing the look on her face. He patted it with a faint smile, wincing as he did. Even with it, he’d have bruised ribs. “See? Barely a scratch.” 

He winked at her. “Don’t worry. It was just a tumble. Besides, I would have fallen for you eventually. I guess this just put us ahead of schedule.” 

And there it was. The mask slipped neatly back into place. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

She’d dove in. Risked everything. Lost everything. And he was making jokes like it was nothing. Because to him it was. His life had a reset button. He'd known all along that he wouldn't face serious consequences.

Anger bubbled inside her. 

How could she have ever compared him to–-

She shoved his hand away and rose. 

She had no backup plan. There was nothing left to give Agreste except the butterfly charm. She needed to punch a wall. To slash through flesh. To be anywhere but here. 

No good deed went unpunished. 

“Wait-” he blurted. 

“What? What could you possibly have to say now?” she snapped, spinning on him. “Every time you show up, something breaks. You're so damn reckless.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, pacing along the embankment. “You thought you meant well? What does that matter? How am I going to deal with the fallout? It's over. It's all over. I'm finished.” She shook the scraps of paper at him with a frantic rage.

“You don't get it. You just don't get it. This was supposed to fix everything. Debts. My reputation- which you ruined with that pathetic hero complex. What are you trying to prove? You cost me this job, and any shot at another. Didn't know that, did you?" She laughed harshly. "Of course not. You just had to save me instead of yourself. You--”

He stayed silent.
And for the first time, she noticed the weight in his eyes. The crack beneath his bravado.

He didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t really him.

But she couldn’t stop.
Not when everything was burning down around her.

Something was going to break. It was either her, or her silence. She had to keep going.

Her voice was ice under strain.

“What is this to you…? A joyride? A cheap thrill where you can flirt, joke, save the day, and go home a hero in the end?” She stepped toward him.

“Real people aren’t bulletproof. Real people drown. They don’t get second chances. They don't. Come. Back."

Her chest heaved.

"And don’t…look at me like that… like I matter. Stop pretending. You don’t know who I am. You have no idea what I’ve lost.”

The words were out before she could stop them.
She couldn’t take them back.

He didn’t flinch. Just stood there, chest rising and falling, hair plastered to his forehead, the river still clinging to him. 

He opened his mouth as if to respond, then hesitated. He closed it tightly. 

She steeled herself, banishing the catch in her voice. 

“Find someone else to rescue.” She flung down the scraps of waterlogged paper and ran, disappearing into the night. 

It wasn’t until she rounded the corner, out of sight, that she let herself crumble.

Chapter Text

[REDACTED]:
You’re certain it wasn’t a false positive?

[REDACTED 2]:
The spike registered twice, in the temporal lobe and limbic system. Elevated cortisol. Theta bursts.
It’s… not residual noise. Subject was lucid for over a minute.

[REDACTED]:
After all this time? But all reports indicated a total reset.

[REDACTED 2]:
There’ve been minor oscillations over the years before. Suppressed dream cycles, mostly.
But this…this was different.
It aligned with external stimuli. 

[REDACTED]:
That’s impossible.

[REDACTED 2]:
Apparently not.

[REDACTED]:
…How long do we have?

[REDACTED 2]:
Unknown. Protocols were designed to kick in in the event of an override, but not this quickly, or for a trigger event of this magnitude.

[REDACTED]:
So that means—

[REDACTED 2]:
Subject is waking up.

The Seine was still drying on her skin, when...

Bzz. 

Bzz.

Bzz.

Ladybug squinted at the screen, then pushed Accept. 

"Hello? C a-an you hear me?"

Tikki’s muffled voice crackled through the phone. Reception from the catacombs left much to be desired, but Tikki didn’t go above ground. Not anymore. 

"Sort of," Ladybug said, slipping into an alleyway and ducking behind a dumpster. Brick pressed cold against her spine.

"Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible communicator?" Tikki asked. 

Ladybug rolled her eyes and readjusted her grip on the phone. "I answered, didn’t I? What is it?"

Tikki hesitated. "Maybe I should've waited until you got back."

"{Just tell me."

"...She called."

Ladybug frowned. "Who?"

Tikki’s tone was solemn.

"You know who."

The world constricted.

Ladybug went cold.

Suddenly, she was small again. In the dark. Chained to the whim of a voice drenched in silk and coated in venom.

Soft. Cruel. Unforgettable.

Her vision narrowed to a pinpoint.

No.

It wasn’t possible. Tikki had to be wrong.

She’d finally outrun it. Finally escaped its control.  

"How?" Her voice was air. "When?" She barely registered that she’d sunk to the cobblestones, fingers gripping the phone so hard it creaked.

"Just now. I pretended I was your assistant and told her you were taking care of it. Bought us some time. But...not much."

"How did she find—" Ladybug broke off, dragging a shaky breath in through her teeth. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

It was pointless.

They were bound to a spider.

What a fool she’d been to think they'd go free and unnoticed.

Paris was her web, woven long ago. 

All she’d had to do was wait—until they’d tripped the snare, gotten sloppy, missed a payment–-to strike. 

"She said to tell you that she’s…"

A pause. 

"...getting hungry."

Everything spun. Her limbs were ice.

"I’m almost done," she managed, even as she was disintegrating.

All they'd built, each precaution and safeguard...and she'd known how to find them the entire time.

Nowhere was safe.

Nowhere would ever be safe again.

"I just–things are taking longer than expected. But I have it handled."

"She won’t wait. She’ll come for what she’s owed."

"I know, damnit," she snapped, too loud. 

Silence. 

"Do you…? Have it handled?"

Ladybug didn’t answer at first. Her stomach was churning. Her mouth, dust. 

"Of course." 

Static.

Ladybug strained to hear what came next.

"I could help, you know," the casual tone was carefully practiced. "Tony’s always begging for me to come back. Just one job— maybe two. Simple system wipes. It might appease her. At least long enough to—"

No. 

Each hesitant word cracked something in Ladybug.

As if she’d ever let Tikki sacrifice herself again.

A violent, protective anger surged before she could control it.

"Stop."

"But—"

"Absolutely not."

Ladybug clenched her jaw. Her voice dropped, low and shaking.

"We didn’t do all this shit just to get sucked back in. What if you got caught? You think she lets people leave twice? No more jobs. No owing anyone else. I’ll get it done. And only me. Got it?"

"It's you I worry about." Tikki whispered. 

Ladybug could already feel her collar tightening. 

Taste metallic blood. 

Hear that voice in her ear, velvet poison, soft and low, like a deadly lullaby. 

Feel her limbs breaking.

One. 

By. 

One. 

"I’ll be fine."

Better her than Tikki. She could almost picture the redhead silently fuming at the lie, but she didn’t push.

"Forget I said anything. Just come home safe," Tikki said at last. "And soon. We’ll find other jobs. We can move again if we have to. You don’t have to bow to her anymore.

…Promise?"

Ladybug closed her eyes. 

Freedom was a mirage.

If she couldn’t produce the funds, they would be swallowed whole. 

She hung up.

Stood slowly, pressing one hand against the wall to steady herself.

It had taken everything she had to get them out of that life. They couldn’t go back. Nothing was worth the price. 

Alone, she emptied the meager contents of her stomach onto the alley ground, letting bile burn her throat. The cool air soothed her shaking shoulders.

It was the last payment.  

She could make it. Be free of debt. Be free of—

She had to.

With that, she ran.

Time was slipping away. 

And the devil was watching the clock.

That evening in the mansion, the fire flickered from the hearth, but its heat couldn’t reach Adrien. His bones were still full of the river’s chill. 

It clung to him, ancient and unshakable, making it impossible to forget.

He paced uneasily, dripping onto the marble, a towel slung carelessly over one bare shoulder.

Unfortunately, the shower hadn’t done its job of scrubbing away the way she’d looked at him.
As if he was the villain in her story. 

That hit harder than his bruised ribs, and lodged in every breath.

"Reckless. She thinks I’m reckless?"

"Pathetic too," Plagg added unhelpfully from his spot near the appetizer tray. 

Adrien ignored him. "Three armed men. No plan. No call for backup–which we agreed on. What was she thinking?"

Plagg shrugged, folding his arms. "She’s unstable, tactless, and leaves disaster wherever she goes. That’s why you took the job…isn’t it?"

Adrien raked a hand through his wet hair, flinging droplets everywhere.

Plagg was right. She was a disaster.

She hadn’t flinched at the bullet. She’d stilled, watching it come. 

Like she wanted it.

What choice did he have but to stop her?

"There’s unstable and then there’s— insanity. Look, if she didn’t leap into danger every five seconds, I wouldn’t have to be reckless. Would I?"

But even as he said it, the words fell short.

Because she had been right about one thing.

He had jumped in. Again. Without thinking. Assuming he’d make it out fine. Because he always had before. Even on the roof, he’d leapt knowing his suit would catch him.

Real people aren’t bulletproof. That’s what she’d said.

Was taking the bullet even a sacrifice if he was wearing armor?

Adrien let out a frustrated groan. He bit into a miniature muffin. It was dry. So dry that it scraped down his raw throat, threatening to suffocate him.

His throat hadn’t stopped aching since the river.

He shivered. He hadn’t counted on falling in. 

He’d loathed water, ever since—

Agh. 

Agony lanced through his skull, sudden and blinding. His thoughts recoiled.

He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. 

One, he thought through gritted teeth, timing the pulses. Two…

After he hit three, it subsided again, dulling into the distance.

A sigh escaped him as the white faded from his vision.

Nearby, Plagg munched noisily, either oblivious or pretending to be. Either was fine with Adrien.

Plagg didn't need to know. 

They’d started after the bank. Bursts of pain. Just a moment or two. One shortly after his rescue. Another in the shower. And now this. 

Souvenirs of the event.

Adrien rubbed absently at the back of his neck. 

Adrenaline was a hell of a drug, but it was wearing off, allowing him to feel every wound intimately.  

He must have bashed his head on the way down. 

It was a miracle he hadn’t suffered worse.

His fingers were still damp.

Exhaling shakily, he wiped them against his pants.

His thoughts drifted again.

Water. He’d always hated it. That much he knew.

He’d have drowned at basic aquatic training at the academy if it weren’t for Plagg taking his place. 

Even back then, the terror had been instant. 

Primal. 

But tonight, he hadn’t even hesitated to fall.

The freezing river was the last thing he recalled. Then her eyes, wide and wild, searching his face as if she couldn’t believe he was breathing.

For a moment, she’d been unguarded. Vulnerable. Honest. 

Scared. 

For him.

His chewing slowed. 

She had no protection. No safety net. Yet she dove.

And it had cost her everything. 

He’d seen her stare down killers with a grin. Shrug off wounds that would hospitalize others. And yet she’d looked at him like he’d shattered something in her. 

He had done her wrong. There was no coming back from it. 

He shoved another muffin into his mouth, trying to smother the guilt crawling up his throat.

He’d saved her. Twice. That had to count.

He just hadn’t bet on her also saving him. 

He winced, remembering her flying fists at their first meeting in his hideout, and the dagger stabbing his shoulder the next. 

They were enemies.

So…why had she bothered? And why did he even care?

"Admit it. You’re bored when she’s not around." Plagg said, as if reading his mind. He straightened a slice of camembert that had been nudged off kilter by Adrien's lunge for muffins, then poured himself a drink. "Pay up."

Adrien blinked. "What?" 

“I told you meeting her would go off the rails. Trying to cage something feral? That’s cute, Kid." 

“You bet against me?" Adrien glared. "Where’s the loyalty?"

He flopped onto the couch, head thrown back, third muffin in hand. "Is everyone against me tonight?" he muttered.

"I accept cash," Plagg said cheerfully, raising his glass.

Adrien went silent. Then– "She said I ruined her life."

"People say things all the time. Doesn’t mean anything."

Adrien  didn’t answer. Just stared at the flickering fire. 

The echo of her voice, choked with emotion, haunted him. 

"You don’t know who I am. You have no idea what I’ve lost."

His hands flexed in his lap. 

He’d tried to save the scraps, but they were gone. All but a single letter. A loopy A. He’d recognize it anywhere. His mother’s handwriting. 

Somehow, despite every odd, this girl had found the impossible. A lead to the mystery that haunted him.

And he’d destroyed it.

"...And if I did?" he said softly.  "Ruin things?"

Plagg took a long sip, watching him. 

"Who cares? She’ll be in cuffs by the end, one way or another. No one’s playing nice."

He set down the glass with a quiet clink. 

"But do be careful. Let her get in your head, and she’ll win."

Ding. 

The doorbell. 

Adrien froze, mouth full. 

Eyes wide. 

Plagg’s expression was enough to tell him who was at the door. 

Adrien coughed violently, sucking muffin into his lungs. He doubled over, hacking and choking. 

He was suddenly very aware of everything. The messy room. His wet hair. No shirt. Crumbs. 

No. Not now. 

Where was his shirt? Any shirt? 

"And there’s my cue," Plagg said, saluting him. "May the best man win."

With that, he slipped from the room, whistling, leaving a panicked Adrien in his wake.

The door swung open when she tried the handle. It had been left unlocked.

He was there. Standing near the fire, its glow flickering across his shoulders. Damp curls clung to his neck. He hadn’t even bothered to button his shirt. He didn’t look up upon her entrance. His gaze remained steadily fixed on the flames.

She found herself silently observing him. 

His hands were tucked loosely into his pockets. His body was still. More statue than man.

In a way, he was an enigma. 

There was a quiet weight to him despite the initial illusion of fragility. A steadiness. He'd held his own against her. She’d come at him with blades and threats. He hadn’t flinched. And yet…he feared her. She’d felt it.  

A contradiction she hadn’t cracked. 

His muscles tensed and rippled, as if they’d sensed her.

She looked away quickly. 

"It’s late," he said.

She stepped inside, letting the door click softly shut behind her and moved closer to his side. The room was too warm. The firelight brushed his profile in gold, but his expression was unreadable. Too blank. Like he’d wiped it clean.

Had he noticed her staring?

"I found something," she said, tone neutral. Professional, because she had to be. 

Stick to the mission. 

"About her,” she added. “Emilie."

His lip curled. "Your partner already relayed the… situation," he said, gesturing languidly to the torn pile of scraps on the side table. 

They’d been meticulously flattened, held down by heavy volumes from the bookshelves to dry. Unfortunately, every word was blurred and smudged.

Oh. 

Ladybug’s ribs threatened to collapse her lungs.

Chat had been there? Before her?

It made sense now. 

Agreste’s refusal to meet her gaze. The casual detachment.

Catboy had gotten there first and turned him against her. 

She should have seen it coming. 

She’d raged in his face. Refused his partnership. Stood to earn half of the money.  

Could she even blame him?

She’d practically handed him the knife. Of course he’d use it.

She was a liability. 

The deal was slipping through her fingers like water.

She had to save this. 

His shoulders twitched, like he might turn. But he didn’t. Just dug his hands deeper into his pockets.

Look at me, Agreste.

She wanted to scream it, but his name died behind her lips.

The velvet voice in her head snaked across her body, constricting with every breath. 

Tick tock, it murmured. 

The charm. She still had it. 

"There’s more," she blurted. The words felt so unsubstantial. Floating out like smoke. Her vision danced with stars. "There's..."

She pressed a palm into the table, steadying herself. 

And then he was turning, green gaze locking onto her. 

Crossing the threshold. 

Bridging the gap between them. 

"He already explained everything," he murmured, tone oddly soft. 

Again, his response confused her.

Why aren't you raging? Throwing me out? Cancelling the deal? 

The walls were closing in. 

She hadn’t expected the look in his eyes. Not fear. Not anger. Remorse.

"He told me he screwed up. That it was entirely his fault that the lead was destroyed. Not yours. You weren't to blame."

Ladybug blinked.
What?

Her fingers flexed against the table, slow and mechanical.

Her mind reeled. Everything tilted, like a chessboard flipped mid-game. Pieces scattered. Some were missing. Some… weren’t pieces at all.

What the hell was Chat playing at? A show of contrition? A strategic sacrifice?

Her teeth dug into her tongue, tasting blood.

Was this his plan?

Disarm Agreste. Gain his trust. Prove himself the more noble of the two and pocket a larger reward?

She cursed under her breath. 

It was brilliant. 

All this time, he’d acted the fool. But she was the one being tricked.

The voice in her skull tightened its grip.

He’s winning.

How many moves behind was she?

Do something. 

She needed the upper hand.  

Chat couldn't matter. Not now. 

Agreste needed to remember who he was really dealing with.  

Her breath slowed. 

In. Out. In. Out.

She nodded in response, then moved forward; calculated, careful.

One step.

Two.

Their shadows intertwined on the marble floor, long and flickering.

Even now, he refused to flinch. 

Instead, he stayed still, gaze never leaving her. 

They were close.

Close enough that she could see the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the steady pulse in his throat. Feel his heat. Smell the shampoo lingering faintly in his damp hair—or was it cologne?

The light consumed them.

Fire and ice.

She lifted her chin. "I’m the one you want."

His eyebrows ticked up.

His lips parted with a breath.

She kept going, sharp and fast, before he could protest. Before he could throw her out.

"I got that intel. Not him. Only I saw everything in the letter. And I don't forget."

She unfurled her palm. The butterfly charm glinted in the firelight.

One last move. 

Her final chess piece.

"You want the truth, Agreste?"

Her voice dropped.

She stepped closer, rose onto her toes, and whispered, lips nearly brushing his ear. 

"Then I’m your only shot."

Chapter Text

He was nearly six, curled up contentedly in his mother’s arms, nestled among endless pillows. Morning poured softly into the bedroom, bathing them in gentle light while he amused himself. 

“Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq…” His small face scrunched in concentration as he carefully rotated the elegant bracelet that never left her slim wrist, counting the charms. They jingled faintly as he searched through each one. 

Whenever she returned from one of her long trips, there’d be a new charm nestled among the others like a secret waiting to be told.

He knew the explanations for them all by heart. 

“The Eiffel Tower keeps you close to me when I’m gone,” she’d say enthusiastically. “The dragon is for wisdom, from my trips to China. The key keeps all my secrets—”

At that, she’d always tickle him and cuddle him until he giggled uncontrollably, then whisper in his ear:

“But only the really good ones.”

“The pocket watch I got in Tibet, from a monk who never spoke. The boat…” her voice would go soft here. “The boat is for my best friend.”

A shadow would flicker across her face at that part, full of something Adrien didn’t yet have the words to name.

He’d throw his arms around her neck, fiercely protective. “Tatie Anarka?”

She would laugh softly and squeeze him tighter. Her green eyes would crinkle with love once more.

“Yes, Kitten. Now, where was I? The scroll is for knowledge, and—”

“And butterfly, protection!” he’d chime in proudly.

“Correct,” she’d murmur, smoothing his unruly curls, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “That’s my clever boy.”

But this morning was different. 

She was finally back from her longest trip so far, and yet still, she had been quiet, stroking his curls and burying her face in his neck. She hugged him tightly. It almost hurt to be squeezed so much, but Adrien didn’t complain. 

Suddenly, he noticed something. He paused and frowned. 

“Maman…why did they go?”  He jabbed a chubby finger at the empty gap in the bracelet.

Gone was the butterfly. 

And the golden key. 

She stilled. Just for a breath. Then her hand came up and gently wrapped around his.

“Oh,” she said, voice light. “I traded them for something important.”

“New ones?” he asked, wide-eyed. Maybe she hadn't added them to the bracelet yet. 

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“A promise.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed at that. He turned the bracelet in his hands. The charms dropped through his fingers like tiny bells, but the sound was wrong. Offkey. Hollow without the missing ones.

His lip trembled. 

“But…they make you safe. Will they come back?”

A pause.

“Sometimes,” she said, voice far away, “We must give up old things to gain something new.” 

Then she noticed his solemn little face. 

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothing the hair from his face. 

“Who needs silly old charms,” she whispered, “when I have you?”

Before he could ask more, she pounced.

She tickled his sides until he dissolved into helpless, snorting giggles, legs kicking and writhing under the duvet.

The moment slipped away.

And with it, the memory. 

Back in the firelit room, Adrien’s breath hitched as he gathered the charm once more into his hands.

It was just as he remembered. Dark purple wings, with tiny spots of gold. 

He hadn’t thought of it in years. But now, the memory had tugged loose, like a thread unraveling a seam.

“It was gone,” he murmured in awe, reverently turning it over in his palm. “How did you—?”

“I told you I would. You need to start listening.” 

He traced the wings with a fingertip.

“Perhaps I do.” He said, unable to hide a faint smile.  

Ladybug studied him, tilting her head to the side and folding her arms across her chest. “Well? Does it fit the bracelet? Your mother’s?” 

His fingers stilled. 

Ah. 

She remembered. 

He’d forgotten that he’d shown it to her during their first meeting. Back then, it had all been part of the ruse to draw her in. A prop. He hadn’t thought that she’d actually find anything. Now that she was here, holding proof…

It suddenly felt too intimate. 

He smiled again, faintly this time.

“Actually, I’m more interested in that letter. Now if you’re as good as you claim, what does it say?” 

She hesitated, then nodded. She turned, moving toward the table of scraps. He followed, peering over her shoulder. 

As he did, he slipped the butterfly charm into his pocket.

Her question had been innocent enough; still, it pricked him. 

Set him on edge.

She was an assassin.  

He’d seen her kill with brutal elegance. 

She was deadly.

And yet, in a short matter of time, she’d dove deeper into the mysteries of his personal life than anyone else. Worse, he’d been the one to coax her in. 

That had been his first mistake. But telling her more? 

That might damn him. 

His father’s voice reverberated unwittingly in his head. 

Image is everything for people like us.

After his mother’s death, paparazzi clamored to get a taste of the young Agreste boy. 

It’d taken years to subdue their rabid slobbering.

But they were never fully dormant, always ready to rise again in an instant. 

…They paid well. 

She’d said herself that she’d lost any chance at another job. What if she decided that his deal wasn’t enough? Or that he’d cost her too much to be left unscathed? 

He found himself watching  as she leaned over the table. Noting the confident slopes of her shoulders.

The tension in her stance. The way, even still, she looked ready to strike.

The soft tendrils of dark hair that escaped her pigtails and curled at the base of her neck…

He cleared his throat, turning his attention firmly to the letter fragments. 

Plagg was right. 

If she kept occupying his head, kept peeling back his secrets, he’d be screwed. 

Were their roles reversed, she wouldn’t hesitate to end him.

He was the one playing her. That couldn’t change. 

He couldn’t afford to forget.

She looked back at him. “Does La Flûte Enchantée ring any bells?” 

Adrien blinked, caught off guard. 

The name stirred something old. A memory. Velvet curtains. Golden balconies. Strangers pressing too close. His suit, stiff and itchy. Music so loud it hurt.

“My mother loved it,” he said finally. “She’d listen to it over and over. Not particularly my favorite.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s beautiful.” 

He shrugged. “I was young. I remember her face more than the music.”

The way it lit her from within, every note thrumming through her like a second heartbeat.

How it spilled through the house as she hummed along on an old record player.

How the music stopped when she did.

Ladybug turned back to the table, gesturing to the scraps. “The note mentioned an aria. But…it wasn’t one I recognized.” She picked up a pen, poised. “How is your German?” 

He reached past her, grabbed a notebook, flipped to a blank section, and slid it over.

"Es ist hinreichend.” 

Any field operative worth their salt had to at least be proficient with the surrounding area languages. He was on his seventh. 

She nodded and began to write, her nose crinkling in concentration. 

Her penmanship was neat. Confident. Graceful. Like an artist’s. 

He found himself watching the soft curve of her wrist, the way the pen glided and turned between her fingers, and the pinkness of her nailbeds. The skin around them was marred. He looked away.

“There,” she said, setting down the pen. 

He read over her shoulder. 

“……..Garnier…

……
Aus: Die Zauberflöte (Anhänge aus dem Archiv der Oper)
“Der Klang, der bindet”
Arie der Letzten Hüterin
(Andante grazioso – a-Moll)”

“The Palais Garnier,” he read. “That much makes sense. “

Then he stilled. 

“But the rest…” 

He grabbed the notebook. “ Can’t be… ” he said, scanning the page again, as if a second time might change the words. “It’s listed as an appendix… from the opera archives. ' The Sound That Binds.’ Aria of the Last Guardian.”

He glanced over at her. “But that aria doesn’t exist. It’s not part of the score.”

Ladybug looked up sharply. “My intel’s good.” 

He hmmed under his breath. It made no sense. Why would his mother leave him this? 

“Maybe you misremembered it?” 

Her jaw clenched.

“Are you calling me a liar ?”

“No one’s memory is perfect. Especially for something written in another language.” 

She didn’t respond right away. 

He stole a sideways glance.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the page, darting across every letter, as if she were suddenly uncertain herself.

They were close enough that he could smell her sweat mixed with the dankness of the river. 

See the shadows smudging under her eyes. Note that her dark hair, still damp, held a stray piece of algae. 

Her suit remained torn.

Had she stayed out the whole night? 

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

"There wasn't anything else," she snapped. "Anything left that is. The rest... burnt off long ago. In a run in with those people. The ones hunting her."

She paused, as though realizing too late that she’d said too much.

Adrien short-circuited.

“Hunting?”

Emilie Agreste’s disappearance had shocked the world. 

She was a young, beautiful heiress. A loving wife and mother.

 And yet, she vanished in her prime. 

News reports ran constantly, fueling Paris’s panic and grief.

There were endless false sightings. Conspiracies. The general consensus was that she had been abducted. Or worse.

His father reveled in it, attending endless press conferences and offering lavish rewards for any information on her.

Business boomed.

But over time, as she remained missing, the noise died off.

Then came more venomous murmurings.

That she ran. Left her child. Escaped his father. The rooms, like lonely marble tombs. The endless parties.

And then.

The Agreste empire moved on.

Quietly burying her name beneath gold and that damned memorial fountain.

Adrien had his own theories. She would never have left without him. Right ? Something had happened.

But this?

She was being hunted ? 

The words ripped away the last of his composure.

He was free

fa

ll

ing. 

Images flared through his mind. 

The smile that never quite reached her eyes. The charm bracelet, with its missing pieces. The way she checked every lock at least thrice. How she’d pull him close without warning, just to whisper in his ear: “If anything ever happens, remember who you are.”

He hadn’t understood what she meant.

How long had she been afraid?

Her secrets...

She’d said she traded them. For a promise.

Had he ever stopped to wonder what kind? Or to whom?

He was a fool.

It fit. It all fit. 

His heart thundered so hard that he could barely focus. Agonizing, damning hope clawed its way free from a prison where it had long been chained.

What if she was still out there? 

Scared?

In danger?

Alone? 

He’d abandoned her. 

He’d turned her disappearance into a tool. A damn backdrop for his plans.  

Like it wasn’t her life.

He’d given up too soon. 

His fists curled at his sides. 

Who? he wanted to demand. Who’s after her?  But he couldn’t speak. His throat clenched so tightly he could barely breathe. 

“That’s all I learned,” Ladybug said, answering the unspoken question. 

Adrien said nothing. He was shaking. 

She eyed him carefully, noting his turmoil.. “...You didn’t know,” she realized quietly.

His hands balled into fists. He looked away before he could see pity form in her eyes. 

She hesitated for a moment longer, then briskly continued. “Whoever it was wanted to destroy all connections to her. Which means that this–” she picked up the notebook, “Is important. Now, you

mentioned the Palais Garnier…and opera archives. Doesn’t the Palais have a—?”

“A library,” he managed, silently accepting the offered distraction.  She couldn’t see how much he was drowning. He had to maintain control.  He took a breath and continued. “There’s a library of opera

scores and other materials. But I’ve never been there. And half the entries are under security or require a research pass to access them.” 

As if that mattered. 

To find her, he’d do anything. Go anywhere. 

“What are our chances of getting in in the next day or two?”

Our. 

The word jerked him abruptly back. Away from his mother. 

To the present mission. 

It penetrated the room. 

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

She was just being tactical. Planning the next move. Like he’d hired her to do.

But it snagged in his chest anyway, angering him even though it shouldn’t.

This was his life. His mess. Not hers to know or see. To use against him. 

Why had he ever thought this would work? 

He straightened, burying the chaos behind something safer: wit. Distance. Diversion.

He needed to pivot. 

“I thought you didn’t do partners,” he said lightly. 

“That’s not—” Her face twitched in frustration. Good. He'd thrown her off. She resolved herself. “I work best alone. I delivered all the intel alone. I work hard to do whatever it takes.” 

“Oh?” He leaned against the table, fingers splayed. “Is that so?”  

She looked down at his hand, so very near her own, then back up at him. 

“As long as I get paid,” she said steadily. 

He couldn’t let her go. 

He took the shot. “Then give your partner another chance. A real one this time—not something you throw on just to appease me—” her eyes widened, confused as to how he’d guessed, “--As a genuine team.” 

Silence. 

He moved over to the silver appetizer tray and picked up a canape, untouched since her arrival. “...I’ll double your payment.” He bit in and chewed, watching her reaction. “You need that more than your pride.” 

She glowered at him. Her eyes spat a silent " Screw you", echoed by the twitch of her fingers near the hilt of her blade.

But this time, she made no comment.

He swallowed the canape.

As he did, something in the light shifted like a sigh. 

And he saw her anew.

She. 

Ladybug. 

Beautiful. Vicious. Precarious. 

A live wire, crackling. 

Always on edge. Poised to fight. 

But there, in the flickering firelight, there was suddenly more. 

The heavy exhaustion in her eyes. The skin around her fingernails, picked raw. The river stench.

Fractures in the facade. 

He knew them all too well. 

What it was to live on edge. Never removing the mask. High on adrenaline and ash. 

It was debilitating.

Unsustainable. 

He’d foolishly believed her wild rage and bold, reckless ways signaled liberation. That Ladybug was fire incarnate, taking no shit and burning her own path; bound to no one. A force to be envied.

She was all of that.

…And none of it. 

A girl, swathed in red and black, bearing more than anyone should.

As caged as he.

It was almost disappointing. He’d hoped at least one of them could be free. 

But it made the importance of his mission all the clearer. He couldn’t let himself care. Not if he wanted to stop her, and find his mother. 

His gaze slid to the side table by his bedroom door that held the pile of unopened invitations. 

Aha. 

Even now, despite the growing cracks, Ladybug was strong.

Still a blaze burning out of control. 

But with enough force, anything can be extinguished.

And suddenly, he knew just where to apply pressure.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. Then he donned the Agreste manners effortlessly. Polite. Rehearsed.  

Empathy was dangerous. Connection, a luxury.

But this. This he could control.

“Forget I said anything. Now, there’s a gala at the Palais tomorrow night. And I so happen to be expected there. I can get us access to the library. We’ll find more answers if we go together in person.”

She stared. 

“You will come with me,” he said, offering his hand with an empty, perfect smile. 

“My plus one.” 

Goodbye, ‘Bug. 

Her gaze darted to his hand, then to his eyes. She didn’t move.

“And if I don’t?” she asked, tone low and even. Not a threat. But close.

“Then you walk out of here with nothing,” he said bluntly. “No payment. No partner. No answers.”

She hesitated. Just for a moment. 

Then she took his hand, letting it engulf hers.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she murmured.

He couldn’t hide his grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

She tightened her grip and smiled slowly back.

But behind her eyes, the blaze still burned.

Chapter Text

Hss. 

Ladybug sucked in a sharp breath as she pricked her finger for what felt like the hundredth time in the dwindling candlelight. A drop of dark, ruby-red blood welled up and sank into the silk beneath her. 

Damnit. 

She shook her hand, and let the sting ride out through her shoulders.

Everything ached. Her spine. Her hands. Her eyes.

And still, she bent over the swath of fabric spread across the old table. But now, the pools of dark silk with an iridescent greenish sheen, like beetle wings, were stained, right in the center. 

Marred.

She swore and threw down the work with a groan, flinging an arm over her face. 

It was hopeless. Everything was wrong.

What the hell was she doing?

How could she sew eyelets and bind silk into elegance when a web was tightening outside these catacomb walls, inching closer by the hour?

She could feel it. Thick in her lungs like cotton. Crushing her.

With each stitch pulled tight, the web grew nearer. And yet, here she was—no choice but to keep sewing.

Tick tock. 

She rubbed the silk between her fingers. The bloodstain was too central to hide. Too delicate to wash clean.

It was ruined.

Jaw clenched, she methodically ripped out the panel.

Three hours of work. Gone. 

Why had Agreste insisted she be his partner? This gala was just a cover. A way to slip into the library undetected. She should have worn a servant’s uniform and kept to the shadows. 

So why had she agreed? 

She could still see his hand, outreached. The hopeful look in his eyes. 

Come with me. 

She shook her head, reached for her scissors and sliced through the bolt of cloth at her feet. The fabric was cold to the touch, flowing almost like water.

Like the river. 

Her hands trembled as she knotted the end of her thread. 

She could still smell the Seine on her skin, even after three showers. It clung to her, like a brand, burned into flesh.

And the boy—

He floated in her mind, haloed in gold. A pale, bloated corpse. Lungs full of sludge. Unidentifiable to everyone but her. 

Because she had killed him.

Her eyes squeezed shut. She bent over the gown again, furiously sewing; racing the ache in her chest and the clock overhead.

But even as her hands worked, her thoughts unraveled.

There was another. 

The man with the green eyes. Who'd inadvertently made her life hell. Who’d looked at her on the riverbank and seen someone else.

She remembered the tremor in his voice. The panic in his eyes. All that bravado stripped down to fear.

And she’d almost forgotten.

Almost. 

She bit sharply into the excess thread, snapping it free. He’d told Agreste everything. Used her screw up to get closer to him. Played the pious partner.

No. She wouldn’t let him win. Not this time. Agreste had chosen her for the gala. Unexpected, but useful. A chance to take back control.

That is… if she ever finished this damn dress. Why had she insisted on stitching it herself? 

She glanced up at the clock, ignoring the screaming crick in her neck.

It wouldn't be long now. The gala was almost upon her. 

Dust stirred across the stone floor.

Ladybug’s senses hitched. She whirled around, then let her shoulders slump in relief. 

“Quit doing that,” she said, throwing a bobbin of thread at the petite figure in the entranceway. 

“Sorry. Habit.” 

Tikki caught it easily, her small face faint and pale.

Her smile hadn’t reached her eyes in days. Not since the phone call.

Ladybug noticed the matches in her hands.

“I thought the candle might’ve burned out,” Tiki said softly, eyes downcast. 

“There’s time. Don’t worry.”

“Not enough.” 

Ladybug paused, the silence stretching too long.

Then she tossed over a protein bar. “Eat."

Tikki peeled it slowly and broke it in half, holding it out. “You too. You never do.”

“Didn’t ask for a lecture.”

That earned her a stern look.

Ladybug sighed, taking the offered half. “It’ll be fine.” It has to. 

Tikki didn’t reply. Her eyes roamed over the half-finished gown draped across the table. “Is it finished?” 

Ladybug stretched her aching spine, releasing a series of sharp cracks. She winced. “No, but I need a break from this monstrosity. Come. Take a look.” 

Tikki approached, lifting the gown in careful hands. It spilled like oil to the floor. Simple, practical. Just a disguise. A shell.

The redhead twisted it from front to back, squinting slightly. “It’s a little plain, but not as bad as you think.”

“It’s crooked.”

“So fix it. Or don’t.” Tikki gave her a sidelong glance. “You could just wear the one from the Murdoc job.”

Ladybug grimaced. “The black velvet?”

“You looked amazing in it.”

“It smells like smoke. And it’s stained with his bile. At least I hope it's bile.”

“Oh.” Tikki made a face. “Then definitely this one.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes and snatched the dress back. “It’s awful. Whenever I think I’m done, I find three more things that’ve gone wrong.”

“You know what? Pause. Try it on,” Tikki urged. “I bet it’s better than you think.” 

Ladybug’s fingers hovered over the gown’s hem. All she could see were her mistakes. Shabby seams. The neckline that didn’t sit quite right. Her skills had faded over the years. But it didn't matter.

“It's just a mission uniform anyway,” she said, more to herself than to Tikki. “It doesn’t need to be perfect.”

Her petite companion eyed her knowingly. “If you meant that, you’d have finished it ages ago. Now try it.” 

Silence. 

“...Give me five minutes.” 

Ladybug slipped behind a wall, gown in hand. The fabric rustled like water as she stepped into it. Every movement sent aches pinwheeling through her joints. She cinched the stays at her back so tightly that she was panting. 

She needed the pressure on her ribs. The burn in her lungs. It kept her awake, reminding her what was truly at stake.

Every breath mattered. And none was guaranteed.

“There,” she said, trudging into the room where Tikki sat waiting. “See?” 

Tikki’s eyes widened. Her mouth parted. 

“What?” Ladybug said, tugging self-consciously at the bodice. “I know. It’s uneven. I’ll fix it.” Like she fixed everything.

Tikki smiled then. A real smile. And for a moment, they were simply two young women. 

She shook her head, practically bouncing in her seat. “You’re too hard on yourself. The dress is a work-in-progress, but you in the dress? This is why we try things before judging them. Agreste won’t know what hit him tonight.” 

Two things happened then. 

The candlelight sputtered.

Vanished. 

And from the dark came a voice, low and furious.

“Agreste?”

Adrien stared at the mission brief in his hands, the fresh ink still drying at the bottom.

     [CLASSIFIED] – REASSIGNMENT NOTICE

Mission reassignment.

Primary asset: Tsurugi, Kagami.

Status: Non-agent. Civilian tier clearance. 

New Directive: Protect and monitor asset Tsurugi, Kagami.

Asset critical to intelligence recovery mission.

Location: Palais Garnier gala.

Dress formally. Blend in. No deviations.

“Bullshit.”

He laughed harshly, crumpling the letter and tossing it into the fireplace.

It landed with a whisper, curling inward as flames lapped at the edges, turning them to ash.

Hot humiliation flushed up his neck, sharper than the fire’s heat.

“They go silent, lock me out of servers, cut my legs out from under me, and now they want me? To babysit  some… civilian?” 

His voice rose, sharp with bitter disbelief. “Unbelievable. ” 

“Not just any civilian," Plagg added calmly. “A Tsurugi.”

Adrien turned, the name catching like static in his skull. “A what now?”

Plagg’s eyebrow raised at his confusion. “Surely you’ve run into her mother before.” He gestured at his face. “Tomoe Tsurugi. Tall. Intimidating. With the glasses?” 

Ah. He recalled her now.

Dark lenses. A gold dragon cane. A cold curve in her lips.

Whispering in his father’s ear at the horse races. The ribbon cutting ceremony. The runway.

Kagami.

Her daughter.

A serious, ghostly girl with large, dark eyes and pale, gangly limbs. They'd met once, years ago at a piano recital. She’d bobbed a solemn greeting, then fixed her eyes firmly on the performance.

To his knowledge, they’d never actually spoken.

He intended to keep it that way. 

“Tell them I’m unavailable.” Adrien said, glaring at the fireplace.

Ladybug flickered in his memory; her hand, small yet solid, wrapped in his.

There was only one mission that mattered. 

Plagg chuckled sardonically. “Right. I’m sure the agency will understand.” 

“This is all a diversion,” Adrien seethed, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “They’re keeping me out of the real work. Cordoning me off from my own case. Why should I play nice?” 

Plagg poured him a glass and slid it across the table. "It's in the job description." 

Adrien drained it instantly. The liquid scorched down his throat, mixing with the pain between his ribs. 

He swiped his mouth with a sleeve and shoved the glass aside.

“You do it then. You tail the asset. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. You're good at filling in.” 

A pause.

Something dangerous flickered across Plagg’s face.

The silence simmered. 

Ah. 

Adrien knew then that he'd screwed up. 

“Forget I said anything,” he said quickly, lifting his hands. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“Take your place?” Plagg’s smile was sharp. “Remarkable idea. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?” 

“Look, I—”

“Surely I can't be demoted to being your nanny twice for the same trick,” Plagg mused. “So let’s do it. Just like old times, eh?” 

“Plagg —”

“It has been a while since I was last in the Palais,” he went on, eyes distant now as he rolled his shoulders. “Let me see... yes, back in basic training. The underground lake.” 

Adrien stiffened.

The lake still surfaced in his nightmares.

Plagg cracked his neck. Side to side. Then his lips curved up. “Great timing, really. I’ve been craving a swim.”

“Enough,” Adrien threw his arms up in surrender. “You're right. I’ll... figure something else out.” 

His gaze scanned the room, wild and unfocused, until it landed on his phone. He scooped it up.

One by one, he scrolled through the list of names in his contacts.

Dead ends. Burned bridges. Closed doors.

Until—

He stopped. A number stared back at him. 

One he hadn’t dialed in years.

Risky. 

But he was desperate.

He hesitated. Then pressed Call.

Brrring. 

Brrring. 

Brrring.

Click. 

A voice, clear and cool, came through the speaker.

“Yes?” 

Adrien swallowed hard. “It’s me.” 

The voice chuckled. “So you can use a phone,” A soft, amused breath. “Things must be truly dire.”

Adrien exhaled slowly, letting the silence hang just a second too long as he gripped his cell.

Then:

“I need a favor.”

“Agreste?”

Ladybug froze. The dress still clung to her. In the dark, only the voice remained, and the stale scent of smoke in the air.

Then came the footsteps.

Soft. Precise. Closer.

A hunter’s.  

They could only belong to one man. 

“M…aster?” Tikki whispered. Her voice hitched. The room was suddenly too still. 

Hch 

ssss.

A hastily struck match lit the room once more.

The catacombs filled with light as a man in black emerged from the shadows.

His ancient gaze pierced into Ladybug. 

She couldn’t breathe.

It was him.

Death in an old man’s robes. 

She reached for a nearby weapon. Nothing. All she had were her fists. They flexed at her sides.

Fury brewed in her chest—thick with bewilderment and unease.

What was he doing here? 

He’d abandoned them. His broken creations. Brought them here, to the gates of death, built them into abominations, and left them to rot. 

How dare he return? 

Tikki’s eyes were wide. She stepped forward. Ladybug’s arm shot out, blocking her. Silently, she shook her head. 

Tikki ignored her. Her voice trembled, thick with hopeful emotion. “You’re back?” 

Ladybug spat at the ground.  

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

The candlelight trembled between them, casting long, warping shadows on the stone walls.

“You’ve grown,” he said, voice frayed with a weariness she didn’t remember.

Ladybug’s jaw ticked.

Weakness didn’t suit him.

She carefully maneuvered Tikki behind her and inched toward the room’s entrance, painfully aware of the immobility of the gown.

She needed her suit. 

“Years tend to do that,” she said, gaze darting for anything she could use in a fight. “Not that you would know.” 

He didn’t rise to the bait.

Just stood there, shrouded in the candle’s flickering halo, exactly as he had all those years ago.

Back when her hands were soft and unmarred by blood. 

"Why did you leave?"

“You weren’t ready. Not yet,” he said simply.

Those damned words.

Not yet.

All her life.

After all this time.

After everything she had fought for and lost. 

Alone. 

White hot anger ignited in her chest.

Who was she fooling in this dress? 

She was a killer.

His.

Had she still not proved herself?

She shoved Tikki aside and grabbed his collar.

“Not ready?” she snarled, slamming him forcefully into a nearby wall. 

His eyes widened, but he didn’t speak. 

She towered over him. 

He was frailer than she remembered. She could see the sharp edges of his collarbones peeking from his clothing. The touch of gray at his temples. Smell tiger’s balm on his wrinkled skin. He’d aged without them. 

“Is that all you have to say? You made me this way,” she spat. “If I'm not ready for something, it's because of you. Where were you? Out ruining someone else? Making more empty claims?”

He didn’t struggle.

Didn’t fight back.

Just watched her, his breathing ragged through thin lips, eerily calm under her bruising grip.

And somehow, that was worse.

Then his dark eyes sharpened. 

“You're still a child," he murmured, shaking his head. "Reactive. Sloppy.”

A sharp cry.

She launched at him, losing all semblance of care, fists flying. 

With expert ease he grabbed her wrist, twisting free from her grasp and sending agony shooting up her shoulder. 

Slam.

Before she even realized what was happening, he had her pinned. 

Her head cracked against crumbling brick. 

Pain exploded behind her eyes. She gasped, vision swimming as her stays tightened like snakes around her, making it impossible to take a deep breath. She fought a groan.

“I didn’t raise a fool,” he whispered in her ear. “Yet here I am.” 

Her heart thundered, caught between hatred and something far older.

Fear. Memory. Grief.

Her body shook. Her legs buckled.

She wanted to kill him. She wanted to beg him to stay. 

He tightened his grip. “How can you be so blind?” he hissed. 

“Spare me the cryptic act," she growled. "Will you never say what you mean?” 

“Agreste. You really think you’re in control? Walking around in that dress? That boy has already marked you.”

She twisted sharply, freeing a shoulder. “For what? Tell me, and I might believe you.”

He didn’t answer. He never did. 

Always smoke and mirrors. 

She chuckled. “So you returned just to spew empty threats again?” she said, voice low. “Why? To frighten me? Control me? You lost that chance years ago.”

For a moment, he crushed her further into the wall, scraping her tender skin. His breath was sharp and measured.

It stung. 

Then he tossed her aside like a ragdoll. 

She caught herself against the table, sending bobbins and scissors clattering to the ground. Her body shook. 

But her gaze was deadly. 

“I’m doing what I have to do. To protect us,” she said. “Something you wouldn’t know a damn thing about.”

His ancient eyes flicked with something she didn’t understand.

Her shoulders heaved in the silence. 

“Go then,” he said at last, looking away in disgust. Dismissing her yet again. “Go to the Agrestes. But know this. I won't be there when they bury you.” 

With that, he turned, leaving a hollow space in the room.

She dully watched him vanish.

Tikki ran to her side, hugging the air from her lungs, but she could barely feel her touch. Only his. 

I won't be there when they bury you.

You never were.

Chapter Text

The door to the Agreste mansion swung open before she could knock. She stood, hand still raised, then slowly lowered it at the sight of the man just behind the threshold.

He was tall. Pale. A statue in a suit, with cold gray eyes. 

They flicked languidly over her, taking in her gown, the hair twisted up away from her neck, the mask she’d sewn to match her costume for the masquerade, and the circlet of stars at her brow, a token from a job. 

She shifted beneath his gaze, unease prickling at her skin. “I’m looking for Adrien Agreste,” she said.

The man raised a hand to his mouth and delicately cleared his throat. A silver band flashed on a bony knuckle. He stepped closer, into the entrance, filling it. Blocking her way. 

“My son?” His voice was devastatingly soft and low. “And… you are?”

Ladybug’s heartbeat quickened. 

It was him, then. Gabriel Agreste. Famous fashion designer. 

Once, she’d have given anything to be standing near him. To hear his voice addressing her. To have her designs seen. 

But this man…

She frowned. 

If the son was golden firelight, his father was cold-blooded and serpentine.

The air chilled around her. 

Where was Agreste? He should have been the one meeting her tonight. Not this wraith of a man. 

But she couldn’t worry about that now.

She had to pivot. 

She lifted her chin but softened her gaze, letting her lashes flutter and raising the pitch of her voice.

Naive. Docile.  

Perfectly harmless, Monsieur Agreste.

“I’m accompanying him tonight. To the gala.” 

His gaze dragged down her with a glacial slowness. 

She held her breath, acutely aware of the fraying seams, the hasty adjustments, the way the bodice lay crooked despite her best efforts. Her collarbones and throat, bare. Exposed.

The moment hung. 

Then he sniffed. 

Delicately. As if trying to place a faint, unpleasant odor. His lip twitched. Not quite a sneer, or a smile.

Then, almost lazily, the twitch curled into a grimace. Barely perceptible. Gone again in an instant. 

His gaze continued, turning cloudy and distant.

Looking not at her, but through her.

Dismissing her.

She felt its meaning like a slap. 

The childish urge to cross her arms, to cover herself, bubbled up before she could crush it.

And suddenly she was back there. 

The streets.

The passersby crossing to the other side of the street. 

Their gazes, never meeting hers. 

The bastard gutter rat of Paris.

Avoided. Ignored. Unseen.

“Is that so?” he murmured vaguely, already turning away. Speaking not to her, but to the air. Or to himself. “Interesting.”

He’d measured her in a glance and discarded her. 

Not with disgust. That would have meant too much. 

No. This was indifference. 

She wasn’t even worth his contempt.

She burned beneath her mask.

Ladybug bit the inside of her cheek hard. She needed something purer guiding her. Pain. 

Pulsing. Honest. 

Something that never forsook her. 

And alongside it, pride. 

Deep and hot. Thrumming in her veins. 

Her chin lifted.

The girl on the streets was long dead. She refused to be overlooked by this man now.

One of them had to bend.

She held out the gilded invitation. “Could you let him know I’m here? I lost my way, and I’d hate for us to arrive late because of me.” 

Gabriel turned and froze, gaze locked on the invitation. Then he looked up, eyes widening slightly. With interest. “Where did you get that?” he breathed.

He took a step forward, hand raising as if to snatch it from her. She stayed put, slipping it back into her pocket. A small smile played on her lips. 

Do you see me now, Monsieur Agreste?

He towered over her, even more than his son.

The air stirred, but left no scent behind. No warmth. He emanated nothing at all.  As if even life refused to cling to him. 

The moonlight spilled over them. 

His long shadow swallowed hers. Consuming it. 

His eyes flashed.

Then he coughed. Composed himself. He leaned against his cane.

“My apologies, Miss—?” he paused, waiting for her to supply her name. 

Goosebumps appeared on her skin. The air was sharpening. She wished she’d had time to add longer sleeves to her gown. 

She glanced up at Agreste’s window. It was dark. She frowned.

Strange. Had he meant for her to meet him at the gala instead?

But the man was still watching her. Waiting for her response.

“Oh,” she giggled, widening her eyes innocently and gesturing to her celestial headpiece. “My costume’s the Queen of the Night.” 

Surely, you know her. From your wife’s favorite opera. 

“Ah.” His eyelid twitched, but his face didn’t change.

Interesting.  

She noticed then the cane he leaned upon. It was beautifully crafted. Bronze, intricate, decorated with—

“Butterflies.” It slipped from her lips.

Again. First the ink on Butch’s wrist. Then Agreste’s charm. Now this. 

They followed her.

She caught herself. “I-I’m sorry,” she said, adding a stutter for good measure. “I was just admiring your cane.”

He smiled then. Cold. Clinical. “Not butterflies. Moths. Part of the Agreste family crest.” His knuckles stretched white over the cane as he pressed it into the ground. “But surely a queen of the night knows the difference.”

“I do.” she said. “One belongs to light,” her gaze slid to him. “The other burns for it.”

A head tilt. She’d caught his attention. 

“I see. Which, I wonder…would you consider superior?” 

Unease made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She’d overstayed her welcome. 

“Neither,” she muttered under her breath. “They both depend too much on something out of their control.”

“I’m afraid,” he said, after a moment of silence, “My son is…indisposed tonight. Ill. He will not be taking you anywhere.”

A lie. And an obvious one. She’d hoped for better from him. 

She slipped the invitation into a pocket. She let her lower lip jut out, just enough to suggest a pout. “Oh dear. Is he alright?” 

“Just a little…under the weather.” 

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. “I see. Thank you, Monsieur,” she said, dipping into a curtsy as she backed away. “But in that case, I’m afraid I must go. Send my regards to your son.” 

With that, she left. 

Her muscles screamed to run, but she forced a calm, steady pace. 

She was just a girl in a dress.

Nothing worth following.

And he was just Agreste’s father. 

She hurried into the night, unaware of the unblinking gray eyes tracking her every step.

Kagami Tsurugi had never been one for parties. At least, not the ones that her mother ordered her to attend. No friend had ever invited her to a real party, though she sometimes imagined she might enjoy it. But tonight would yield no pleasure. Not for her. She didn’t have that luxury. 

The limousine had arrived. 

She could feel her limbs, taut and aching as she moved toward it. Mechanical. 

An automaton in a pretty dress, wound tight. Following orders. 

Go to the gala. Prove yourself as a Tsurugi. Impress young Agreste.

It is your duty. 

She caught a glimpse of herself in the limo window. Mask secured. Gloves covering skin. Lips too red. Skin too pale. Waist pulled slim by suffocating ties. Binding her to an evening of empty smiles, blinding lights, and the crippling hollowness that champagne alone could not numb. 

What she wouldn’t give for the comfort of her fencing uniform or an evening of music, locked away in her room.

Her knuckles tightened on the limousine door. Her head was already pounding. Her mother’s words echoed through her like a mantra.

Get him alone. Make him yours. 

Secure your place in this world. 

Kagami didn’t know how to flirt. Or charm. Somehow, the more she tried to draw people in, the more they recoiled. She’d never understood why. Any positive interactions with men consisted of her instructors and fellow musicians, more interested in their instruments than her. And yet tonight, she was to play a siren. And she must do it perfectly. 

Be perfect.

Be empty.

Be enough.

The words were her lifeline.

And her noose.

What choice did she have but to obey? 

Adrien Agreste. 

They’d met at a recital. That beautiful boy. Flawless in a crisp black suit. But his eyes, so heavy and distant, had had no fight left. She knew that look. His mind was anywhere but there. 

And yet, when they’d met, he’d bowed low to her. Kissed her hand. Met her gaze, as if she were someone worthy of notice. 

He was a gentleman committed to his duty. 

An automaton just like her. 

But for an instant…his eyes had lost their empty, tired look. They’d seen her. For a moment, she’d mattered. Her existence had made another lighter. 

Her hand flexed. 

The ghost of his mouth on her skin still lingered. Marking her. 

She hadn’t dared look at him then, afraid he’d see the flush in her cheeks, the tremble in her chest.

She hated herself for reacting. 

Feeling was pathetic. A dangerous distraction.  A weakness she couldn’t forgive.  

All but annihilating her.

She’d long attempted to decipher that moment. The simple act that went far beyond a bow of respect. What did it mean?

Why had he bothered? Did he feel something when he looked at her? Did she make his heart race too?

Perhaps her mother had been right to push them together.

She was his. And he was hers. Perhaps they were of the same breath, following the same orders. Locked in the same towers. 

Did he remember that night? The music, the scent of her, the silence between them? 

It would certainly make her job simpler. 

Kagami’s eyes narrowed. She was driving herself mad. 

It was long ago. A mere formality. A strategic move. It meant nothing. And yet…

The tires rolled to a halt. Kagami lurched faintly in her seat, then went still. 

Buzzing filled her brain as the door opened. As she placed a heel on the ground, she looked up. 

A hand, familiar and foreign all at once reached for her. She hesitated, then took it, letting him pull her to her feet. 

Her ribs screamed. Stars peppered her vision. She forced air through her lungs. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

It was time.

She met his gaze with all the practiced poise she did not feel.

“Hello, Adrien.” 

The Palais Garnier was drenched in gold, light, and laughter. Music spilled down the marble steps, beckoning newcomers inside. Outside, glittering men and women in masks posed for flashing cameras, drifted like elegant ghosts between pillars, or slipped through the velvet-lined doors. Watching it all, peppered like ravens poised to dive, were guards, black-suited, silent, and alert.

As a young woman swathed all in midnight blue, with a circlet of stars nestled in her dark hair, crossed the threshold, one lone guard reached for his walkie talkie. 

Click.

“The beetle has spread her wings. She’s here.” 

She was there for the library.

To get in, find Agreste, get answers to Emilie’s cryptic message, and vanish again.

Nothing more.

That’s what she told herself as she wove through the crowds of beautiful masked members of Paris’s upper echelon, marveling briefly at their graceful costumes. 

Her heart had yearned for this a lifetime ago.

To design such gowns, like the delicate honey-colored organza bee, with dark lace climbing along the bodice and edges of the skirt.

Or the bold, plunging crimson dress that slowly turned black at the base.

Or the peacock-feathered piece, all shimmering blue and gold, with real feathers at the shoulders.

Mentally, she wondered how many hours had been spent creating such couture and the identities of the designers. If life had gone differently, would she have been one of them?

Slam.

Someone jostled her elbow. Hard. 

Ladybug hissed, instinctively reaching for a weapon. Only soft folds of fabric met her touch.

“Pardon me, Miss,” a voice stammered. A young waiter, precariously balancing a charcuterie tray, eyes wide with appalled panic. Sweat beaded at his brow. He looked as if he’d struck her and was bracing for her retaliation. “Forgive me. I–did not see you.” 

As if she mattered at all. 

“It’s fine,” she murmured, relaxing again. “I’m fine.” She shifted uncomfortably in her own ensemble as unfamiliar gazes fell on her, drawn to the scene, then flicked away again, their owners murmuring softly to each other. Apparently Gabriel Agreste was not alone in his assessments of her. 

But they didn’t matter. No one here did. 

This place was a mirage of light and music. And she was just a pretty lie, infiltrating its beating heart. 

All that mattered now was finding Agreste. That damned man. Where was he? 

She had to get out of the crowd. 

Another server hurried by with a tray of champagne glasses. She took one without thinking, the chilled stem grounding her for a moment.

She moved to a nearby pillar where she could scan the place and sipped. 

The first swallow sent familiar bubbles cascading down her throat. 

Then she frowned. Grimaced down at her glass.

The champagne was sharp, almost metallic, far cheaper than the crystal flutes suggested. A prettily packaged facade. Just like her. 

She rolled the stem between her fingers, surveying the crowd from behind her mask.

Dancers spun like petals in slow bloom across the open floor. Servers ghosted between them, silver trays reflecting chandeliers like fractured constellations. A cellist bowed low, coaxing music from his strings with an ache so sweet it pressed at the back of her eyes.

Bent over his instrument, he looked as if the whole world was wrapped in its embrace. He played slowly, but with a lover’s passion, slim fingers expertly caressing the strings. His hair, slicked back, was dark. His face, pale and serious. As the piece came to a close, he looked up and their eyes met. 

Blue on crystalline blue. 

She froze.

It was him. The man from the boat. 

Luka? 

Her heart quickened.

He looked away.

She spun behind the pillar, out of his sight. 

She couldn’t have her cover blown.

Not now. Not like this.

What was he doing here? 

His pleading gaze from their last meeting appeared in her mind. 

Train me. Please. 

A promise she had made but not yet kept. 

Surely he couldn’t recognize her with her disguise. Could he? 

She caught up her skirts and slipped into the crowd, shoulder-checking swirling bodies as she did. 

Her mind raced. 

He was not part of the plan. She scanned the walls, looking for a way out of the bustling, overstimulating chaos. If Agreste wasn’t going to uphold his end of the deal, she’d have to find the library herself. And quickly, before anyone else noticed her. 

Tick tock. 

There. An arched doorway with a velvet rope and a hallway beyond marked her exit. 

She was seconds from the rope.

Just steps from slipping away when—

“So it is you,” came a quiet, familiar voice from behind.

Damn it.

Chapter Text

Like a tide drawn to shore, he’d found her.

Luka.

“I was starting to think I imagined you,” he said, tone even. 

If only.

She cleared her throat, rolling back her shoulders. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She nodded toward the orchestra pit. “You’re good.”

He studied her, quietly noting the deflection.

Then came the shrug. Casual and serene.
“It’s a job,” he said simply. “It pays the bills. But I prefer making my own music.”

His gaze moved over her costume, slow but unintrusive, then met her eyes. “There’s something beautiful about finding melodies hidden in plain sight.” 

Her skin prickled under his gaze. Alarm bells rang in her head.
She saw it in his expression. In the pause of breath, and the hopeful hesitation in his eyes.

When will you train me?

The question was unspoken. But it lingered there, louder than music.

She needed more champagne.

“I have to go,” she said, turning. 

“Wait–” he said softly, catching her elbow gently. “I know why you’re here. Let me help.” 

Her breath caught.

Not him. Not now.

She didn’t need another civilian mixed up in her world. Risking his life when he was all the support his family had left. Putting herself further into his debt without paying up. His world had been damaged enough by Emilie. 

“I’m here with someone,” she said too quickly, voice sharper than she meant.

His hand stilled on her arm.

Then he stepped back. 

The music welled into a waltz. Everywhere people swirled, a hurricane of color and movement; they were at the eye of the storm. She could feel the notes pounding in rhythm with her heartbeat. 

“I see,” he said, tone solemn.

Silence. 

Then, softer: “And you’re safe?” 

The question hung between them, suspended in the air.

Too long.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The absurdity of it cracked something open painfully in her chest.

She let out a sharp, involuntary snort. 

It was such an innocent, ridiculous response. 

A lamb, concerned for a wolf?

She was a predator who could tear him apart. Who had bathed in the blood and screams of hundreds. Whose walls were covered in the names of her victims.

She wasn't someone to worry about.

He stood there. Soft-spoken. Steady.

Not begging. Not pleading.

Just… waiting. Oblivious.

He had no idea what she was. Her world would destroy him. 

Like a moth to flame.

Perhaps an inferno was exactly what he needed to see to realize he was the one in danger.

But not now. She had to escape. But how? He would not easily let her go. 

A nearby security guard watched them. She needed to get into that library, with or without Adrien, and yet it would be difficult without an alibi. In her gown, she stood out. She had to blend in. 

Luka tilted his head, confused by her silence. 

Fine. If he wanted to be at her side–

She grabbed his wrist, dragging him past the velvet ropes, down the hallway. 

Ask and you shall receive. 

Thud dum.

Thud dum. 

Kagami’s pulse jittered in her throat as she twisted the bangle at her wrist. It was a gift from her mother.

Imperial jade, for protection. 

Elegant. Powerful. Impossible to remove. 

A permanent reminder that the world was a dangerous place.

Its cool surface sent shivers through her silk gloves. 

Where was Adrien?

He’d vanished in search of drinks, swallowed up by the crowd of glittering figures, each more poised and beautiful than the rest. 

She was alone. 

She lingered awkwardly near a pillar, pretending to enjoy herself. Smiling and nodding as people passed. 

Anything to hide the anxiety in her chest. 

She didn’t know anyone else here, and she wasn’t comfortable enough to dance with a stranger.

It was only ever about him.

Maybe this was a test. 

To see how she would react. 

Or maybe it wasn’t. 

It was impossible to tell. 

She just had to be patient.

Her fingers moved absently, twisting the jade again. She scanned the room, counting exits — a childhood game her mother had taught her.

The rules were simple. 

Observe your surroundings. Let nothing catch you by surprise. 

Then close your eyes and remember. 

One must memorize a room even in the dark in order to command it. 

She tried. 

Two main exits. Six security cameras. Too many eyes. 

She frowned, opening hers again.

No one here seemed out of place.

Couples laughed, carefree and effortless. A hundred lives unfolding beneath crystal chandeliers.

Waiters weaved through the crowd, perfectly balanced, carrying trays of champagne and delicacies.

And yet…

“The night won’t go by any quicker by you glaring at it,” an easy, smooth voice said. 

She startled, shoulders snapping back into their practiced position, spine tall. Showing no fear. No weakness. 

Adrien. 

He was back. Blond hair swept effortlessly from his forehead, suit perfectly tailored to the contours of his shoulders. A silver watch flashing thick on his wrist. A champagne flute in each hand. 

He was born for this life. She was manufactured. 

He smiled, or something close to it, as he offered her a flute.

“Careful,” he said, tone light. “Your humanity was showing.”

She winced. Wordlessly, she took the flute, sipping to hide her reaction. He’d been watching her. Observing. For how long?

“Cheers,” he said. Their glasses clinked. 

He downed his in one clean motion, already setting it on a passing tray.

“I was just...admiring the dance,” she offered stiffly.

“And I was just admiring you.” 

She blinked. Froze.

Her head snapped toward him, heart hammering as heat flushed her.

What?

His expression gave nothing away. Just that same light amusement. Polished and distant. Not unkind, but unreadable.

And yet…

Hadn’t there been something that night at the recital? A spark when his lips brushed her hand? A glance that lingered too long?

Maybe she hadn’t imagined it. Maybe he had remembered her all this time.

Her breath stuttered.

Had he felt as she did? Or was he joking? Mocking her naivete. 

“Most people come here to be seen,” he said, glancing out at the dancers. “But you’d rather be anywhere else,” his gaze settled on her. “Wouldn’t you?” 

“That’s rather…” she hesitated, “forward of you to assume.

“And yet it’s the truth,” he said, eyes sliding to her jade bracelet, then back to her face. “Isn’t it?”

Silence.

Then.

“I suppose our roles have reversed tonight,” she murmured. His tired eyes had barely seen the world around him at the recital. They could not hide his unease back then. He too had hated the role he was forced into. She had seen it.

She had lived it.

Confusion flickered now across his beautiful face at her words. But as quickly as it came, it vanished again into carefully crafted poise. He nodded contemplatively, hmming low in his throat. “Ah. Right.

Apologies. I should have returned sooner.” 

Her stomach fell. 

He didn’t remember.

But of course he wouldn’t. It was years ago. They’d barely interacted. He’d been haunted then by ghosts she could not soothe. She'd missed her chance then. 

And yet he looked at her now like he was curious.

Take the chance. Don’t question it. Charm him. 

“Well,” she said, forcing a smile. She downed her champagne in one sharp breath. Then recited the flirtatious lines her mother had drilled into her. "If you’re good enough, you can make it up to me in a dance.”

He blinked, just once, then smiled. Slower this time.

“Challenge accepted, ma chère.”

The music rose around them as Adrien guided her to the floor. He bowed low. As he rose, his gaze never left hers.  

Wordlessly, he pressed a confident palm to the small of her waist. Her breath hitched.

His hand grazed the jade at her wrist as he pulled her close. Cold. Solid. A reminder that this was dangerous.

And yet, her heart dared to flutter. 

Ladybug wove deeper into the Palais, searching each doorway for the library. As she moved farther in, the music and laughter faded into the background, replaced by imposing opulence. The Palais was breathtaking. All gold and carved reliefs. If she’d had the time, she would have spent hours studying the painted ceilings and intricate statues. But tonight, the clock was ticking.

She needed answers. 

Luka kept silent at her side, his longer strides easily matching hers. Always watchful. Whenever someone passed, he intuitively looped her arm through his, giving the appearance that they were together.

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t fill the silence with ridiculous flirtations. Didn’t get in her way.

A calm lake to her thundering waves. 

It was refreshing. 

She turned a corner and grinned.

There you are.

The library rose before her, marked by a modest sign. Through the doors, she saw rows of tomes stacked to the ceiling. A quick sweep of the space revealed one camera blinking in the corner outside the door. She adjusted her mask, grateful for the disguise. 

Her hand hovered over the brass handle. Then everything changed. Footsteps rang out like gunshots down the hallway, coming rapidly toward them. 

With lightning like reflexes, Luka dragged her around the corner away from the door. 

“You saved my sister,” he whispered breathlessly, pressing something slim and rectangular into her hand. “Let me do this for you.” 

And with that, he was gone, back in the hallway.

“Excuse me.”

The voice snapped through the quiet hall. 

Ladybug froze. Her hand hovered inches from the small blade concealed beneath her costume, pressed close to her chest. From her spot, she could not see them, but she could see their shadows on the wall. 

Three guards. 

The leader’s hand  on the earpiece clipped to his collar. “This area’s off-limits to guests,” he said gruffly. “I’ll need to see your pass.”

Ladybug looked down swiftly at the item Luka had given her. 

His visitor’s pass. Laminated. Official. She cursed silently. Why had he given it up? 

Luka stepped forward with fluid ease, positioning himself in their view. 

“Apologies. I turned down the wrong corridor,”  he said, bowing slightly. “I’m looking for the Pythia fountain. I’m meeting a friend there. He has my pass. Could you direct me?” 

Silence. 

She risked a peek around the corner. His body was angled subtly between her and the guards, shielding her.

As if she couldn’t end everyone in this room blindfolded.

The lead guard narrowed his eyes, stepping closer, then nodded curtly. “This way, Monsieur.” 

Ladybug tensed. Her heart hammered in her chest. Every instinct screamed to strike. She could take them. A quick twist of a blade, another thrown at a uniformed chest. One more slicing through an unsuspecting throat…

Luka’s eyes darted once to her. 

As if reading her thoughts, he shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly.

She let loose a string of mental curses.

He was right. She couldn’t be caught with blood on her hands. If the guards discovered her, she’d never get back to the library undetected.

Like a lamb to slaughter, Luka moved. 

He melted into the hallway’s curve, swallowed by shadows. 

Alone, she pressed her back to the wall, the sharp corners of the pass digging into her palm.

His sacrifice would not go to waste. 

She slipped back out, and turned the handle of the library door. 

The room was narrow, but filled to the brim with books. Along each shelf there was a low bench for people to sit and read. Wire gates covered the lower shelves, locked up to halfway to the ceiling. No easy access. But she only needed the titles.

“La Flûte Enchantée…La Flûte Enchantée…” she muttered as she scanned. 

Surely there’d be entire volumes on the opera. A whole section, even.

Nothing.

Her pulse ticked faster. 

She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Soon the gala would end. Her window was shrinking.

She moved deeper. The musty smell of paper and age hit her nostrils. The air was colder here, thick with silence and the breath of a thousand unread pages.

Her father once told her this place held over a hundred thousand books. That was unimaginable when she was six. Now, it felt like a sea she could drown in.

Where should she even begin? 

A voice behind her cut through the stillness.

“Try the restricted section.”

She froze. Not at the words; at the familiarity.

She turned in a flash, blades already drawn. But even as she did, her other senses caught up with her. 

“You,” she snarled. 

He was there. Leaning lazily against a bookshelf, watching her. His eyes glittered vividly behind his dark mask. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he said, all teeth and charm.

Chapter Text

“Here to spy on me for your master?” she sneered, rifling through the shelves, fingers clumsy with frustration. Dust clouded the air. Every title seemed deliberately useless.

“Maybe I just missed you,”  Chat said, stepping into the moonlight. 

He tilted his head, taking her in. The teasing glint in his eyes disappeared; his lips parted slightly.

“What?” she said, looking down. She adjusted her mask, ensuring that it pressed tight to her skin. 

“Nothing,” he said, gaze flicking away. “Just…blue suits you.” 

She groaned, shaking her head as she stalked deeper into the library.

She didn’t have time for his distractions. Not tonight. Compliments were an empty currency best spent on trusting fools. And she was no fool.

Ancient wood creaked beneath her steps as her eyes scanned shelf after shelf. Still nothing. No La Flûte Enchantée. No answers.

Catboy followed like a shadow. Not helping or offering further insight. Just watching. 

Part of her knew he’d be there. 

He kept showing up. Mingling their paths. Getting in her way.

Yet he was, aggravatingly, the reason she was still employed. 

If she wanted out of here with double the money, she’d have to stay focused on the goal ahead, not fighting with him. Agreste wouldn’t let it slide twice. 

And so she bit her tongue. 

She had to make this work. Even as iron bloomed in her mouth. 

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her gaze snapped to the sound. 

There he was again. Leaning lazily against a shelf, casually tossing a volume into the air. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.

Of course he’d treat this like a game.

Then she noticed the book. It was slim. Bound in ornate green leather with gold pages. 

Her feet stopped cold. 

“Is that—?”

His widening grin was answer enough. Arrogant. Infuriating.

“Give it to me,” she said, surging toward him. “Agreste sent me after it, not you.” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, dangling it just out of reach. “Finder’s keepers, My lady.”

Slam. 

Her elbow landed clean in his gut, but the blow lacked its usual bite. 

“Ow,” he groaned, doubling over dramatically and sliding down the bookshelf. “I’m hit. Man down.” 

She yanked the book from his hand. “You’ll live.” 

Her elbow could’ve landed harder. Should’ve. But something held her back. Maybe it was an effect of being in the Palais–a place too beautiful to mar with violence. And maybe it wasn't. 

She turned to the cover and flipped through it. The Queen’s Score: Exploring Arias from Mozart’s Final Opera.

Each page held an aria, annotated with its history and impact on the opera.

Frowning, she moved toward a window, searching for light. 

There was nothing obvious.

Except—

She paused, fingers hovering over one section. 

Her breath caught.

There it was–the title from the letter:

"Der Klang, der bindet"
"The Sound That Binds"

"Arie der Letzten Hüterin"
Aria of the Last Guardian

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he murmured, suddenly beside her. He leaned in, one arm braced casually against the shelf as he viewed the pages. His frame filled the narrow space. Too close.

She ignored him, squinting hard at the aria. 

German. The words were as jumbled as her thoughts.

“Here, let me,” he said. “German’s easy.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Alright, fine, maybe not. But I’m passably fluent.” 

She didn’t relinquish the book, but instead angled it grudgingly so he could read the page. 

He took a deep breath, then began.

“Hüte dich vor sanftem Klang,
Beware the gentle sound,
Der süß durch Herzen zieht;
That sweetly through hearts proceeds;
Er lockt mit list’gem Widerhall
It lures with cunning echo

Nicht Freiheit bringt der Flöten Ton,
The flute’s tone brings no freedom,
Noch löst er Bande sacht,
Nor softly breaks the bonds,
Er zwingt mit unsichtbarer Macht,
It forces with unseen power,
Zu Gehorsam Tag und Nacht.
To obedience day and night.

 Befreie dich 

Free yourself
Bevor die Dunkelheit dich verschlingt.
Before darkness consumes you.

Gehorche nicht dem süßen Klang,
Obey not the sweet sound,
Lass deinen Geist frei erwachen,
Let your spirit awaken free,
Denn wahre Kraft liegt im Zweifel,
For true strength lies in doubt,
Nicht blinder Sklaverei.
Not blind slavery.” 

They both frowned, lingering over the words. Then their eyes met. She noticed then that he’d swapped out the bell at his collar for a black bow tie.

“Beware the gentle sound…obey it not…” she murmured. “It's a warning. Probably for Agreste." 

Was he in danger? 

“It can’t be,” Chat said quickly. “What would he need a warning for? His life is… dull.” A bitter undercurrent tinged his tone. But his eyes were locked on the page, scanning it again and again. 

His face held a strange vulnerability that she’d never seen before. “What kind of nonsense is this?" he said at last, roughly. "“Free yourself?” From what?” 

She eyed him as she closed the book, pulling it to her. “We don’t have time to guess. The gala’s ending soon. He’ll want to see this.” 

He moved slowly out of the way, swaying as he gave her an absent nod. His eyes were still on the book.

She wondered but didn't ask why. They needed to get out of there before anyone was alerted to their presence. She turned and hurried for the exit. She had to find Agreste. She didn’t look back as she slipped out the door. 

But for once, he didn’t follow. 

Back on the floor, she wove hastily past swirling couples toward the exit. 

As she went, she scanned the crowd  for Luka. Nowhere. Not on the floor or in the orchestra. His cello lay abandoned at his empty seat. 

Unease ticked through her. 

Had he actually been arrested? 

Surely not. He’d played it off innocently enough. 

Then...where was he?

The clocks chimed. 

Midnight. 

Everything swirled. A blizzard of bodies. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one guard murmur into his radio, then nod. He moved in, crossing closer to her position. Then another joined him.

No.

She pressed her hand to her chest where the book lay nestled. She had to get out of here. 

Focus. 

Where the hell was Agreste? 

And then the crowds parted like the Red Sea.  

He was there. 

Immaculate. Smiling like she’d never seen before. Moving in tandem with another, her gown shimmering like rubies. Her gloved hands were curled possessively into his like they belonged there. Her wide dark eyes were full of adoration.

The two twirled, effortless and synchronized; he lifted the girl high in the air.

Then he saw Ladybug and froze. 

The scene fractured. 

Time stopped. 

The guests. The girl. The waiters with their trays. All frozen in that instant. Only the orchestra played on, a cruel waltz swirling around them as they stared at each other.

He, poised.

Her, stunned. 

Ladybug's lips parted. 

Say something. Do something.

Only breath escaped. 

Then the world caught up with them.

His gaze slid past her and kept moving. 

Like she wasn’t even there.

Like she was nothing.

Humiliation and confusion crashed together.

He'd invited her here, insisted that she come as his guest. Left no notice of a change. Why? 

Was this a test?

What was he playing at?

The crowd surged back into motion as the music changed. The two swept away from her, moving in perfect tandem. Like they were born for this. He dipped his partner low and they came up laughing. 

Laughing.

It stung like a slap in the face.

Emotion, dark and twisted, bubbled inside of her.

She'd believed him. Taken his hand against her better judgement. Ignored Master's warning. All to find him in another's arms, ignoring the mission?

Then he looked Ladybug's way and winked.

Something in her snapped.

It was clear then.

She was a fool. A girl in a stupid, handstitched gown and a childish crown of stars. Responding to his call like a damn dog after a bone.

Everything went red.

The ballroom blurred: music, glitter, endless chatter melding into a suffocating cacophony, the sound ringing in her head.

He leaned closer, murmuring something in his partner’s ear that made her pretty face flush shyly. 

Ladybug wondered how pretty it’d look bashed against a pillar. 

A waiter stepped between her and the scene, arm outstretched. “Madame—are you alright?”

“I have business to attend to,” she muttered, shoving past him. 

Agreste looked up as she approached, for a heartbeat. But his face held only a condescending, polite smile. No recognition. No shame.

Was this entire mission just a charade for a bored little rich boy’s amusement?

She'd bled for him.

She remembered the way his pulse jittered under her touch. How his eyes widened when she got close. How he pretended she didn’t make his breath stutter. He'd cared when she had him pressed against a wall with a blade to his throat.

Was she really so insignificant now that he couldn’t even afford her a second of his time? 

It’s time you learn who I am, Agreste.

She was three seconds away from him. Three seconds away from upending everything, when—

A hand caught her wrist. 

She spun, ready to break bone. 

An arm slid around her waist. Drew her back. 

She growled and raised her head to slam her skull into whoever dared to—

Chat. 

His eyes bore into hers, dark and intense beneath his mask.

She squirmed. “What the hell are you—?”

“There’s a guard on your left who just called the cops,” he said, cutting her off as he half-waltzed, half-dragged her away from the couple. 

They spun together. Her gown unfurled like a flower around her. “Another two are at each exit locking the place down.” He lifted her in the air as the music rose to a crescendo. She soared, weightless for a moment. He continued. “They know someone took the book. I can get us out—” 

“I don’t need—” She twisted, trying to break his hold. But he was ready for her. He dipped her low. His hand seared her waist. They were inches apart. Her eyes widened.

“Try anything here,” he said tersely. “And your face is headline news.”

She couldn’t speak. Her chest heaved.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. His breath tangled with hers. 

“For once in your life,” he murmured, “let someone else lead.” 

He pulled her up, bodies pressing close.

She burned. Fury. Humiliation. Uncertainty. Boiling in her chest like acid and flaring across her cheeks.

She hated that he was right. She hated the thought of relying on him even more. 

Her gaze darted to the exits. Guards. Scanning the crowd for anyone out of place. For her. 

There was no way out.

And then there was Agreste, laughing with his partner over Chat’s shoulder. As she watched, he reached for her gloved hand and pressed it to his lips. 

The girl smiled, a possessive glint rising in her eyes.

Ladybug snorted 

What fools we all are, to think anyone can truly claim another. In the end, we all die alone. 

Her eyes met Chat’s once more. She had to tune everything out. The noise. The heat. The ache.

The mission. That’s what mattered.

She had to forget the music. Forget the burn in her throat. Forget him.

She couldn’t afford compromising this. Even if he humiliated her at every turn, she had no choice. He held the key to her cage and they both knew it. 

Bastard.

She was shaking.

"Hey." The quiet word brought her back.

Chat’s gaze held her, steadying her.

“Tonight,” he murmured, “it’s just you and me against the world.”

Her throat tightened. She nodded once, chin tilted up. She didn’t trust herself to speak. 

His expression relaxed. He let her go, stepping back. He bowed low, holding out his hand. Not demanding this time. Asking. 

“Then, may I have this dance, Your Highness?” 

Right. Her costume. How utterly far from the truth it was.

She wasn’t royalty. She was wreckage sewn into silk.

She didn’t trust him. But tonight, trust wasn’t required. Only coordination.

And if she had to burn everything down to survive, then so be it. She’d waltz through the flames.

She slipped her hand into his. 

"This doesn't mean anything," she warned. 

He smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know." 

Chapter Text

11 years ago…

“Right foot back– no, not that one, your other right foot. Alright, good. Now when I raise my hand, you spin! Oof--"

Her partner winced as she spun the wrong way again, nearly colliding with his shoulder. "...Not bad, but try turning away from me this time.”

She groaned and dropped out of his hold, shoulders slumping dramatically as she covered her face with her hands.  

“Left, right, turn, twist, up, down, bow, curtsy. Who invented this torture?” 

The boy laughed. Light and airy, breath fogging white in the chill.

“Somebody with cold toes, probably,” he said, smile warming the crisp autumn air. “It keeps the blood moving.”

“I think I’m getting worse,” she grumbled, rubbing her dripping nose. "If that's even possible."

“You didn’t step on me this time,” he said, holding out his hand again. “I’d call that a win.” 

She hesitated, glancing down. Despite the sunny look on his face, she could see his fingertips were turning purple.

The wind howled through the alleyway like a warning. She shivered as it slashed gleefully through her thin coat.

It was one of the coldest Novembers Paris had seen in years, and yet, they had no choice but to weather it outside on the streets. It was bearable when moving, but eventually, night would fall and they'd have to sleep under the stars. In cold like this, people didn't always wake up. 

But that was best left unspoken.

It was better to pretend they'd both be home soon. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, frowning concernedly at her reaction. He grabbed her hand and started walking. “We can practice later.”

“Or never,” she muttered, half-jogging to keep up. “I vote for never.”

They wove through the cobblestone paths, side by side, dodging bicycles and fruit carts. The gray sky above them was heavy with unfallen rain. 

“I don’t get it,” she said, filling the silence. “Why does anyone bother learning? It’s so formal. Unless you’re a prince, no one waltzes anymore. And it's so hard to remember the steps.” 

His cheeks reddened, although from cold or the topic, she couldn’t tell. “It's nice.  As for remembering, I'm told it’s easier to follow as a partner if you close your eyes.” 

“That’s weird,” she said, ducking as a cyclist swerved past.

“It’s true.” He instinctively stepped to her other side, shielding her from the street.
“If you dance with someone long enough, your body remembers. It learns to trust them. And when it’s the right partner…” he glanced sideways, “it feels like flying.”

Their pace slowed, then stopped. 

The moment hung, charged as their eyes linked.

His expression was unabashedly earnest, gaze holding something she couldn’t name. It stripped her bare, reaching deeper than the cold. She was suddenly aware of her pulse fluttering.

For an instant, something shifted between them.

Then she snorted, shaking it off.

“Well, I hope your body forgets how many times I've tripped. Or finds another partner."

"But...I don't want another partner," he said, frowning at the thought.

Oh.

She blinked rapidly.

Her cheeks and nose burned. From the icy air. Of course. 

She tugged her hand free and poked him in the chest. “Last one to the bridge is a rotten egg.” 

Before he could protest, she was gone— racing away from him and the dizzying feeling swirling in her chest. 

If only she’d known it was to be their last dance. Would she have run?

 If she'd stayed, would things have ended differently?

As the music rose in the gala, all she could see was Agreste, hand curved around his partner’s waist. Lips twitched in amusement. Eyes fixed on her. Taunting her to react. 

She’d never been one to ignore a challenge. 

With lifted chin, she turned to Chat and placed her hand into his outstretched one. Smirking, she rested her other on his shoulder, feeling his breath hitch. If Agreste wanted her to have a partner, fine. She’d give him exactly what he’d asked for. 

The orchestra shifted into an Argentine tango. Sensual and unexpected. The violins slid up her spine like a whisper and lit her body aflame. 

Agreste raised an eyebrow, and pulled his pretty companion close in response. The girl’s dark eyes flicked to Ladybug, then followed her gaze to Agreste. Something in the girl’s expression sharpened.

Still watching Ladybug, she leaned in and whispered something in Agreste’s ear. Slowly. Intimately. 

The duel had begun. 

Ladybug’s pulse kicked up. 

Then the hand in hers shifted to behind her shoulder blades, pressing her closer. Steadily anchoring her. Her eyes snapped to Chat’s. 

“He’s not worth it,” Chat murmured, barely audible over the music. “Just dance with me.” 

His voice was steady. Supporting the weight of her raging fury without burning in it. For once, he wasn’t joking or flirting. He just eyed her, with that maddening, unwavering gaze. Like he’d seen something in her she hadn’t meant to show. 

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind and snarled in her chest. She should have pulled away. Should have said something biting. Slipped into the crowd and taken her chances with the guards. 

And yet…

Her fingers, poised on his shoulder, flexed and curled. She couldn’t back down now. Not now. Not with them watching. 

But there was something else too. Something quiet curling behind her ribs. A warmth in an icy breeze. A buried memory writhing to the surface.  

She closed her eyes to stall the burning heat from welling there. Trying to focus on the music instead. The steps. The mission. Beating Agreste. 

This wasn’t about feelings. It was about winning. She’d bury whatever this was—crush it underfoot like his lying smile. 

Right foot back. Then turn. Breathe.  

But it was no use. He'd awoken something she’d vowed never to rouse. 

Pain flared in her chest as poisoned memories seeped through, dull and undulating.

Of another boy. Another time. Another girl who would never be whole again. 

“They will regret this,” she whispered. 

Chat’s expression faltered, as he saw the dark look on her face. Then he nodded grimly. His grip tightened around her. “Give them a show they won’t forget.” 

They moved in dizzying synchronization across the floor. 

Catboy knew what he was doing. 

His movements were powerful and fluid; he adapted easily to her when she faltered. She could read his cues in the subtle push and pull of his palms. It was instinctive. Everything he did, she countered, refusing to lose. To him. To Agreste. To anyone. 

Their limbs entangled. Fighting for dominance. 

Like a battle. Like breathing. 

They flowed as one, twisting and turning across the floor. Faster and faster as her fury crackled through her with every move, adding sharpness to the flicks of her feet, the swivel of her hips.

In response, the girl arched back, letting her spine curve acrobatically against the solid hold of her partner. Her lips curved in smug satisfaction as she languidly hung, then snapped back into his chest. 

Every move was calculated elegance, subdued yet brilliantly sharp. 

Not to be outdone, Ladybug grabbed Chat’s bowtie, yanking him dangerously close. He sucked in a breath, eyes never leaving her. His Adam's apple bobbed as his lips parted.

“Shh,” she said, finger to his lips. She trailed the finger down his chest, then circled her stunned partner, finger tracing around him until she faced him once more. She demurely slid back into position. 

He recovered quickly, but color stained his face, betraying him. “You’re, uh, full of surprises tonight,” he stammered, lifting her in the air. 

“It’s a gift,” she muttered. Her chest ached as her leg glided slowly up his thigh. This was not the dance she wanted. Nor the partner. She hated the effortlessness of her body working with his. Falling. Flying. 

The ultimate betrayal. 

His hold on her shoulder tightened as she hooked her leg around his hip. Emotion flicked across his face. 

“You’re dangerous,” he said breathlessly. 

She tilted her head, smile sharp. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“I didn’t.” 

Their bodies pivoted, spinning with violent grace. Around them, other dances blurred with faded brush strokes into the background. Only Agreste remained, watching them with that infuriating grin. 

Ladybug’s jaw clenched. 

“Eyes on me,” Chat murmured. Not as a demand, but a tether. 

She obliged, dipping low, one leg slicing the floor. She maintained eye contact as her hands slid down him. 

“Try to keep up.” 

He swallowed hard and spun her, leg still out stretched. Then, with catlike precision, he swept her up, flinging her into his arms. Instinctively her legs wrapped around his waist. 

“What are you—?” she hissed.

His grip adjusted as he guided them closer to the exit. “You’re not the only one with surprises, Bugaboo.” 

As he set her down, his cheek brushed hers, accidental and deliberate all at once. 

He smelt of pine and mint. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” she growled, ignoring the growing heat of her skin. 

“You sure?” he murmured, breath tickling her ear. “Feels like we’re winning.” 

She snuck a glance at Agreste. Gone was his smile. Instead, he looked stunned.

Satisfaction bubbled in her chest. 

Good. 

Let him see it.

Let him choke on it. 

She spun out sharply, gown unfurling like a blade. The move brought her close to Agreste. She winked at his shocked face. 

Ignore me now, Pretty boy. 

She twirled back into her partner, landing tightly embraced at his chest. 

“I could get used to this,” he teased. 

“Don’t get cocky.” 

His lips twitched. “Too late. You’re a terrible influence.” 

Their bodies met again, crashing together in a rhythm beyond music. Beyond time. Again and again. Raw and reckless. 

And all the while, they were being watched. 

The music ended with them in the middle of the floor. Him, holding her like she’d vanish in the next breath, her, clasping him close, fingers twisted tightly in his hair. 

Then, she blinked. The spell was broken. They jerked apart, coughing to push down the swelling adrenaline. 

She gave him a curt nod, then glanced over at Agreste and his date.

And in an instant, everything fractured. 

Two black bags. Thrust over their heads.

Agreste, mouthing something as he went under. 

The girl, frozen. 

A loud crash. Shattered champagne scattered like glass rain.

Rat tat tat. 

Gunfire ripped through the air, sharp and unreal. 

Her brain stuttered.

Noise reverberated in her ears. Too close. Too fast. 

The Palais erupted.