Chapter Text
Something wasn’t adding up.
Félix leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed as he quietly observed the morning light streaming through the penthouse windows. He was dressed already, crisp and composed, as always. Yet the tension in his jaw betrayed the thoughts turning over in his mind. Adrien was too emotional to see it, and Chloe… well, she was hiding something. That much was obvious.
A shuffle of feet and hushed laughter signaled their entrance. Adrien and Chloe, now looking more presentable, wandered into the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re done,” Félix drawled, raising his brows and taking a deliberate sip of coffee. The mug, expensive and obnoxiously monogrammed—like everything in Audrey’s apartment—warmed his fingers, but did nothing for his mood. He stepped away from the counter, placing the cup down with a soft clink.
In his hands was a neatly folded set of fresh clothes Amelie had brought over for Adrien. As he passed by, he glanced sideways at Chloe with a mildly amused smirk.
“Hey Félix,” Adrien greeted cheerfully, unaware—or perhaps pretending not to notice—the sharpness in his cousin’s tone. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Pancakes and waffles,” Félix replied dryly, walking to the dining table. “From a café nearby. Because your mother,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the direction of Audrey’s bedroom, “refuses to keep anything edible in the house. Apparently, she doesn’t eat carbs on Wednesdays or Fridays. Something about planetary alignments and waistlines.”
Chloe scoffed. “You just order out when she’s not around. It’s not rocket science.”
“Yes, clearly survival here requires a PhD in strategic takeout.” He turned to her, holding up the clothes. “Also, it’s either your bathroom or your mother’s—and between the two of you, you’re the lesser evil. So I’m commandeering yours before you take an eternity.”
Chloe raised a brow, folding her arms. “As if this mess just happens on its own.”
“Oh, my apologies,” Félix said with a mocking bow. “Didn’t realize ‘Bird’s Nest’ was in vogue again.”
Chloe instinctively checked her phone screen, catching her reflection. She winced. Her roots were showing through the spray-on dye, and her hair—once the definition of flawless—was bordering on tragic.
“You—” she started, voice rising.
SLAM.
Too late. Félix was already gone, the bathroom door shutting with enough force to make a point.
“Don’t use my bath salts!” she yelled after him. “And don’t go through my stuff!”
No answer, of course—just a muffled snicker from inside the bathroom.
“Ugh!” Chloe flopped into a chair. “He is the worst.”
Adrien grinned, nudging her with his elbow. “You two are adorable.”
Chloe nearly choked. “Don’t even joke about that. I just got goosebumps—and not the good kind.”
Adrien laughed, but before Chloe could dig deeper into her disgust, Amelie entered the kitchen with a tray of pastries and a gentle smile that somehow made everything feel… softer.
“Aw, how sweet,” she cooed. “Chloe, dear, come have breakfast with us.”
“Oh! Um, yes ma’am.” Chloe straightened like she’d just been caught skipping etiquette class. She sat cautiously beside Amelie, awkwardly avoiding her gaze—especially after insulting Félix to his mother’s face.
Amelie, unbothered, placed a plate in front of her. “Would you like a croissant? Or perhaps a blueberry muffin? It is the most important meal of the day, after all.”
Chloe blinked. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense,” Amelie waved her off. “You’re thin as a twig. Look at you.” She began stacking Chloe’s plate without waiting for permission, her tone gentle but firm.
“But—” Chloe tried to object.
“I insist,” Amelie said, her voice brooking no argument. “Growing girls need proper food.”
Chloe sat frozen. The firmness, the gentleness... it was so familiar. It wasn’t just that Amelie was Emilie’s twin—it was how she carried herself, the quiet grace, the maternal presence that Chloe hadn’t realized she’d missed until now. It almost felt like Emilie was alive again, smiling across the table.
It was disarming. And it made her chest ache in a way she wasn’t prepared for.
She looked helplessly at Adrien, who had already helped himself to a muffin and was sipping tea like he’d lived here all his life.
“I’d say yes if I were you,” he said with a grin. “Aunt Amelie doesn’t take no for an answer.”
Chloe hesitated. “Well… in that case... thank you?”
“You’re so very welcome,” Amelie beamed.
Chloe offered a sheepish laugh and finally picked up a fork.
They ate in relative peace, the quiet hum of conversation punctuated only by the clinking of utensils—until the peace was shattered by the distant sound of Audrey screaming at her assistant from her bedroom.
Chloe flinched.
Her mother’s voice was getting louder, shriller. Chloe didn’t need to hear the words to know what was coming. This wasn’t just a bad mood—it was one of those moods. The ones where her mother turned into a force of nature, impossible to reason with, impossible to dodge.
Just when she had started making progress with her.
“Umm…” Chloe hesitated, eyes darting toward the hallway. “On a scale of one to ten… how mad is she?”
Amelie didn’t skip a beat. “Fifteen.”
Chloe nearly choked on her croissant.
“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” Amelie said smoothly, reaching over to pat her hand. “We won’t let her do anything tooterrible.”
Chloe offered a dry laugh. “Unless you’ve got David Lee on speed dial, I don’t think there’s a soul on Earth who can get her to see reason.”
The mention of that name changed something in the room. Amelie’s expression tightened—just a flicker, but Chloe saw it. She remembered the way her aunt had reacted last night too.
Had David already gotten to Chloe?
Amelie leaned forward slightly, her voice lower. “Well, David isn’t the only one who can stand his ground.”
Chloe blinked. “Oh! I didn’t mean—you absolutely could, it’s just—my mom’s…” she trailed off, face flushing. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You didn’t,” Amelie assured her. “I know Audrey. But if she tries anything… well, she’ll have to get through me first.”
Adrien leaned back and winked. “And me.”
He lifted his hand playfully—revealing the gleam of his Miraculous ring.
“Adrien, put that away!” Chloe hissed, eyes darting toward the hallway. “What if she walks in?!”
But all she found was Amelie’s calm, knowing look.
“That was—” Chloe stammered, grasping for an excuse. “It’s not what it looks like—”
Adrien gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Chlo.”
His voice was warm, steady.
Chloe looked at him, then back at Amelie… whose smile hadn’t faded.
Did she already know?
Something in her chest tightened. She didn’t know if it was relief or fear.
Maybe both.
“So this David… David Lee, correct?” Amelie said suddenly, her tone casual, though her eyes were sharp—calculating. It cut clean through the idle breakfast chatter, slicing the tension like a knife through syrup.
Chloé blinked, caught off guard. “Y-yes? He’s my half-sister’s father.”
“It sounds like you and he are… close.”
Chloé hesitated. She hated questions like this—ones that felt like walking a tightrope without knowing which direction was safe. “Well… kind of. He’s there for me when my mom gets difficult, and he gives me advice. He’s like a dad to me.”
“Like Uncle André?” Adrien asked, his voice quiet, but not unkind.
Chloé swallowed. The pancake on her fork suddenly felt too heavy. “Yes, but… the kind of father who’s actually there for you,” she muttered, her voice dropping with bitterness. She stared down at her plate.
Adrien and Amelie exchanged a glance. Adrien opened his mouth, about to speak, but Amelie’s hand brushed his wrist under the table—a silent command to wait. Not yet.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Amelie said gently. “Was that out of line?”
Chloé shook her head. “Not really,” she mumbled, then sighed. “Things are just… complicated. I mean, how could they not be?”
She pushed her food around her plate, the syrup staining the silverware like it had ruined her appetite. “When your own dad sends you away with a woman who couldn’t care less about you, and takes in the daughter of the man who stole your wife and ruined your marriage in the first place... how is anything ever supposed to feel normal?”
Her voice cracked. Her hands trembled. “Not like he was ever a good father anyway. I can barely remember being happy growing up with him. At least David has the decency to check up on me. Zoé and ‘Dad’ just forgot I existed.”
Her fork stabbed the pancake like it was something guilty, and she shoved it in her mouth. “So if anyone’s out of line, it’s them.”
Amelie’s gaze softened. Her heart twisted. So this was what Félix had meant when he said Chloé was lost—adrift. Clinging to the only lifeline thrown her way, even if it was a poisoned rope.
A man like David Lee… kind to her, yes, but with ulterior motives that were terrifying in their precision. And now, this girl—this hurting, bitter, lonely girl—was leaning on him like the only adult she could count on. Amelie could see it now. The danger wasn’t just David’s power. It was Chloé’s need for someone to make her feel worth loving.
And Amelie—sitting across from her—wasn’t sure if she had the right, or the strength, to pull that lifeline away.
A sigh broke the silence.
“It’s always something with you,” came a dry voice behind them.
Chloé stiffened, then turned just as Félix appeared, freshly dressed in his usual black-on-black ensemble. His hair was still damp, like he’d just showered off the weight of the morning, but his tone was pure ice.
He walked over and sat beside her, brushing his damp bangs out of his eyes. “What are you complaining about to my mother now?”
“Nothing she didn’t ask about,” Chloé snapped, meeting his gaze with a glare.
“Relax, darling,” Amelie said with an amused smile. “We were just chatting. No harm done.”
“If you say so,” Félix replied, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked to Adrien, who merely shrugged helplessly.
The tension at the table grew heavier—silent, but thick. The kind of silence where people pretended not to be feeling everything all at once.
Amelie sat still, gears in her mind turning faster now, filing away every detail—Chloé’s words, her tone, the looks exchanged, and most of all, the boy beside her. Because Félix wasn’t looking at Chloé like someone annoyed. He was watching her like a scientist observes a cracked mirror: afraid it might shatter further if he touched it wrong.
Their fragile peace was short-lived.
From the hallway came the sharp click of heels against tile—too fast, too loud, too familiar.
Audrey Bourgeois entered the room like a storm dressed in couture, poised as always, and just as venomous.
“Chlorine, you’re awake. Finally.”
“Yes,” Chloé answered quickly, her voice slipping into that strange, deadened tone she reserved only for her mother.
“I assume you know how displeased I am with you,” Audrey continued, barely looking at her daughter.
“Yes.”
“Turning a quaint gathering into a night of trouble, when you know just how valuable my time is.” Audrey sneered. “I should have you grounded for that.”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
“You should be. But sorry doesn’t fix anything.”
Chloé flinched. Adrien’s hand balled into a fist in his lap. Amelie stiffened. Félix’s eyes darkened as his jaw clenched tight.
“Audrey—” Amelie warned, her voice dangerously low.
“Lucky for you, I’m too busy to properly punish you today. Your little stunt made me sleep in longer than I should’ve.” Audrey waved a hand dismissively. “Instead, I’m revoking all your cards and limousine privileges. From now on, you’ll walk to school—or anywhere else I don’t explicitly send you. If you need money, you will earn it at my office.”
She extended her hand toward Chloé. “Wallet. Now.”
Chloé looked up in stunned horror. “But Mother—”
“Did I stutter?”
Chloé hesitated for only a second before lowering her eyes and handing over her wallet with a trembling hand.
“But… how will I get to school?”
“That’s your problem,” Audrey snapped. “You wanted to go to school so badly? Then you’ll work for it, you little brat. I’m sick of spoiling you.”
She turned to leave, her assistant already at her side. But just before she exited, she looked back with cold finality.
“You want your privileges back, Claudia? Prove you deserve them.”
The door slammed shut behind her.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Félix was the first to move. He stood slowly, eyes still fixed on the doorway like he could burn through it with sheer hatred. “Finally, she’s gone.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Adrien said gently, placing a hand on Chloé’s shoulder. “You can ride with us.”
Chloé bit her lip, trembling now. She didn’t meet his gaze—just launched forward and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Adrien held her like a lifeline, his face etched with worry.
“She’s right, you know,” Chloé mumbled. “I always mess things up.”
“No, she isn’t,” Adrien said firmly. “You have us now.”
“It’s not that. She always—” Chloé started, but the words died in her throat. She looked down and shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”
She grabbed her bag, shoulders hunched like she could fold into herself, and headed for the door.
Amelie, Adrien, and Félix followed, sharing silent looks of concern. Amelie glanced at her son. Félix looked back, expression unreadable, and shook his head.
He didn’t know what to say. Or maybe he did, but was too afraid to say it wrong.
Amelie frowned and nudged him with her elbow.
Nothing.
She sighed. All of them were so broken, and no adult in the room—herself included—seemed capable of fixing it.
But then…
“Kids!” she called out, a sudden idea sparking in her mind. “I just remembered I have something important to do. Can you walk from here?”
Félix narrowed his eyes. “What ‘important thing’?”
“Oh, you know… errands.” Amelie waved vaguely, then elbowed him a bit too hard in the chest.
“Ow—”
“I guess we have time,” Chloé said slowly. “School’s only a ten-minute train ride.”
“Perfect!” Amelie chirped, practically pushing them out the door. “Have a lovely day!”
She slammed the door behind them and peeled away in her car before anyone could protest.
There was a pause.
“What just happened?” Chloé asked, blinking in bewilderment.
“I guess… we’re walking,” Adrien offered, smiling faintly.
“Hooray,” Félix deadpanned, adjusting his bag with a sigh.
As the three of them walked down the street—adrift, awkward, and quiet—Félix found himself trailing just a step behind. Watching.
He’d never admit it, but it hurt to see her like this.
Félix had never been good at comforting people.
He’d been raised in a world of poised silences and sharp truths, where feelings were locked behind porcelain smiles and vulnerability was ammunition. So standing there, watching Chloé tremble slightly in her designer-but-thin coat, eyes wet but stubbornly refusing to cry—he felt utterly useless. The kind of helplessness that made him itchy under his skin.
She was trying so hard to pretend she was fine. But Félix could see it. The tightness around her eyes. The way her arms wrapped around herself not for poise, but protection.
He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound cruel. And worse, he didn’t trust himself not to say something that would shatter her.
So instead, wordlessly, he shrugged off his own coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Chloé blinked, startled. Her lips parted as if to protest, but she didn’t move to remove it. She just stared up at him like he’d grown two heads.
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice not sharp—but small. Almost... careful.
Even Adrien paused a few feet ahead, raising a brow in quiet amusement. His lips twitched with a half-smile.
Félix cleared his throat and looked away. “You looked... chilly.”
A faint flush betrayed his usual composure. His hands went to his pockets too quickly. His voice lost that perfect lilt, cracked a little.
Chloé narrowed her eyes, suspicion flaring where gratitude should’ve bloomed. “You’re never nice without a catch.”
Félix bristled. Overcorrecting. Always. “Well, you know what they say about witches freezing.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You—That’s not even the right reference! It’s water! The witch from the movie was melting! I’m not—hey!” But he was already walking away, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips as she sputtered behind him.
Adrien burst into a warm laugh, catching up to Chloé as she glared daggers at Félix’s retreating back.
“That’s his way of saying he’s worried about you, Chlo,” Adrien offered gently, nudging her shoulder.
“One heck of a way to show it.” Chloé huffed, folding her arms beneath the coat—but didn’t shrug it off. If anything, she pulled it a little closer.
It smelled like bergamot and old books and something woodsy—expensive, understated. Like him.
“…Ugh,” she muttered under her breath, trying to shake the warm feeling crawling up her neck. She marched forward, avoiding Adrien’s knowing grin.
Behind them, Plagg poked his head out of Adrien’s collar and yawned.
“Teenagers,” the kwami muttered. “How their poor kwamis put up with them, I’ll never understand.”
Adrien rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh come on, go easy on them. They’re trying. Look—no shouting, no insults, and they’re in arm’s reach without a murder attempt. That’s basically progress.”
Plagg squinted ahead, watching Félix and Chloé walk side-by-side with the stiff tension of two people forced into proximity during a silent war.
“From those faces, I’d have guessed constipation.”
Adrien snorted. “You’re impossible.”
He jogged up to them, slipping easily between their awkward energy like a breeze.
Together, the trio made their way down the crowded sidewalk toward Grand Central Station. The air buzzed with life—taxi horns, street performers, and the chatter of pedestrians dodging rogue pigeons. New York was as alive as ever.
Adrien spun once with a grin. “Man, I forgot how wild New York used to be!”
“It’s just as cramped as Paris, if not louder,” Félix said with a sniff. “Obnoxious. Rude. Garish. A perfect tourist trap.”
He gestured upward. “Except that.”
Above them, a sea-themed villain—half-kraken, half-diva—was being tackled mid-air by Nightowl and Majestia, with Doorman cracking open portals to redirect crashing debris away from civilians.
Chloé tilted her head, nonchalant. “Oh, that’s Professor Gates. My homeroom teacher.”
Félix blinked. “Seriously?”
“He teaches algebra,” she added flatly, as though that somehow made it less bizarre.
Adrien’s eyes sparkled. “That’s so cool. Everyone knows who the superheroes are here. No masks, no secrets—just… truth.”
His voice softened on the last word. He looked down, the excitement dimming.
“…Gotta love the honesty.”
Félix shot his cousin a sideways glance. That tone again. The lingering hurt.
He hated hearing it.
“Come now, cousin. No need to dwell on past deceptions,” Félix drawled, nudging Adrien’s shoulder. “Besides, this one here will be late to daycare if we don’t hurry.”
“HEY!” Chloé spun on him, cheeks flushed. “I resent that!”
Adrien bit back a laugh.
“I’m not going to be late because my mother decided to go on a power trip today and you two got distracted watching Majestia Suplex a supervillain!” Chloé continued. “I barely have a reputation at Armstrong and I intend to keep it intact, thank you very much.”
“Relax, drama queen,” Félix said, though there was no venom in it. “We’re coming.”
Adrien chuckled again as they crossed into the tunnel, the roar of the city dimming just a little behind them.
And still, Félix glanced at Chloé from the corner of his eye.
She walked briskly, shoulders tense—but she still hadn’t returned the coat.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But for some reason, it did.
The train hissed to a stop with a screech that made everyone flinch. The platform wasn’t crowded, but there was enough of a bustle that Felix immediately started tugging something out of his coat pocket. Adrien watched him with a raised brow, already amused.
“Really?” Adrien asked as Felix pulled out a pair of fake round glasses and slipped a disposable mask over his face like he was in a spy film.
“I’m not taking chances,” Felix muttered, adjusting the glasses before eyeing Adrien’s bright red beanie. “And neither should you. That is the most conspicuous color you could’ve possibly chosen.”
Adrien grinned as he pushed his sunglasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “It’s a statement. I call it—‘New York casual’ with a splash of undercover chic.”
“You look like you lost a bet,” Felix deadpanned.
Chloé groaned from beside him, arms crossed, clearly trying not to laugh. “You both look ridiculous. Who’s going to notice us? We’re literally riding a grime-covered subway train surrounded by people who don’t even make eye contact.”
She gave Adrien a look and gestured vaguely at his outfit. “What, do you think someone’s going to shout, ‘Oh look! It’s international fashion model Adrien Agreste—but wearing sunglasses indoors and dressed like a street magician! Must be him!’”
Adrien couldn’t help but laugh, and even Felix’s lips twitched.
“I’m just saying,” she added, “lookalikes exist. I read somewhere there’s like… at least six people who look like you out there. Probably…"
“I’m not risking my peace of mind on your delusional belief in human obliviousness,” Felix said primly, pulling his hood further over his head as they stepped into the train.
Adrien followed him in with a little skip in his step and plopped down beside Chloe on the worn seats. The subway smelled faintly like steel and something sour. He didn’t mind—it was real. Normal. In a way Paris never let him be.
“This is kinda fun though,” he said, grinning. “Like we’re in a spy movie. You know, the heroes on the run, hiding in plain sight.”
“More like three kids playing dress-up,” Chloe muttered under her breath. But Adrien caught the flicker of amusement in her eyes.
His gaze softened. She looked more like herself today. Her hair was loose for once, tucked behind one ear. The subtle frown line on her brow was less tense than usual. She still carried the weight of everything—her exile, the secrets, her mother, David Lee—but she wasn’t crumbling under it like before.
Adrien leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “Anyway,” he began brightly, “I guess we’re finally going to meet those friends of yours, huh? Mike, Liv, and Andy, right?”
He saw it instantly. Her shoulders tensed. Her fingers, which had been fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, froze.
Chloe blinked. “No.”
Adrien blinked back. “W–what?”
“No,” she repeated firmly, voice low and sharp. “They can’t know. They can’t put two and two together. Why on Earth would—” she glanced around, then leaned in to hiss, “Adrien Agreste and his cousin be hanging around some nobody in New York?”
She said the last part like it burned her throat.
Adrien sat back slowly, surprised by the venom in her voice—not directed at him, but at herself.
His chest sank a little. “Chloé…”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He glanced at Felix, who just stared forward impassively, but Adrien could see the twitch in his jaw. He wasn’t going to intervene.
Adrien drew in a breath, sat up straighter, and said with a forced lightness, “Then we’ll make up fake names!”
“What?” Both Chloe and Felix snapped at once.
“I’ll be… Antoine Allard!” Adrien declared with a grin, hand shooting up like a kid volunteering in class.
Felix groaned as if physically in pain. “That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard.”
“Seconded,” Chloe muttered.
Adrien feigned a dramatic gasp. “Excuse you, Antoine Allard is a distinguished identity.”
“You sound like a failed wine sommelier,” Felix shot back.
“And besides,” Chloe added, fixing him with a hard stare. “You’re a world-famous model. You’re literally on billboards in Times Square. Who exactly do you think you’re fooling?”
“I dunno! Maybe they’ll think I’m doing some kind of immersive street campaign?” Adrien offered weakly, then quickly shifted his approach. “Come on, Chlo! You’re seriously going to keep this part of your life away from me after everything we’ve been through?”
He lowered his voice then, his hand reaching out across the subway pole. “After everything I learned? About my dad. About… Marinette. About myself. We promised. No more secrets. Remember?”
He held up his pinkie.
Chloé’s lips parted, and she visibly recoiled. Her gaze darted to the pinkie, then to Adrien’s eyes.
“You don’t fight fair,” she muttered, and her voice cracked—just a little.
Adrien smiled, gently. “I never claimed I did.”
After a pause, she exhaled and hesitantly linked her pinkie with his.
“Ugh. Fine. But you’re not Antoine Allard,” she said flatly. “You’re Jean-Claude Champagne.”
Felix made a noise like a dying cat. “Are you kidding me?”
“I hate it here,” he added, slumping in his seat as the subway lurched forward.
Adrien burst out laughing. Chloe cracked a small smile.
Suddenly, the metal screech of the rails had become a comforting rhythm. Adrien leaned slightly against the pole, eyes half-lidded, still smiling faintly from Chloé’s rare moment of levity.
And then—
BOOM.
The train jolted violently, lurching sideways like it had struck something head-on. Lights flickered and died. The fluorescent bulbs overhead sputtered into a sickly red emergency glow as the car shook again, a loud grinding reverberating through the tunnel.
Screams erupted. People fell out of their seats.
“What the—?!” Adrien grabbed the nearest railing to steady himself.
The ground trembled again—and then they all felt it: a concussive slam from the roof of the train. A sickening crunch of metal.
Something had landed on the car.
Chloé’s face went white. “You’ve got to be kidding me—now?!”
Outside the windows, shadow blurred against passing tunnel lights. The train began to slow, screeching violently on the tracks as if its systems were failing. Another THUD. The sound of something tearing through the metal ahead.
Félix was already up, eyes narrowed and scanning the crowd of panicking passengers. “Stay close. Both of you.”
“I know that sound,” Adrien muttered, jaw tight. His hand slid instinctively toward the chain under his shirt.
“Don’t,” Félix said, sharp as a knife.
Adrien froze.
“I’m serious,” Félix hissed, grabbing Adrien’s wrist just as his fingers touched the Miraculous ring hidden beneath his collar. “Don’t transform.”
Adrien met his cousin’s gaze, jaw clenched. “There are civilians here. If that villain starts taking hostages—”
The shriek of tearing metal echoed through the train like a scream. Sparks flew as massive, black, barnacle-crusted tentacles punched through the car’s ceiling and walls, ripping open the frame as if it were paper. Water surged from the punctures—cold and slick—soaking the floor beneath panicked feet. The train jolted to a halt, the brakes screeching like a dying animal.
Passengers screamed. Chaos bloomed like a storm cloud.
A figure stepped into the mangled train car, dragging shadows in her wake. Towering and monstrous, she had pink hair matted in thick, wet strands down her back, grey skin slick and glistening, and armor as dark as the ocean floor. Her eyes glowed faintly violet, and from her back extended a crown of biomechanical tentacles, each sparking with electric pulses. One twitched—and then lashed out, pinning a screaming woman to the wall.
Another tentacle coiled around the center rail and crushed it with a metallic snap.
The villain smirked, voice silken and distorted by a voice modulator. “Let’s keep this simple, shall we?” she purred. “You’re not hostages… yet. But if anyone tries to be brave, I’ll turn this car into a pressure chamber.”
Adrien barely ducked as one of the tentacles whipped past, electricity crackling inches from his head. Chloe shrieked and stumbled, slipping on the soaked floor. She would’ve hit the ground if Félix hadn’t caught her around the waist, dragging her against him protectively.
“We have to move,” Félix hissed in her ear. “Quietly.”
But Adrien didn’t move. His fists clenched. His jaw trembled.
He could feel it building—anger. Helplessness. That same feeling from the funeral. From the moment he walked out of the Agreste mansion and left behind his name, his home, his city. Why did everything have to be stripped away for the world to keep spinning?
He was still Chat Noir. Still someone who could do something. So why did it feel like he was being buried alive in silence?
“Adrien,” Plagg whispered from his pocket, voice low and desperate. “Think about this for a bit.”
But Adrien wasn’t listening anymore. Not to Plagg. Not to the terror around him. His heart was a thunderstorm—hot and blinding.
"Hey!" Adrien shouted.
The villain’s head turned. One glowing eye focused on him.
“Oh?” she said, her voice curling like sea foam. “This one thinks he's a hero.”
She took a slow step forward, her tentacles bristling. The lights overhead flickered.
Félix grabbed Adrien’s arm from behind and hissed in his ear. “What are you doing?!”
Chloé followed, her voice sharp with fear. “You're going to ge hurt!”
“I can’t just stand here!” Adrien snapped. “People are terrified!”
“Exactly!” Félix growled but not too loud for anyone outside of the three of them to hear. “You want to throw yourself into the spotlight? Let the world know Chat Noir’s alive and unguarded in a city crawling with opportunists?!”
“I’m not just Chat Noir,” Adrien bit out. “I’m me. Maybe I don't have the right answers, but I sure as hell won't be afraid anymore.”
His fingers hovered over his ring. A breath away.
“Plagg, claws ou—!”
A sudden, sonic CRACK. A glowing shield slammed through the car’s wall from the outside.
Eagle burst into view, wings outstretched. She landed hard between the villain and the passengers.
“Step away from the civilians!” she shouted.
Right behind her, Uncanny Valley dropped from the roof like a streak of silver lightning, eyes glowing, levitating in a soft hum of repulsor energy. She landed on the opposite side of the car with pinpoint precision.
“Target identified. Engaging countermeasures.”
“About time,” Chloé breathed, tension flooding from her limbs.
Adrien just watched, chest tight with something between awe and frustration. His instincts screamed to jump in. But he held still. For now.
The villain snarled and lunged. The fight exploded into the confined space—Eagle deflecting blasts with some sort of energy shield that glowed gold a brief moment before it disappeared again, Uncanny firing controlled electric pulses to disarm and disable. The villain’s tentacles swarmed, but they were being pushed back fast.
“You see?” Felix snapped, eyes flashing. “They have this covered.”
The train jolted again, this time controlled—slowing down. Stopping.
A mechanical voice over the intercom, crackling with static:
“Emergency override. Evacuate all passengers.”
“Come on!” Chloé yelled, grabbing Adrien’s hand, pulling him toward the exit door being pried open.
Felix took point, guiding them past the battle still raging in the rear car.
As they stepped off the halted train onto the emergency catwalk, Adrien glanced back one last time—watching Eagle swing her shield into the villain’s chest and Uncanny Valley catch falling debris midair with one hand.
Heroes doing their jobs.
He exhaled slowly, then followed the others into the tunnel.
The smell of smoke and saltwater hung thick in the Manhattan morning air, tinged with the high-pitched wail of sirens and the low groan of steel. Eagle soared above traffic frozen for blocks, her wings catching the rising sun as she looped once, then dove.
Below her, half of 43rd street was submerged in what looked like seawater—except it glowed faintly green and had tentacles occasionally slithering up out of it.
“Alright, fish lady,” Eagle shouted as she streaked in low, “let’s hurry this up, we’ve got places to be.”
Majestia answered with a mighty uppercut, launching the kraken-themed diva into the air like a volleyball.
“Incoming!” her mom shouted.
Jess grinned and corkscrewed into a spinning roundhouse, catching the villain midair and launching her into a billboard that exploded in a rain of sparking LED debris.
Uncanny Valley hovered precisely twenty-seven feet above the ground, blue-white repulsor light keeping her perfectly aloft as her scanners traced enemy movement. Below, civilians fled through waterlogged streets. The Doorman opened glowing portals left and right, ushering people to safety. Traffic control was hopeless. Gridlock in every direction.
“It is also,” Aeon said calmly, aiming her wrist cannon, “very rude to interrupt the morning commute.”
She fired—one perfect stun blast. It zapped into the villain’s back just as she staggered up from the billboard wreckage.
“Like, hello, attacking during the daytime is so unpractical,” Eagle added, gliding up beside her with a roll of her eyes. “Everyone knows you attack at night.”
“Statistically,” Aeon said, still tracking the villain’s vitals, “there are lesser chances of mass casualties in the morning. Higher in the evening. As a villain this is a bit impractical—unless you were planning on making a statement.”
“Don’t give her any tips,” Majestia muttered, shooting past them with a sonic boom.
“Sidekicks! Focus!” Knightowl barked from street level, using a grapple-wired net to whip around the villain and pin her arms.
“Right, sorry!” Aeon said sheepishly.
“Hey! We’re not sidekicks anymore,” Jess huffed, landing beside her mother.
Knightowl didn’t even glance back. “You both are as long as we’re here.” She wrestled the villain down with brute strength. “Now hurry up and help us fix this. Don’t you both have somewhere important you need to be?”
Jess followed her mother’s gaze—up to a massive LED billboard half-flickering above the wreckage.
7:42 AM.
School started in eighteen minutes.
“Crap,” Jess and Aeon said at the same time.
Then, the villain screeched, eyes glowing a sickly green. Her tentacles surged forward, snapping the wire net in an instant.
Knightowl had no time to react before she was hurled into a building across the street, glass and steel crumbling under the impact.
“MOM!” Jess shouted.
But the villain didn’t wait. With a furious roar, she dove headfirst into the street—no, through it—crashing down into a nearby subway entrance like a missile.
Jess and Aeon looked at each other. No time to hesitate.
“Go,” said Aeon, already scanning.
They launched.
A sudden sonic CRACK. A glowing shield smashed through the car wall like thunder from heaven.
Eagle landed in the train like a meteor strike, crouched, shield up, wings flared and ready. Her voice echoed loud and sharp:
“Step away from the civilians!”
Behind her, Aeon dropped from above, silver and chrome, surrounded by a soft whine of energy. She landed at the back of the car with the precision of a chess piece snapping into place.
“Target identified,” she said coolly. “Engaging countermeasures.”
Jess glanced across the passengers—and spotted them.
Blonde. All three. One tall and tense, clearly ready to jump in. The other two looking like they were one second from doing something reckless.
Adrien Agreste.
Jess didn’t even have time to register the shock before the villain lunged again.
Eagle blocked the first blast. The train shuddered under the force, lighting flickering. Aeon raised her palm and released a precise electric pulse that zapped the villain’s tentacle as she tried to reach for a nearby girl.
“Nice shot!” Jess shouted.
“Thank you,” Aeon said. “Redirecting emergency brake protocols—train deceleration initiated.”
The villain let out a screeching shriek—part banshee, part kraken—and lashed out again, forcing the sisters to split and flank.
Jess ducked low, wings folding tight, then lunged forward and rammed her energy shield into the villain’s chest.
Aeon fired another blast, this one calibrated for maximum stun.
The train jolted. Hard.
But not crashing. Controlled.
The intercom crackled above them, the mechanical voice breaking through the static:
“Emergency override. Evacuate all passengers.”
Jess kept her shield between the villain and the civilians. Aeon moved toward the controls, voice calm and measured.
“Train stabilized. Proceed with evacuation.”
Behind them, doors hissed open—The Doorman having reappeared above the track with glowing portals, helping people out two-by-two.
The train hissed to a halt, its doors sliding open with a soft chime. The platform flooded with grateful passengers, stumbling out in stunned silence that broke into a flood of clapping, cheering, and breathless thanks. stood tall, her wings twitching slightly as the weight of adrenaline began to fade. Uncanny Valley hovered just behind her before her boots touched down, repulsors whirring down.
They were immediately swarmed.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“You saved us!”
“My son—he’s only five, he was on that train—thank you, oh my god.”
“Can I get a selfie?!”
Jess blinked at the crowd, flustered as kids hugged her legs and cameras flashed from every direction. She tried to smile. She should have been smiling. Aeon was smiling—gently, calmly, shaking hands and offering calming words like a practiced diplomat.
But Jess couldn’t focus.
Because she’d seen him.
Through the train window, in that split second between throwing her shield and catching her breath, she’d seen him.
Adrien Agreste.
Not the pretty boy from some old fashion ad. No. The real Adrien. The one she and Aeon met briefly when he toured the Hero Registry headquarters a year ago with his father.
The one who later appeared on International News with glowing white hair and cracked eyes, screaming as Chat Blanc, an akumatized villain so powerful he nearly tore the planet apart.
The one who vanished. The one everyone believed was under supervision. Somewhere far from society. Protected. Contained.
And yet—he was here.
Jess blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes like they were betraying her.
They had to be.
It couldn’t have been him.
“Eagle?” Aeon’s hand touched her shoulder, soft and steady. “What’s wrong?”
Jess didn’t answer right away. She just stared down the tunnel, watching the tail end of the fleeing crowd, her jaw tight.
That’s when she saw them—three figures vanishing into the masses.
One boy, tall and lean, wearing sunglasses too dark for the station’s light. Another girl, blonde, with a high ponytail, feather-shaped earrings, and a familiar gold bangle glittering on her wrist. A third, quieter figure lagging just slightly behind.
Just before they vanished up the stairs, the boy glanced back.
She saw his eyes.
Bright green. Familiar. And the unmistakable glint of a black ring on his finger.
Jess muttered under her breath. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…”
Aeon turned quickly, scanning in the direction her sister stared. Her mechanical irises whirred as her internal database pinged—two biosignatures matched to a previous log.
One year ago.
New York.
The Eagle Miraculous.
Ladybug and Chat Noir.
“Eagle?” Aeon said quietly.
Jess didn’t move.
“It’s… him.” Aeon gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “It's Adrie-.”
Jess snapped out of it, grabbing Aeon’s hand and tugging her toward the opposite platform. “Come on—we gotta go. Now.”
Above, their mothers descended in heroic fashion.
Majestia hovered in the air, radiant and commanding, helping Knightowl lower the villain—now fully restrained—into NYPD custody. Knightowl was already giving a press statement, cameras rolling and reporters flocking around her like pigeons on hotdog crumbs.
“Good work, you two,” Majestia called, catching sight of her daughters. But her smile faltered at their expressions. “Is everything alright?”
Aeon stepped in smoothly. “We’re… almost late. So we’ll head out first.”
Majestia raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Alright. Be safe. We’ll handle cleanup.”
The sisters ducked behind the train, out of view, and—in a shimmer of light and soft puffs of wind—detransformed.
Aeon blinked back into her usual civilian form, brow furrowed. “This doesn’t make sense. If Adrien’s here, that means—”
“Yeah,” Jess cut her off. “I know.”
As they pushed through the crowd, trying to blend in, a calm voice joined them from the side.
“Nice work back there.”
They both jumped.
Luka Couffaine strolled beside them, hands in his pockets, his blue eyes thoughtful. He didn’t say much, but his presence was grounding.
Jess stared. “Did you know?”
Luka didn’t answer right away. He exhaled softly, almost like music, and glanced at the stairs as they climbed into the New York daylight.
“Only recently,” he said. “I didn’t think they’d come this far. But here they are.”
Aeon and Jess exchanged a look, hearts still pounding.
Above them, the city was in chaos—traffic snarled for miles, buildings cracked from battle, sirens echoing in the distance.
But none of that mattered.
Because Adrien Agreste was in New York.
And wherever he went…
Trouble followed.