Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lia leaned against the windowsill, half-listening as Zoey flipped through Hailey’s notebook with a smirk on her lips.

“‘I want to be more than silence and glass,’” Zoey read aloud, nose wrinkling. “God, she’s such a freak.”

Drew chuckled, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Gonna start charging her rent for all the poetry she writes about us.”

Lia let out a short, practiced laugh. It didn’t reach her eyes.

She wasn’t looking at Zoey or Drew — she was looking at the cover of the notebook. A small doodle in the corner caught her eye: a messy little shooting star, trailing ink instead of fire.

That used to mean something.

Before she could follow the thought, Drew straightened. “I gotta bounce. Henry said something about a rooftop thing?”

Zoey waved him off without looking up. “Tell him to wait. I’m in the middle of reading the most tragic attempt at metaphor I’ve ever seen.”

“Will do.” Drew gave Lia a lazy salute as he passed. “Don’t let her summon anything.”

Then he was gone.

Lia exhaled slowly, not even realizing she’d been holding her breath.

It was always easier when Drew left.

Zoey tossed the notebook onto a desk and reached back into the bag. Her hand came up holding something Lia hadn’t noticed before: a small, strange red box.

It was nothing like the rest of Hailey’s things. No stickers, no glitter, no worn edges. Just smooth wood, faintly carved, and warm-looking — almost alive.

“What is this?” Zoey muttered, flipping it over in her palm. “Did she rob an old woman or something?”

Lia stepped closer, eyes fixed on the box. It buzzed against some part of her brain — not loud, but insistent.

Zoey made a face. “Ugh. It’s ugly.”

Then, casually, she tossed it over her shoulder like it meant nothing.

It hit Lia in the chest.

She caught it without thinking.

Lia held the box like it might burn her. “This was in Hailey’s bag.”

“So? Keep it. Looks cursed anyway.” Zoey picked her nails, clearly already bored. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

Lia nodded but didn’t move. Zoey turned and strode out of the room.

Lia stood there, alone, fingers tightening around the warm, carved wood.

She could return it tomorrow.

She could.

But she wouldn’t.

The walk home with Zoey was, as usual, tumultuous at best — but fun.

Zoey talked nonstop. Rants about the girl who looked at her weird in chem, gossip about who was hooking up behind the gym, dramatic reenactments of hallway stares like she was playing to an audience.

Lia chimed in where she was supposed to — laughed, gasped, rolled her eyes in tandem — but she mostly just listened.

Zoey never really noticed when Lia didn’t speak.

That was part of the appeal.

They split at the corner like always. Zoey waved, tossed a “don’t text me boring stuff,” and strutted off like the sidewalk belonged to her.

Lia watched her go, then turned toward home with the weight of the red box heavier than it should’ve been in her bag.

Her house was quiet. As usual.

Mom was working late. Again. The lights were off in the kitchen. There was a half-finished drink by the couch from the night before. Lia dropped her backpack and took the box out carefully, like it might protest.

She stared at it for a long time at her desk. Just stared.

She didn’t know why she hadn’t handed it back.

Well — no, that wasn’t true. She did know. It had been hers the second it hit her chest.

Eventually, she opened it.

There was no big burst of light. No angel choir. Just a faint, warm pulse — like something breathing softly inside.

And then:

“You’re not the one.”

Lia yelped and nearly threw the box across the room.

The voice was tiny. High-pitched. Judgy.

From inside the box hovered a glowing red creature, floating in midair with big eyes and little wings. A ladybug? A bug fairy?

“What the hell are you?” Lia snapped, backing into her chair.

The thing crossed its tiny arms. “I’m Tikki. And you’re not supposed to have that.”

Lia blinked. “You were in Hailey’s bag.”

“Yes. Because she was chosen,” Tikki said, slowly, like Lia was stupid. “You weren’t. You stole it.”

Lia stiffened. “It was thrown at me.”

“You could’ve given it back.”

“Okay, well I didn’t,” Lia said, sharper than she meant to. “So now what?”

Lia crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair as Tikki hovered before her, glowing like a neon star. The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of their standoff.

Tikki, for all her tiny size, wasn’t backing down. “I really can’t let you keep it,” she said, her voice almost motherly now, but still with that sharp edge. “Hailey was chosen for a reason. She’s meant to protect the Miraculous, to fight for the greater good.”

Lia snorted, letting out a dry laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The greater good, huh? Sounds so perfect.” She looked down at the box, her fingers running over the smooth wood. “What makes her more worthy of it than me? You don’t even know me.”

Tikki’s wings fluttered as she hovered in the air, her expression softening just a little. “I didn’t say Hailey was perfect. But she was chosen. She proved herself. You... you’re just starting, Lia. You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“Yeah?” Lia snapped, standing up suddenly. “Maybe I’m tired of being overlooked. Maybe I should be the one who gets a shot at this, not just some music freak who deserves it. Maybe—” she cut herself off, anger and something else flickering through her chest. It was a combination of heat and longing, something raw, something she couldn’t name.

Tikki hovered quietly, studying her, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of Lia’s breath.

“Maybe you should,” Tikki said slowly, almost too quietly. “But power like this comes with responsibility. True responsibility. It will make you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.” She added softly, “And everyone around you.”

Lia’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, the faintest tremor running through them. "I can handle it," she muttered, turning her back on Tikki, her voice tinged with bitterness. "I’ve been handling it for years. No one ever notices me, but now, maybe I can be the one who gets noticed for once."

Tikki paused. “But at what cost, Lia?”

Lia finally turned back to face her, her gaze intense. “I don’t care what it costs. I’m done being invisible.”

Tikki sighed, her wings drooping slightly. “You might not care now, but there are things in this world you can’t undo. Power, responsibility, the cost of your choices... they always come with consequences.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll deal with it. Just like I’ve dealt with everything else,” Lia said, more to herself than to Tikki. She stared at the box again. The warmth in it felt like it was pulsing with promise, with something that finally felt like it could be hers.

Tikki looked at her, concern clouding her big, round eyes. “I’m not trying to scare you. But you need to understand that you didn’t get this by mistake. This is your choice. You might be looking for a way to stand out, but power like this isn’t about making a statement. It’s about protecting everything—everything you’ve ever cared about.”

Lia swallowed hard, trying to push the tightness in her chest away. “What if I don’t care about that right now?” she murmured. “What if I just want to have something for once, something that’s mine?”

There was a long pause before Tikki spoke again, her voice softer. “Then you need to ask yourself... why this feels so right. Why you’re drawn to it. What’s really at the heart of what you want, Lia.”

Lia didn’t answer right away. Her fingers brushed against the side of the box again, the sensation of it making her heart beat faster.

“I didn’t choose you. But maybe we can make this work,” Tikki said quietly.

Lia's eyes flicker with something like doubt, but it was quickly swallowed by her determination. “ I’ll show you I’m exactly what this needs.” Her voice had a bite to it now, less uncertain than before.

Tikki didn't respond immediately, only hovering in place, her small form aglow. The silence between them was thick, but it wasn’t just the usual tension—it was the first moment Lia had felt like she was finally standing in her own space. Not behind Zoey. Not as the shadow.

This was hers.

And for the first time, maybe it didn’t feel like a mistake.

The living room was a disaster — snack wrappers scattered everywhere, half-empty soda cans perched precariously on every available surface. Drew, Jake, and Liam were sprawled on the floor, controllers in hand, while Henry lounged in the armchair, half-heartedly scrolling through his phone.

“Dude, you’re losing,” Drew said, eyes glued to the screen.

“Yeah, I know,” Jake muttered, still focused on the game. “I’m just warming up.”

Liam snickered. “Warming up? You’ve been ‘warming up’ for the past hour.”

Jake shot him a grin. “It’s called strategy, alright?”

Drew rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever. Just don’t whine when you lose.”

Jake stretched and groaned, getting up from the floor. “Alright, I’m out. Mom’s gonna flip if I’m late again.”

“Good luck with that,” Drew called after him, not even looking away from the screen.

Jake grabbed his bag and tossed it on the couch as he headed for the door. He gave a casual wave. “Later.”

“Later,” the others mumbled.

As the door clicked shut, a small red box slid out of Jake’s bag and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Nobody noticed at first. Drew, too absorbed in the game, didn’t even flinch. But after a second, he happened to glance down and see it.

The box was... ugly.

He picked it up with one hand, holding it between his fingers like it might bite him. It was small and red, with some weird engravings that looked like they were trying too hard to be mystical.

“What the hell is this?” Drew muttered, turning it over in his hand.

Liam, who had finally looked up, raised an eyebrow. “Is that Jake’s?”

“No idea,” Drew said, tossing it back onto the coffee table. “Doesn’t really look like his vibe.”

Henry, still half-ignoring them, glanced over. “Maybe it’s a weird keepsake or something. Like, I don’t know, a gift he didn’t want.”

Drew shrugged. “Who cares? He’ll grab it later, probably.” He went back to the game like it didn’t even matter.

But the box... sat there. Unbothered. Like it was just waiting for someone to care.

Drew stared at it for a second. “Stupid thing,” he muttered, shaking his head and diving back into his game.

By the time they wrapped up their game session, the sky had darkened, and the house felt quieter. Drew yawned, stretching as he stood up to turn off the TV. Liam and Henry had already said their goodbyes, heading out for the night, but Drew stayed behind to clean up the mess from their junk food binge.

As he picked up some empty chip bags and cans, his eyes landed on the red box again, still sitting innocently on the coffee table. It didn’t seem like anything special, but... why did it feel like it was calling him?

Drew gave it a quick look, frowning. He’d tried to ignore it earlier, but now it was just... there. Staring at him. And for some reason, it was starting to bug him.

He sighed, walking over and picking it up. “What the hell is this thing?” he muttered. It was like it had a weight to it, like it was daring him to open it.

His fingers brushed the intricate carvings, and for a moment, he thought he felt a faint pulse, like it was alive. He quickly pulled his hand back, glancing around the room like he expected someone to pop out and laugh at him. But of course, no one did.

It's just a box, Drew told himself. You’re being stupid.

But even as he said that, something tugged at the back of his mind.

It was too quiet in here. Too still. And the box? It felt... wrong. Not in a dangerous way, but in a way that made him feel like he should just know something about it.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but there was no denying it. The box had his attention now. He could feel it, like it was waiting for him to figure it out.

Drew stood there for a moment, staring at the box like it might bite him. After a few seconds of internal debating, he sighed and gave in.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

He flipped the lid open. Inside, nestled carefully on some kind of velvet lining, was a sleek, black ring. It looked… cool, actually. Definitely something Jake would have. Drew furrowed his brow, inspecting it for a second. It was simple but had this edgy design to it — sharp angles and a faint, almost glowing shimmer when he tilted it just right.

Okay, that’s weird, Drew thought, feeling a strange urge to try it on.

Why? No idea. But he slipped it onto his finger without another thought. The second it slid on, it felt... right. Like it was meant for him.

Before he could overthink it, a small green-black blob popped out of the ring with a poof.

Drew blinked, not sure what he was seeing. A little black creature with cat-like eyes was floating in front of him, looking a little disoriented. It was about the size of a fist, floating lazily in the air. It had an annoying, disapproving look on its face, as if it had been summoned by something way less impressive than it deserved.

What... the hell? Drew thought, taking a step back. Did I just... summon a... gremlin?

"Hey!" the little creature said, voice gruff but somehow a little whiny. "I was supposed to be helping someone else. You’re not Jake."

Drew blinked again. "Wait, what?" He looked at the ring on his finger. "What do you mean ‘someone else’?"

The creature — apparently a Plagg, based on the way it lazily hovered around him — glared at him, clearly unimpressed. “Jake’s supposed to be my holder. But whatever. Not my problem.”

Drew frowned, feeling confused and mildly unsettled. Jake’s supposed to be...? He glanced at the ring again. “Wait, Jake’s the one who has this? What’s going on here?”

Plagg sighed, floating around Drew’s head in an almost lazy circle. "Look, kid, I don’t care. If you want to wear the stupid ring, fine. You get to deal with the consequences. I just want cheese, okay?"

Drew’s mind raced. Jake was supposed to have this? That didn’t make sense. Jake wasn’t exactly the superhero type. He wasn’t exactly the put-the-world-on-your-shoulders type either.

“Well, I didn’t ask for this,” Drew muttered, looking at the ring again. “But now I’m stuck with it, I guess. What, you want cheese?”

“Exactly!” Plagg practically purred, “Gimme cheese and I’ll help you out. I’m not picky, though. Any kind will do.”

Drew’s eyebrow arched. “This is ridiculous.”

But despite himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stepped into something way bigger than him. The ring had a weird weight to it, and for some reason, now that he was holding it, everything felt a little off. Not in a bad way, just... different.

And the fact that Plagg — the weirdest little gremlin he’d ever seen — seemed so casual about it only made Drew’s internal confusion that much worse.

The morning light crept in through the blinds, a sharp reminder of how little sleep Lia had gotten. She sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at her toast, the peanut butter a smear of warm gold against the bread. Her fingers tapped the edge of the plate, a rhythmic anxiety that matched the churning thoughts in her head.

Tikki was perched on the counter, nibbling on one of the biscuits Lia had carelessly left in the cupboard. The creature's tiny wings fluttered absently as she chewed, her wide eyes scanning the room. It was a strange comfort, having someone—or something—there. But Lia couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just crossed some invisible line. That red box had been too much. She was in way over her head.

Lia caught sight of the small, warm box still resting on the table, and her chest tightened. Was it really hers now? She didn’t feel like she was meant for something like this—whatever it was. Was this even real?

The silence was broken when her mom called from the other room. "Lia, you need to see this."

Lia’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want to deal with the outside world right now. Not with the strangeness of the box sitting in her life like a bomb waiting to go off.

But her mom’s voice held an edge of urgency. Fine.

Lia made her way into the living room, her feet dragging, her mind still tangled in confusion. The TV was on, the sound muted, but the image on the screen was more than enough. The Click Tower—the centerpiece of their small town, a towering symbol of corporate might—was gone.

It wasn’t that it had been destroyed, or even dismantled. It had just... vanished. And in its place? A sticky black goo, crawling over the streets like something alive, something malicious.

Lia’s pulse quickened. What the hell was happening?

Her mom was on the phone, rambling about quarantine zones, but Lia’s mind was far away, tracing the dark streaks on the screen. The tower disappearing... Was there a connection? Was this tied to what had just happened to her?

Her heart raced as the news anchor continued talking, but all Lia could hear was the buzz in her head, the same hum that had been coming from the box ever since she touched it. The one that made her feel like she was holding something she shouldn’t. Something... dangerous.

Her mind snapped into overdrive. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "I need to change. I’ll be back in a sec."

Without waiting for a response, Lia turned on her heel and practically sprinted back to her room. She could feel her pulse thudding in her ears, the panic creeping up her spine.

The door clicked shut behind her as she stood in the middle of her room, the box clutched tightly in her hands. Tikki hovered in the air, her wings a faint blur of motion as she flitted nervously about.

"I... I don’t understand," Lia muttered to herself, almost more to the room than to the little creature. She let out a shaky breath, then turned her focus back to Tikki. "What’s going on? Why is all this happening? That tower—does it have something to do with me?"

Tikki landed on the desk with a soft thud, her tiny legs crossing as she fixed Lia with an intense stare. “It’s the work of another Miraculous holder,” she said, her voice grave. “And you’re involved now.”

Lia’s stomach did a flip. “Me? How—how am I involved? I didn’t ask for that to happen.”

Tikki’s gaze softened, but the urgency in her tone was unmistakable. “The Miraculous don’t care about who asks. They choose who they choose, and the consequences follow. You took the Ladybug Miraculous, and now you have its power. But someone else, someone with a different Miraculous, has triggered something big. And it’s not good.”

Lia shook her head, frustration boiling over. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’ve barely told me anything. I still don’t even know what I can do.”

Tikki sighed and fluttered closer, her tiny wings sending a soft breeze against Lia’s skin. “You can do a lot more than you think, Lia. But you have to understand this: The Miraculous are tools, and they work together. Your Miraculous is the Ladybug, and it grants the power of creation, of fixing, of bringing balance. But that’s not all. The Ladybug’s Miraculous is also tied to luck—the power to change fate, to make things align the way they need to.”

Lia’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait, what? Change fate? That sounds... ridiculous."

“I know it sounds insane," Tikki admitted, her tiny wings buzzing slightly. "But that’s what you’re dealing with. The Ladybug is the ultimate force for good, and with it, you can heal, fix broken things, create something out of nothing. But that’s not where the real power lies." Tikki paused. “The Miraculous works in tandem. The Ladybug with the Black Cat. You two must work together, balance each other out. Without that balance, things go wrong.”

Lia’s mind was spinning. “So… I can create things? Fix things?”

Tikki nodded. “Yes. But there’s a limit. The Miraculous powers come with restrictions. You can’t just create anything you want out of thin air—you have to be the one who understands the cost, the consequences. And... you need to be careful. The more you use it, the more it can control you.”

Lia took a slow breath, trying to calm herself. "What do I do now?"

Tikki hovered, her wings buzzing in the tense silence. “You need to go to the site. Find out what happened. If you don’t act fast, you’ll lose the chance to stop whatever this other Miraculous holder is planning.”

Lia turned to the window, her gaze fixed on the distant view of the town, her mind still racing. "And if I fail?"

Tikki’s voice softened. "You can’t fail. Not with this. The power’s already inside you, Lia. It’s yours, whether you want it or not. You just need to take control. Trust yourself. Trust the Miraculous."

Lia stood still, the weight of Tikki’s words heavy on her shoulders. The Miraculous powers she had just learned about were real, and now she had to figure out how to use them. How to fight, how to transform—everything was moving so fast.

Before she could even voice her next question, Tikki’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Lia, you need to transform. Say Tikki, spots on! and your Miraculous power will activate.”

Lia blinked. “Tikki, spots on?” She repeated, half in disbelief. 

The moment the words left her mouth, a warm, tingling sensation surged through her body, and she watched in awe as a magical light swirled around her. She felt the change happening, the transformation unfolding, but the process was so quick that she barely had time to brace herself.

Her clothes shifted, the black shirt with red polka dots appearing in a flash of light. Her skirt—tight black that replaced her purple —materialized next, followed by black and red polka-dotted tights that seemed to stretch effortlessly around her legs. The long combat boots completed the look, and Lia felt a surge of power course through her.

But then, she took a step back, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror. Her jaw dropped. The outfit? It was ridiculous. The polka dots were loud and garish, the skirt too cutesy, and the combat boots—while practical—felt like an odd choice. This wasn’t the kind of outfit Lia would ever wear, not even in her wildest dreams.

“Ugh. This is my superhero costume?” she muttered, running a hand through her hair, which had somehow stayed perfectly in place, despite the whirlwind of transformation.

Just as she was about to ask Tikki what the deal was with the whole look, she remembered the sudden flash of light cut through the room, and her little magical companion disappeared—into her earrings.

“Great,” Lia grumbled, staring at the now-quiet earrings dangling by her ear. “Guess I’m on my own for this one.”

She hesitated, eyeing the window. The scene outside was all too familiar: the peaceful streets, the calm neighborhood. But the knowledge of what was happening in the town—the destruction, the disappearance of the Click Tower—hung heavily in the air. It was no longer just about her.

Lia pushed the window open, stepping back to get some momentum.

She couldn’t afford to waste time. The strange feeling of her new outfit weighed on her, but the urgency of the moment pushed her forward. Without thinking twice, she sprinted to the edge of her room, took a deep breath, and jumped out the window.

As the cool wind whipped past her, she fell into the sky with a rush of adrenaline. The transformation was still new—strange—but it was real, and the fear inside her was replaced with something else: purpose. She didn’t know what was coming next, but she had to act.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure if this was a test or the start of something far bigger, but right now, all she could do was follow the path laid out for her.

And if this was her destiny? Well, Lia was done sitting on the sidelines.

She reached the ground in an instant, her boots landing with a soft thud on the dirt. She didn’t stop to think about it; her body moved instinctively. Her hands reached into the pouch at her side, pulling out the one thing that now felt like it belonged there: her yo-yo.

The smooth red and black disc felt light and powerful in her grip. With a flick of her wrist, she swung the yo-yo, sending it twirling through the air. She could feel the way the string responded to her movements, how the weight of it seemed to work with her instincts.

“Okay, this... this might be fun,” she muttered, the excitement starting to bubble up.

The string shot out, and Lia instinctively pulled it back toward her, the yo-yo zipping through the air like it was an extension of herself. She practiced a couple of swings, getting the feel of it—letting it flow and spin before snapping it back into her palm.

Her mind shifted into focus. I’ve got this.

She could use this—this yo-yo—like a weapon, like a shield. It was more than just a toy. This was her tool now, and she had no time to waste.

She wasn’t just Lia anymore. She was something new, something stronger.

With a final flick of the wrist, she sent the yo-yo soaring into the sky, the string following behind like a tether connecting her to whatever came next.

The unknown wasn't a friend of hers, but right now, she was ready to face it head-on.

And as her feet carried her forward toward the city center—toward the chaos waiting for her—Lia could feel it. 

He was halfway through brushing his teeth when his phone lit up with a picture from Henry and the single most eloquent caption known to man:

WTF.

Drew squinted, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. The photo showed the town square — except, y'know, missing its entire landmark. The Clock Tower? Gone. Just black sludge oozing where it used to be, like something ate it.

“What the hell,” Drew muttered around the foam.

Then:

“You should probably get your ass down there.”

Plagg's voice floated lazily from inside his sock drawer, muffled but smug.

Drew spat. “Why? You worried your favorite cheese shop disappeared too?”

“Not cheese-related. Probably Miraculous-related.”

Drew froze.

He hadn’t exactly signed up for full-on Tower Erasure. He figured having the Cat Miraculous meant occasional rooftop brooding and dramatic exits, not... black goo mysteries. But whatever this was — it was big.

Plagg popped his head out of the drawer. “Time to suit up, Pretty Boy.”

Drew sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

He tugged the ring off its chain and slid it onto his finger. “Plagg—claws out.”

Magic rushed through him like snapping wires and static sparks. His clothes vanished in a flash of green light, replaced with the skin-tight, totally-unnecessary, horrifyingly reflective black latex suit.

Sleeves? Yes. Tail? Why? Cat ears? Why.

“Oh my god,” Drew muttered, catching sight of himself in the mirror. “I look like the hot backup dancer from someone’s furry nightmare.”

The cropped leather jacket didn’t help. Neither did the silver belt or the staff. Was this a weapon or a dance prop?

Drew gritted his teeth, extended the baton, and vaulted out the window.

The sky rolled by in streaks of wind and motion. Drew moved like second nature now — muscle memory had already kicked in. Staff to ledge, swing, vault, repeat. His suit made him feel too light, like gravity was just a polite suggestion.

When he reached the skyline near the town square, he slowed.

Something — someone — was moving just ahead.

Red and black blurred against the rooftops. A figure in a polka-dotted outfit zipped through the air using a yo-yo like his baton. Their suit was almost clownish, all bright tights and cartoon color—but they moved fast. Fluid. Skilled.

Drew narrowed his eyes behind the mask.

Another holder?

Or a villain?

The figure landed briefly on a rooftop, yo-yo snapping back into their hand. Their mask covered most of their face, but Drew caught the tension in their shoulders. They looked... tense. Like they didn’t fully know what they were doing.

Or maybe that was just the costume. Either way, he wasn’t about to wait around and assume they were friendly.

He landed silently on the neighboring rooftop and crouched low, staff at the ready.

“Alright, polka-dot psycho,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see what you are.”

He crept forward, every instinct on edge. If this was another Miraculous holder... why hadn’t he been told?

And more importantly: who the hell was giving bug-themed fashion advice?

Drew didn’t hesitate.

He extended his baton, vaulted clean off the ledge, and slammed down in front of the red-and-black blur.

“Hey, Bugsy,” he snapped. “You the freak who nuked a clock tower this morning?”

The girl yelped, stumbling back. Up close, her suit looked even more ridiculous. Red polka dots over black skirt, tights, combat boots. She looked like a punk rock ladybug who’d been styled by chaos.

Her hand shot to her yo-yo, but she didn’t throw it. She blinked behind the mask. “What—no! Why would I—do I look like I know how to explode architecture?!”

“You’re the only person I’ve seen today swinging around like a walking cartoon. Forgive me for connecting dots.”

She scowled, then laughed once—dry and disbelieving. “Oh my god. Do you think I did it?” She crosses her arms.”For all I know, you could have done it”

Drew gestured to his all-black getup. “Do I look like a villain to you?”

She stared. “Yes. You look like if Hot Topic had a vigilante sale.”

“Ouch.”

“I mean, who gave you ears?”

“I didn’t ask for the aesthetic, Spots.”

“I didn’t ask for you to divebomb me off a roof!”

They stood there, glaring at each other—wind catching their hair (and jacket, in his case), eyes narrow behind their masks.

Then:

“…You’re not the villain,” they both muttered at once.

Silence.

Drew exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. Great. So we’ve both traumatized each other, but no one’s evil. Good talk.”

She relaxed slightly but didn’t put the yo-yo away. “So if you didn’t make the tower vanish... then who did?”

Drew’s voice dropped. “Another holder. That’s what kwami thinks, anyway.”

She frowned. “My kwami said the same thing.”

Their eyes met again—less suspicion now, more calculation.

“Okay,” she said finally, stepping forward, tone wary but steady. “So we team up. Just until we figure this out.”

Drew tilted his head. “You got a name, Bug?”

“…Don’t call me Bug.”

“Then pick something.”

She hesitated. Then: “Crimson Wing.”

He blinked. “That’s… dramatic.”

“Yours is literally cat ears and vinyl.”

“Touché.”

She folded her arms. “What about you? Got a name, or do I just keep calling you Goth Garfield?”

He smirked. “Night Claw.”

She raised an eyebrow. “…You named yourself that?”

“Don’t act like ‘Crimson Wing’ came to you in a dream.”

“I panicked, okay?!”

They both paused.

Then she sighed. “Fine. Night Claw.”

“Thank you.”

They turned toward the sludge-covered crater.

“Let’s go,” Crimson Wing said. “We’ve got goo and god knows what else to deal with.”

He nodded. “After you, Spots.”

“Crimson.”

“Sure. Spots it is.”

The two heroes stood before the empty skyline where the town’s iconic clock tower used to be. A yawning crater of black sludge pulsed faintly at its center, reflecting the gray morning light like oil.

Crimson Wing squinted. “…So. What now?”

Night Claw flicked his baton, restless. “Aren’t you the holder of creation?”

She turned to glare at him. “You really think I can recreate a clock tower?”

Before he could answer, a voice rang out — smooth, clear, almost amused:

“Fellow holders. I see you’ve arrived.”

They spun around.

A man stood at the edge of the sludge, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He was dressed in a tailored white suit, but his face was partially obscured by a black porcelain mask. Crimson lines pulsed beneath the surface of his gloves — faint, like veins.

Crimson Wing instinctively stepped back. “Are you responsible for this?”

He gestured to the gaping absence where the tower should be.

A murmur rippled through the gathering crowd behind the barricades. A helicopter whirred above them, its camera pointed down like a giant, unblinking eye.

The man didn’t flinch. “It can easily be returned. This was simply a… summons. That ring—” he nodded to Night Claw, “—and those earrings—” his eyes slid to Crimson Wing, “—belong to me.”

Night Claw narrowed his eyes. “Then why were they in a schoolbag?”

The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They were lost. Mishandled. Forgotten by someone unworthy. I created this small disruption to draw you both out.”

“Small?” Crimson Wing hissed. “You erased a landmark!”

“I did not erase it,” the man said calmly. “I moved it. There is a difference.”

Crimson Wing’s hands curled into fists. “You’re lying.”

Night Claw stepped forward, voice low. “You know him?”

She shook her head. “No. But he gives the same vibe as a fake teacher who’d fail you for breathing.”

The man chuckled. “This conversation amuses me. But truly—those artifacts are powerful. And dangerous. You don’t know what you’re holding.”

Crimson Wing raised her chin. “Maybe. But I know you’re not getting them.”

Night claw crosses his arms. “Who even are you anyway?”

The figure didn’t move for a long moment, his hands still clasped behind his back as if he were simply waiting for the right time to speak.

Finally, he tilted his head slightly. “Mataw. That is my name.”

Crimson Wing’s eyes flicked over his form, mentally calculating escape routes and any potential traps. His stance was a little more casual, but his focus never wavered.

Mataw stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “What you are holding is not yours. The consequences of refusing to return what was lost... will be catastrophic.”

He glanced briefly at the civilians gathering behind the police barricades, their faces filled with fear and confusion.

“You will regret it,” he said coolly, then raised one gloved hand and gestured to the hovering helicopter cameras above. “You all are witnesses. The destruction that will unfold — every ounce of it — is on you.”

His voice carried, sharp and clear, cutting through the growing tension. “I tried to resolve this peacefully. I sought the return of what’s rightfully mine. And this,” he said, sweeping his hand toward the crater that used to be the clock tower, “is what you’ve forced me to do.”

Crimson Wing’s fists tightened, ready to strike, but before she could act, Mataw took a step back. He didn’t move fast, but the air around him seemed to shift, dark and heavy with an unspoken threat.

“I’m not here for games. Give them back, or we will see how far I’m willing to go.” His eyes locked with theirs, cold as ice. “You’ve been warned.”

And just like that, the tension snapped.

With a sudden, near-silent shift in the air, he vanished — fading into the inky blackness that now seemed to cloak the wreckage of the clock tower.

A beat passed. Then another.

The helicopter buzzed overhead.

Night Claw broke the silence, muttering. “Mataw... Great. Just what we needed.”

Crimson Wing’s eyes never left the spot where he had stood. “This is bad. Really bad.”

The crowd’s whispers had reached a fever pitch. Sirens blared in the distance.

But the real question hung in the air, unanswered: What the hell had they just walked into?

Night Claw leaned against a wall, arms crossed, eyeing the scene with a look that said he’d rather be anywhere but here. Crimson Wing had done her thing—restored the tower with a bit of flair, and now the media was all over her like flies on honey. He couldn’t care less about the spotlight, but he was starting to feel like he might need to start doing his own thing to get some attention. The whole hero act was exhausting, and the crowds? Even worse.

Crimson Wing, of course, was eating it up. The reporters threw question after question at her, and she was practically glowing. It seemed to be her first time in the limelight, and boy, did she look the part.

“Crimson Wing, how did you restore the tower so fast?” one of the reporters asked, practically salivating for an answer.

“Creation,” Crimson Wing said casually, clearly enjoying the spotlight. “It’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.”

“Creation? Is that your Miraculous power? What’s next for you? Are you planning on restoring the city?”

Crimson Wing shrugged, smiling like she was a kid in a candy store. “One step at a time. I’m just trying to help out.”

Night Claw, however, was over it. He leaned back and checked his phone, scrolling aimlessly as the crowd continued to swarm her. He glanced at Crimson Wing with a bored look.

“Is it always like this?” he asked under his breath.

Crimson Wing glanced at him, her smile slipping into something a little more teasing. “What’s your deal? You’re acting like you’re too good for the media.”

Night Claw scoffed, not even looking up from his phone. “Please. These people would sell their souls for a hero to put on a pedestal. I’d rather not be their next sacrificial lamb.”

She gave him an incredulous look, clearly annoyed by his attitude. “You know, not everyone likes being in the spotlight, but it’s kind of what we signed up for, isn’t it?”

“Right, sure,” Night Claw muttered, still scrolling. “Except some of us actually care about keeping our heads on our shoulders. Unlike some people.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? That they’ll figure out who you are?” Crimson Wing raised an eyebrow.

“Not afraid, just pragmatic,” Night Claw shot back. “The less people know, the less they can screw with us. Simple math.”

Crimson Wing’s smile faded a little, her expression softening with the understanding that he wasn’t completely wrong. She looked down at the now-fully restored clock tower, where the crowd was still cheering.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him. “I get it. Still... doesn’t it feel good to do something right? For once?”

Night Claw finally looked up from his phone and shot her a glance, his expression a mix of skepticism and sarcasm. “Yeah, sure. It’s so fulfilling. Can’t wait for the next big mess.” He motioned to the helicopter that was hovering overhead. “And here comes the circus. Great. Just what I needed.”

Crimson Wing shot him a glare but didn’t say anything more. The helicopters had begun circling, and the first few civilian trucks had arrived on the scene. Journalists scrambled, pushing their way toward the restored tower and trying to get the best shot of Crimson Wing.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Night Claw muttered. He couldn’t stand this level of attention. He wasn’t here to save the day for anyone's ego.

Crimson Wing paused for a moment and looked back at him. “So, are you planning on sticking around, or is your precious privacy going to pull you away?”

Night Claw tilted his head, giving her a sidelong glance. “I’d stay and bask in the glory, but I’ve got important things to do. Like not getting my identity plastered across the news.”

She crossed her arms, suddenly looking more serious. “Yeah. I get it. This is dangerous.”

Night Claw’s expression turned a little more serious as well, but the sarcasm didn’t leave his voice. “Oh, really? You don’t say. I thought being a public figure was the safest thing in the world.”

“Shut up,” Crimson Wing muttered, the teasing edge still there, but with more sincerity now. “So, what? You don’t want to team up? Fine, I guess we’re on our own then.”

Night Claw rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in taking down the bad guys. I’m just saying—if we want to stay alive and not have our lives ruined by the press, we’re better off keeping this whole hero thing under wraps.”

Crimson Wing sighed, looking away. “Yeah. You’re right. So, no team names or partnerships?”

“Partnership? Nah. I’m just here for the destruction. No strings attached.” He paused, then shrugged, his sarcasm slipping into something more tired. “But hey, if you need me, I’ll be around.”

She didn’t respond immediately, looking like she was debating whether to argue or just let it go. Instead, she glanced back at the clock tower, now fully restored, as the press began bombarding her with questions again.

Night Claw turned his back on the scene, walking away as he pulled his hood up. “You’re on your own with that circus, Spots,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Crimson Wing caught one last glance at him, a small smirk pulling at her lips. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

He didn’t answer, just shot her a smirk of his own over his shoulder. “I try.”

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her to deal with the fallout.

Chapter Text

The next day, homeroom buzzed with energy. Screens glowed with looping footage of the two new mystery heroes. Crimson Wing and Night Claw. The town’s latest obsession.

Drew slouched in his seat beside Jake, jaw tight. Henry and Liam sat in front of them, throwing theories back and forth like it was a game. Across the aisle, Zoey was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh my god, she was perfect,” Zoey gushed, flipping her hair. “Crimson Wing? Literally a goddess. I want that skirt. And those tights? I need to know her brand.”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “You know Night Claw was there too, right?”

Zoey shrugged. “Yeah, but he didn’t do much. Crimson Wing restored a whole building and looked amazing doing it. No offense, babe.”

Drew leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “None taken,” he said, though his voice was a little clipped.

Lia, sitting next to Zoey, shifted cheeks burning. Her hands fiddled with the edge of her sleeve as she turned toward Jake. “What did you think of Crimson Wing?”

Jake blinked, tugging one earbud out. “Uh, yeah. She was cool. Real strong.”

Lia’s lips curled slightly. “Right?”

“But Night Claw was insane,” Jake continued, eyes lighting up. “That whole staff thing? Dude’s like a ninja. Kind of badass.”

Lia’s smile faltered. “Oh. Yeah. Totally.”

She slouched a little in her seat, but Drew caught it. He couldn’t help himself—he turned, lips twisting in a smirk.

“Night Claw was cooler,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.

Lia glanced at him, unimpressed. “In what universe?”

“In the one where not every hero needs to preen for the cameras,” he shot back smoothly.

“Please. He barely said a word,” she snapped. “Probably doesn’t even have a personality under that mask.”

“I could say the same about the walking fashion ad you’re crushing on.”

Lia’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe Crimson Wing doesn’t need to hide in the shadows to matter.”

Drew smirked again. “Maybe she should.”

Liam gave them a look, sensing the sudden edge between the two. “Okay, chill. They’re both cool. Don’t start a fan war in class.”

“Whatever,” Lia muttered, turning away. 

Drew leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, letting the smirk fade into something quieter. No one could know. Especially not him.

Drew liked routines. Lunch was one of the few parts of the day that didn’t suck: same table, same guys, same background noise of cliques and cafeteria chaos. Predictable. Manageable.

Today? Off.

Jake dropped into the seat across from him like he had a secret burning a hole in his mouth. Drew didn’t like that look. Too smug. Too self-satisfied.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Jake said, grinning, hands raised like a white flag.

Drew didn't blink. “Pretty sure you don’t.”

Henry looked up, chewing loudly. “What’d you do?”

Jake laughed, sheepish. “Okay, so... I might’ve bailed yesterday. But it wasn’t personal.”

Drew leaned back, arms crossed. “Obviously.”

Jake winced. “I joined the music club.”

Dead silence.

Henry made a sound halfway between a choke and a wheeze. “You what?”

Liam snorted. “Is that legal?”

Drew didn’t even move. Just stared at him like he was watching a train derail in slow motion.

“You ditched us for... what, a triangle solo?”

Jake raised a finger. “Technically, it’s not band, it’s more—”

“Worse.”

Henry lost it, laughing so hard his tray rattled. “Oh my god. You actually joined the music kids. The music freaks.”

Jake groaned. “It’s not a big deal! Daisy asked if I could sing something. There’s this competition next month and—”

“Oh my god,” Liam muttered. “You’re doing this for a girl.”

Henry raised his drink in mock salute. “To our fallen brother. May your ballads be brief.”

Drew didn’t laugh.

Didn’t smile.

He’d taken hits for Jake. Covered for him. Backed him up when he didn’t deserve it. And now Jake was out here trying to flirt with Daisy by joining Hailey and Zander’s club. The people they mocked. Every. Week.

Drew’s voice was low and flat. “You know they’re gonna eat you alive, right?”

Jake frowned. “It’s not like that.”

But Drew didn’t bother arguing.

Because something was already wriggling in his hoodie.

Plagg.

The little gremlin had been eyeing Drew’s lunch all period. Drew had ignored it—tried to—but the twitchy movement in his pocket only got worse.

And then, without warning—

He leapt.

Right onto the table.

Right next to Jake’s half-eaten sandwich.

“Cheese!” Plagg cried, latching onto the sandwich with both paws like it was a long-lost love.

Drew jolted out of his seat. “Dude—!”

But it was too late.

The table froze.

Henry’s jaw dropped. Jake blinked like his brain short-circuited. Liam was already halfway pulling his phone out of his pocket before Drew slapped it down.

“What the—”

“That’s my... pet,” Drew muttered, lunging to scoop Plagg up like a stress ball and shoving him back into his hoodie. “He’s... expensive. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Drew,” Jake said slowly, “what the hell was that?”

Drew didn’t answer. Just grabbed his tray and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m leaving before this turns into something dumber,” he muttered, marching off.

Behind him: a stolen sandwich, a stunned silence, and three very confused boys.

Zander hated this.

He hated everything about it — the obnoxious way Jake smiled when he walked into the music room like he belonged, the smug way he leaned against the piano bench like he didn’t spend the last two years making their lives hell. He hated the way Hailey looked at him now, all hopeful and shiny-eyed, like she believed in second chances or whatever.

They didn’t even need a singer.

“Welcome to the club,” she’d said, like that meant something.

Zander wanted to skewer him on a tuning fork.

“Okay, but imagine the drama,” Milly whispered beside him, vibrating like a gremlin. She looked thrilled, already plotting her next chaos. “He’s got a punchable face. This is gonna be fun.”

Zander didn’t respond.

Sean, predictably, was nice about it. Offered Jake a chair, told him they were glad to have him, like he didn’t know Jake shoved Zander’s classical music sheets into the garbage in ninth grade. Luke sat beside Zander, calm as ever, giving him that soft, infuriating look that said I know you're mad, but this is for the best.

And damn it, that look did calm him a little.

But not much.

Because then there was Hailey.

Hailey, who used to flinch when Jake came near. Hailey, who’d barely spoken about it, just shrugged and said, “People change,” like it was simple. Like trusting him was a reasonable option.

Zander wanted to scream.

He wasn’t crazy. He knew what Jake was. A pretty face with sharp teeth. Just because he sang one decent verse didn’t mean he was a good person.

But no one else seemed to see it.

And that, more than anything, made Zander feel like he was losing his mind.

Zander slammed the bathroom door behind him, the harsh thud reverberating through the quiet. He pressed his back against it, hands gripping his shirt as his mind raced.

Why did Jake have to join the club? Why did Hailey trust him so easily?

Zander closed his eyes, letting the frustration roll through him like a wave. He hated that feeling, that suffocating tightness in his chest that only seemed to grow every time he thought about Jake — and about Hailey.

It wasn’t Jake’s fault. Jake wasn’t doing anything wrong by joining the club, or trying to talk to them. But the way Hailey had just... let him in. She was too trusting. Too hopeful. She didn’t see through people the way she should.

He didn’t want to be harsh, but it was impossible to ignore that she was naïve. She always had been.

Zander just didn’t want to see her hurt again. After everything, the last thing she needed was to open herself up to someone like Jake — someone who didn’t care for her the way she cared for him. Zander knew that all too well.

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, watching the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes hardened. He didn’t fault Hailey for being who she was, for trusting so easily. But he couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt again. He knew how that felt. He’d seen it too many times.

“Zander?” Luke’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Zander didn’t move. He didn’t want to talk. Not yet. Not when everything inside him was a tangled mess.

But Luke was persistent. The door creaked open, just a bit, and Zander could feel the pressure of the moment. Luke wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Zander, you okay?” Luke’s voice was soft, quiet, but laced with concern. He stepped inside, his gaze gentle, always the kind to offer support when needed.

Zander sighed, shaking his head. “I just don’t get it. Why Jake? Why the hell is Hailey letting him in like that?”

Luke leaned against the sink, arms folded across his chest. “You’re mad at her?”

Zander shook his head again, feeling the weight of his words. “No. I’m not mad at her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She’s just too... trusting. Too open. She doesn’t see people like I do. It’s dangerous. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Luke remained silent for a moment, watching Zander closely. He wasn’t going to push him, but his expression told Zander that he understood.

“It’s not her fault,” Zander continued, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “She’s just... too hopeful. I don’t want to see her hurt again. I don’t want to see her let her guard down and then get crushed.”

He turned away from Luke, fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know if I’m just overreacting.”

Luke moved closer, his hand settling gently on Zander’s shoulder. “You care about her. That’s all.”

Zander didn’t respond, the tightness in his chest returning. Luke was right. He did care. But this was more than just caring—this was about protecting her, even if it meant pushing her away. Even if it meant keeping her in the dark.

Zander turned his gaze to his watch, feeling something stir beneath the surface. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this. Like something was watching him, hovering just at the edges of his awareness. Something cold.

He blinked. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker—just a hint of darkness, a shadow passing across the surface of his wrist. He rubbed it absently, trying to ignore the discomfort creeping over him.

But it didn’t go away.

His mind was distracted, a nagging feeling digging into the back of his thoughts. Was it his imagination? Or was something else happening?

“You good?” Luke asked, voice low, his hand still on Zander’s shoulder.

Zander nodded. “Yeah. Just... tired. I’ll figure it out.”

Luke gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder before stepping back. “Okay, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

Zander offered him a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he could talk about it—about Hailey, about Jake, about what he was feeling. It was too much.

Luke left the bathroom, leaving Zander alone with his thoughts. Zander stared at the mirror again, watching the way his reflection stared back, looking every bit as unsettled as he felt.

A deep, sharp breath escaped him, and he turned away, walking towards the door.

But just as his hand touched the handle, something caught his eye — a quick flash of black, almost imperceptible. A shadow that shouldn’t have been there.

And then, a sudden chill swept over him, like something was tugging at the edges of his mind.

He turned his head, but there was nothing. No one.

Except…

A butterfly.

A sudden, cold breeze whispered through the bathroom, but when Zander looked around, he didn’t see anything. The shadows seemed deeper than usual, pooling in the corners. His heartbeat sped up, the silence thickening as if the air itself was waiting.

Zander’s watch—his father’s old gift to him—clicked loudly against his wrist. The strange sensation surged again. A feeling… like something was watching him.

Before he could register what was happening, a small, dark butterfly flew into view. It hovered for a moment in front of him, its wings glowing faintly in the dim light. Zander recoiled instinctively, but it was too late.

The butterfly darted straight toward his watch, and without warning, it sunk into the center of it, disappearing in a flash of violet light.

Zander gasped. “What the—”

His watch glowed ominously, the light flickering like it was alive. He felt something cold and sharp crawl over him, as if his body was sinking into the ground. The walls felt like they were closing in, the space around him warping.

“Zander…” a voice whispered. It was faint but clear, as if someone was speaking just behind his ear.

He spun around, but no one was there.

"Who—?" His throat tightened, panic bubbling to the surface.

Then the voice spoke again, more clearly this time.

“You are the perfect candidate.”

Zander froze, his chest tightening with confusion and dread. The voice didn’t sound human, but something more.

“I can help you make things right,” the voice continued, now almost soothing. “All you need to do is let go of your anger. Trust me.”

Zander felt a strange tug in his mind, the anger, the hurt—everything he’d been feeling in the past few days—flooding him like a rising tide. His fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palm, but it didn’t matter. It felt right.

He wanted to make everything disappear. The betrayal. The anger. The frustration. He didn’t care if it was his friends, Hailey—he just wanted it all gone.

“I can make it disappear, Zander. All of it.”

Zander felt a dark calm wash over him. The pressure in his chest released. His hands slowly unclenched. He could hear his heart beating slower, steadier. Everything seemed... clear now.

And then, a voice—real, sharp, commanding—cut through the haze.

“You will listen to me,” it said, cold and final.

Zander looked down at his wrist, his watch now glowing with a pulsating, dark violet light. The butterfly had transformed into something more—something dangerous.

Without thinking, he responded.

“...What do I have to do?”

Lia sat next to Zoey in the cafeteria, poking at her tray of food without really seeing it. The buzz of the lunchroom faded into a dull hum as her thoughts spiraled—Hailey’s face from this morning, calm and focused during club announcements, haunted her.

That should’ve been her. The thought clawed at Lia’s gut like guilt given form. The miraculous—Tikki—power... all of it had landed in her lap, but she didn’t feel chosen. She felt like a thief.

"You're quiet," Zoey said, taking a sip from her designer bottle of mineral water, her sharp green eyes flicking toward Lia. "Let me guess. You're thinking about Jake again."

Lia blinked. “What?”

Zoey smirked. "Don’t play dumb. You've had that same dumb look since first period. I know that look. It's the Jake look."

Lia’s heart gave a guilty twist. It wasn't Jake, not this time—but she let Zoey believe it. Better she think Lia was pining over a boy than unraveling over the fact she was a fraud wearing a magical heirloom that was never meant for her.

“I dunno,” Lia muttered. “He barely looks at me.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. “He’s not worth it. Honestly, if he wasn’t in our group, I’d say drop him.”

That stung a little, but Zoey always said what she thought—no matter how blunt. Lia glanced at her, taking in how composed she looked, even now. Like she had the world under control.

Zoey leaned back in her seat, casually brushing a blonde-pink strand from her eyes. “Besides, you’ve got bigger things to worry about than some dusty white boy who still thinks being loud is a personality trait.”

Lia snorted despite herself, the smile faltering as her thoughts looped back to Hailey. She should know. She should have the earrings. She was better. Stronger. Kinder. Still believed people could change—even Jake.

Lia didn’t feel great. She felt like a shadow of who she could be. A person who left Hailey for Zoey. A person who laughed at others when it meant staying close to the queen bee.

Was she really meant to be a hero?

Zoey nudged her with a knee under the table. “Hey. Don’t spiral. It’s just a guy.”

Lia looked up, startled. “Yeah. Right.”

Zoey gave her a smirk, one hand resting on her chin. “Besides, you’ve got me. And I’m a way better upgrade.”

Lia laughed softly, but the pit in her stomach stayed.

Because deep down, she wasn’t thinking about Jake. She was thinking about Hailey.

And what she’d say if she ever found out the truth.

Jake had a problem.

Well—he had several.

Luke had looked at him during rehearsal like he was calculating the exact angle to snap his spine if he made Zander cry. Hailey barely said two words to him that weren’t laced with suspicion. And Zander—yeah, Zander hated him. Like, actively.

The only person who even slightly seemed okay with him being there was Sean. But even then, it felt more like he was trying to train a golden retriever than welcoming a fellow club member.

Which… fair.

But the worst part?

He actually wanted to do this. Like, seriously. He liked singing. He liked the energy of the club—even if it was painfully obvious no one trusted him yet. And Daisy had told him, really earnestly, “It might help if people saw you were serious. You’re, um, popular. Sort of.”

“Sort of” was generous, but Jake took the win.

Which is how he ended up standing awkwardly in front of them—Zoey and Lia—during lunch, trying not to visibly sweat.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Zoey opened one eye. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” he said, already regretting this.

“And yet, I feel confident.”

Lia looked up, and her whole face shifted into something... brighter. “Jake,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear like she hadn’t practiced the move a hundred times. “What’s up?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So... you guys know the music competition thing?”

Zoey sighed. “You mean the music freak club you guys keep bothering?”

“I’m the lead singer now.”

That made both of them pause.

Lia’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Oh, wow. That’s... actually really impressive.”

Jake blinked. “Thanks?”

“You have a good voice,” she added, a little too quickly. “I mean, I always thought so. Ever since that karaoke night.”

Jake looked confused. “What Karaoke night?”

Zoey cut in, uninterested. “So what, you want us to clap or something?”

Jake shook his head. “No, I just—Daisy said it’d be smart to get people talking about it. We’re doing a performance soon. If people know I’m the singer, they might actually show up.”

Zoey frowned like he’d said the word “homework.” “You want us to make it trend.”

Jake smiled sheepishly. “You guys are good at that.”

“I’m good at that,” Zoey corrected, pointing at herself. “She’s... decent.”

Lia smiled, faint but smug. “I’m the one with everyone’s numbers.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. “Fine. Send the text.”

Jake turned to Lia. “You don’t have to if it’s a hassle—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I want to. I mean, it’s cool you’re doing this. Brave.”

Jake blinked. “It’s not that big a deal.”

She looked down at her phone, typing fast. “It is,” she said, not looking up. “Takes guts to sing in front of people. Most people can’t even talk to a crowd.”

Jake grinned. “Well, I can barely do that either. But singing’s different. You just kinda... go for it.”

Lia looked up at him with something soft in her eyes.

He smiled back, clueless.

She sent the text.

Mass group thread. Dozens of names. The promo flyer attached with a simple message:

"Come see our very own Jake steal the show. Music club’s first showcase. You don’t want to miss it."

Zoey peeked over her shoulder. “You made him sound famous. You’re gross.”

“Jealous?” Lia asked lightly.

“Of him? Never.” Zoey leaned back with a smirk. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t break a leg.”

The flyer was still buzzing through everyone's phones when it happened.

Lia was just starting to bask in the glow of Jake saying “thanks” like it meant something when the sky outside the cafeteria darkened. Not with clouds—but with a sharp, unnatural pulse of light, violet-blue and spreading like cracked glass across the windows.

Then—

BOOM.

The doors blasted open.

Tables shook. Trays flew. Someone screamed.

And something—or rather, someone—stepped through the swirling smoke. Floating just slightly off the ground, draped in a swirling cloak of shadow, with long sharp lines carved across their armor like it had been made from shattered mirrors. A single void-like mask obscured their face, but the energy bleeding off him was undeniable.

Zander.

Or... what used to be him.

His voice rang out, distorted and cold, layered with a thousand whispers:

“Loyalty is a joke. Trust is a weapon. Let me show you how it feels.”

Sean was already pulling Milly back by the arm. Luke was frozen. Hailey's eyes widened—not in fear, but recognition.

Jake stood up slowly, pale.

Lia’s stomach dropped. The air burned with pressure. Tikki stirred in her bag.

Zoey blinked, looking around. “Is this part of the show?”

Lia grabbed her wrist. “Run.”

Zander raised his hand, and a crack in the air opened—like reality itself had been sliced open. A cafeteria table vanished entirely into it, as if it had never existed.

He looked down at the stunned students, directly at Jake.

“You took everything from me. Let me return the favor.”

The energy crackled in the air. It smelled like ozone and burnt metal.

Jake stepped forward. Slowly. Hands raised. His voice wavered, but not with fear — more like disbelief.

“Zander… dude, it’s me. You don’t have to do this.”

Zander tilted his head, his mask reflecting Jake’s face like a funhouse mirror.

“You think I don’t?”

A burst of void energy shattered a vending machine beside them, sucking the debris into thin air. People were screaming now, rushing out the doors, tripping over themselves. Hailey was yelling something — maybe his name — but Jake didn’t move.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he tried again. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know it would matter this much—”

“You never think it will,” Zander spat, and the void in his palm expanded.

“Jake!” Lia’s voice cracked through the chaos. “Move!”

He spun just in time to dodge a slicing arc of violet energy. A table disappeared behind him. That was enough. Jake took the cue and bolted after the crowd, breathing hard.

Lia ducked behind the flipped tray cart, heart pounding so loud it muffled the screaming. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag.

Tikki floated out, arms crossed, glowing dim in the flickering light.

Tikki’s voice cut through the chaos with a strange calm:

“You need to transform.”

Lia’s hands shook, fingers hovering just above the brooch hidden beneath her shirt.

“I know.”

The cafeteria shuddered again—another slice through the air, like the world itself was protesting Zander’s presence.

Lia took a breath, sharp and steady. The fear didn't vanish, but it sharpened—became something usable. Her eyes narrowed.

She whispered the words like a promise.

“Crimson Wing, wings out.”

In a flash of scarlet light, her civilian clothes melted away. Her body glowed crimson-red and black, dots blooming across her limbs like embers. Sleek armor laced with fine patterns of thread spread over her frame. A winged mask slid over her face.

The yo-yo snapped into her hand like it belonged there, humming with potential.

Tikki vanished into the earring, her glow settling.

The cafeteria was in ruins.

Ceiling tiles cracked and hung like jagged teeth. Smoke curled from a blown-out vending machine. Students poured out in panic, their screams fading down the halls. In the center of it all stood the masked figure—Voidbane—his body shrouded in deep violet energy, hands pulsing with unraveling force.

His voice came layered, a dozen tones at once, like a corrupted recording:

“Give me your Miraculouses. And give me him.”

Lia, now fully transformed as Crimson Wing, stepped forward. Her crimson suit shimmered under the broken lights, yo-yo gripped tightly in her hand. Her stance was unwavering, but her stomach twisted.

“You’re not getting either,” she said, voice sharp.

Voidbane tilted his head, slow and deliberate. His mask caught the light in fractured shards, reflecting Jake’s face distorted and wide-eyed.

“You think this is about power?” Voidbane murmured. “It’s about balance. Jake Sterling tore mine apart.”

He turned his gaze to Jake—still standing dumbstruck in the middle of the wreckage.

“He took everything from me. He doesn’t get to walk away from that.”

Jake stepped forward, carefully, hands slightly raised. His voice was tight with disbelief.

“Zander... come on, man. I’m sorry for how I treated you.”

The name seemed to ripple through Voidbane like static.

“You don’t get to say my name. Or apologise!”

He hurled a blast of void energy toward Jake—a sudden, shrieking tear in the air.

And then—

A black blur dropped from above, intercepting the blast with a loud crack. In the next breath, Jake was scooped off his feet and into someone’s arms. His vision spun, and when it stopped, he found himself being carried—swiftly, securely—by someone in sleek black and silver armor.

Night Claw.

“I don’t usually do rescues,” the boy said, his voice dry and low. “But I make exceptions for blondes.”

Jake blinked, completely dazed.

“…Hi?”

“Hold on tight.”

They landed just beside Crimson Wing. Jake stumbled to his feet as Night Claw let him go, eyes flicking once over him, checking for injury.

Lia exhaled, a brief look of relief breaking through her scowl.

“You took your time,” she muttered.

“Traffic,” Night Claw replied, deadpan.

Voidbane rose from the impact, his energy warping the air again. His voice came deeper now, laced with venom. 

“You think you’re safe because you’re together? That the ‘power of friendship’ makes you untouchable?” Voidbane sarcastically held his hands together, batting his eyes.

He raised both arms, and the space beneath Jake shimmered—reality itself fracturing.

“He’s not worth saving.”

The void pulsed beneath Jake’s feet.

Night Claw moved before anyone could shout. He shoved Jake clear of the collapse, skidding back as the ground where Jake had stood folded inward like paper.

Crimson Wing’s yo-yo shot forward, catching Voidbane by the wrist. She yanked hard, slamming him into the base of an overturned table. Dust and debris exploded around him, but the villain pushed up, cracking his neck with an eerie calm.

“You can protect him for now,” he said. “But I’ll return. I always do.”

Then the shadows pulled inward—and Voidbane was gone.

Silence fell.

Jake collapsed to the floor, breathing hard, eyes wide. Night Claw crouched beside him, one gloved hand briefly resting against Jake’s shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, softer this time.

Jake looked up, meeting his eyes.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Night Claw stood, and Crimson Wing approached, brushing dust off her arm.

“Next time, show up before the cafeteria explodes,” she said.

Night Claw gave her a faint, crooked smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The trio regrouped on a rooftop, the distant noise of sirens cutting through the heavy silence. Crimson Wing paced, her yo-yo spinning absently at her side, tension radiating from every step.

“He’s too powerful to be just another akumatized villain,” she muttered. “That kind of energy—it wasn’t just grief. He was feeding it.”

Night Claw stood apart, arms crossed, eyes scanning the skyline with practiced calm.

“It’s not just the akuma. He’s drawing power from something else. Something older.”

Jake sat on the edge of a vent, hunched over, head in his hands. He hadn’t spoken much since they’d pulled him out. Now, quietly, he said:

“Zander used to wear this watch. Always. Some old thing. I used to mess with him about it—said it looked like something his grandpa dug up.”

Crimson Wing stopped in her tracks. “The watch?”

Jake looked up, blinking. “Yeah… I mean, I don’t know. But right before everything went… wrong, he was fiddling with it. And it glowed. Not normal ‘glow-in-the-dark cool gadget’ glowing. Like—like it was alive.”

Night Claw’s expression darkened. “A conduit.” He glanced at Crimson Wing. “Maybe even a container. If the akuma’s hiding in the watch, that’s why we couldn’t sense it.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably. “It… it was from his dad. I think. I don’t know all the details—I wasn’t close to him like that. I only overheard him telling Hailey once.”

That hung in the air like smoke.

Crimson Wing’s voice softened, just slightly. “That gives us a direction.” She turned to Night Claw. “Next time, we go for the watch.”

He nodded, gaze hardening.

“Break the object. Free the akuma. Before he destroys more than just the cafeteria.”

Crimson Wing didn’t wait.

The rooftops blurred beneath her feet, wind slicing past her ears as she vaulted into the night. Her yo-yo latched to a far antenna, whirring with tension, then snapped her forward. Behind her, the faint tap of claws on metal echoed her urgency — Night Claw was right on her heels.

The city was still recovering from the earlier attack, sirens echoing in the distance. But she felt it — the static in the air, the heaviness of a breach nearby.

Voidbane was close.

“There,” Night Claw said beside her, pointing down to the street below where the shadows folded unnaturally around a lone figure. The cracks in the pavement pulsed with violet light. A lamppost flickered — then blinked out entirely.

Voidbane stood still, head tilted, watch glowing dim on his wrist like a heartbeat.

Crimson Wing landed hard, boots skidding against the pavement. She flung her yo-yo forward — it spun past Voidbane, embedding in a wall behind him.

“Let them go,” she said, her voice calm but cutting.

Voidbane turned, slow and deliberate. His mask reflected her like cracked glass.

“You followed me again. Predictable.”

“Someone has to,” Night Claw growled, landing beside her, claws flexing. “And we’re not leaving without your akuma.”

Voidbane’s fingers twitched toward his wrist — toward the watch. That pulse of energy rippled again. The shadows warped like heatwaves.

“You really don’t get it,” he said, voice layered in that eerie chorus.

“They all doesn’t deserve saving.”

Crimson Wing didn’t flinch. “Maybe not. But you don’t deserve to lose yourself for him.”

A beat.

Then Voidbane moved.

Tendrils of void split the pavement as he raised his hand — and this time, Crimson Wing didn’t hesitate. Her yo-yo whipped toward his arm, targeting the wrist. Sparks flew. The impact staggered him, but the watch stayed intact — just cracked.

Night Claw shot forward in a blur, sweeping low. “Got your timepiece, freak—”

But Voidbane was faster, shadows rising to throw him back.

“Try again,” he said coldly.

Crimson Wing caught Night Claw before he hit the wall, her eyes flicking to the fractured glass of the watch.

They were close.

Too close to back off now.

Crimson Wing rolled as a wall of void energy shattered behind her, chunks of pavement sucked into nothing. Night Claw cursed under his breath, claws sparking against the ground as he ducked beside her.

“This guy’s tougher than last time,” he muttered.

“He’s more desperate,” she replied, gaze locked on the watch—its center now flickering erratically. Cracked. But still pulsing.

She took a sharp breath. “Tikki, Lucky Charm!”

A brilliant red glow flared in her palm, spiraling into shape—this time, a simple screwdriver clattered into her hand.

She stared at it. “Seriously?”

Night Claw blinked. “What, you gonna fix his attitude?”

“No,” she murmured, eyes narrowing on the watch. “I’m going to break the only thing holding it together.”

Voidbane lifted his hand again, preparing another blast. His voice echoed, layered and cold:

“I warned you. Step back, or disappear with him.”

Crimson Wing twirled the screwdriver once, calculating. “Now.”

She launched herself forward—yo-yo binding Voidbane’s arm for a split second, just long enough. She jammed the screwdriver into the cracked edge of the watch’s frame, twisted sharply.

The metal split with a sharp click.

Voidbane gasped, staggered—

“Claw it!” she shouted.

Night Claw was already moving. “With pleasure.”

His claws lit with black energy. He slammed his palm onto the exposed gears.

“Cataclysm.”

The watch sparked violently—then exploded in a pulse of violet and black, shadowy tendrils whipping outward before evaporating like smoke. Voidbane cried out, falling to his knees as the mask began to peel away, the corruption draining from his body.

A black butterfly fluttered up from the wreckage, wings trembling.

Crimson Wing’s yo-yo snapped out, capturing it in a gentle spiral of red light.

“No more evil-doing for you, little akuma,” she whispered. “Time to de-evilize!”

The butterfly turned white and soared away into the night.

Crimson Wing stood, watching as the destruction slowly reversed around them. The cracks in the street mended themselves, and the air seemed to clear of the tension that had once clung to it. Voidbane’s chaotic presence dissipated like smoke in the wind, leaving only Zander standing there—slightly disoriented, the watch now silent in his hand.

Crimson Wing took a cautious step forward, her eyes locked on him as she waited for something, anything, to signal that he was back to normal. Night Claw remained several paces away, his posture casual but watchful, eyes scanning the damage and the now-collapsing fight zone.

Zander looked up at them, confusion in his eyes. “What... what did I just do?”

Crimson Wing didn’t respond right away, her gaze softening as she saw the genuine bewilderment on his face. She stepped aside slightly, letting Night Claw take the lead.

Night Claw shrugged indifferently, his voice carrying the same disinterest as always. “You lost control. Don’t know how. Don’t really care. But now it’s over.”

Zander’s expression fell, his grip on the watch tightening. "I didn’t mean to—"

He was cut off as the sound of helicopters and sirens started to echo in the distance. Crimson Wing glanced up, a flash of concern passing across her face.

“They’re coming,” she muttered, scanning the area quickly. “We need to leave.”

Without another word, she gestured to Night Claw, who gave a quick, dismissive nod. He didn’t seem to care much about Zander’s confusion. As far as he was concerned, it was done.

Zander took a step forward, eyes still on the ground, feeling the weight of the watch. But before he could say anything else, Night Claw brushed past him, heading toward the nearest rooftop.

Crimson Wing shot Zander one last look before she turned away as well, her voice firm but not unkind. “Keep that watch safe. You’re on your own from here.”

Zander stood frozen, watching as they disappeared into the night, their figures swallowed by the shadows. The sound of the sirens grew louder. He was left alone, still unsure of what had just happened, but the reality of the situation was sinking in fast. Things had changed. And now, he had to face whatever came next. 

Drew dropped from the rooftop in one clean motion, boots hitting the pavement with a muffled thud. His transformation was gone now—no mask, no shadow of power trailing behind him. Just Drew, sharp-eyed and silent, hands shoved in his jacket pockets like this was just another walk home.

He barely noticed the overturned trash bins or the faint hum of leftover destruction. His mind was on one thing.

“Jake,” he muttered, eyes scanning the street.

He found him wedged behind a rusted gate near a closed-down laundromat, slouched against the brick wall. Jake didn’t look hurt—no blood, no broken bones—but he was pale, shaking slightly, like the adrenaline hadn’t quite worn off.

Drew opened the gate without a word and crouched in front of him. “You alive?”

Jake gave a soft, tired laugh. “Debatable.”

Drew huffed. “Dumbass. You stood there like you were ready to get wiped off the map.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Jake said, voice hollow. “Zander’s dramatic, yeah, but this—this was different.”

Drew shrugged, leaning back on his heels. “Power makes people worse. You and I both know that.”

Jake looked at him then—really looked. “You don’t care, do you? About what happened to him.”

Drew’s gaze didn’t waver. “No. Should I?”

Jake stared. “He got akumatized because of us. Because of how we treated him. You really don’t feel anything?”

There was a pause. Drew’s jaw tightened for a beat, but his voice was flat. “He made his choice. People hurt. They lash out. Doesn’t mean I have to take responsibility for it.”

Jake shook his head slightly, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “He’s still a person.”

“Who cares,” Drew snapped, sharper now. “ You want me to cry about the guy who just tried to erase you from existence?”

Jake didn’t answer.

The silence sat heavy between them. Drew finally stood, brushing dust from his hands. “Look. I’m glad you’re not dead. That’s what I care about.”

He held out a hand.

Jake hesitated, then took it—but his grip was stiff, distant.

Drew helped him up and didn’t let go right away, even when Jake glanced down at their hands.

When he finally did release him, Drew looked away. “Let’s go.”

Jake followed, but not as closely this time.

And behind them, the city kept on glowing—loud, alive, and oblivious to the fractures that ran deeper than any villain’s blast.

Chapter Text

She shouldn't be laughing.

Really, she shouldn’t.

But Zoey’s snort was infectious, and the way she waved the small, beat-up notebook like it was a national treasure didn’t help.

“Get this,” Zoey said, eyes glittering. “‘I think Elliot might’ve smiled at me today? Or maybe he had gas. Either way, he’s still adorable.’” She cackled and fell dramatically against Lia’s side, shaking with laughter.

Lia pressed her lips together.

It was funny. In the way middle school crushes were funny. Milly’s blocky handwriting was dotted with crude drawings of hearts and sparring scores. There was even a list labeled "Reasons I'm Better Than Bradley" which included: “1. I don't cry when my flowers wilt,” and “5. I can bench more than him.”

It was unhinged. Endearing.

And private.

Lia shifted a little, watching Zoey flip through pages like they were hers. “Where’d you get this again?”

“Locker. Half open.” Zoey shrugged, totally unapologetic. “It was practically begging to be read.”

That wasn’t true. Milly wasn’t careless, just chaotic. Still, Zoey was laughing again, and Lia found herself half-smiling too. The ridiculousness of it all made it easy. Too easy.

But somewhere underneath the snickering, a tight knot was forming in her chest.

Because the words scrawled in that diary weren’t meant for them.

Because she knew what it felt like—having someone find the soft, secret parts of you and turn them into a joke.

Still, she didn’t say anything.

She laughed, quietly. Enough to keep the peace. Enough to keep Zoey's sharp eyes from turning on her.

Even if a voice in her head whispered: You’re being just like them. The people who laughed at you.

Even if another, softer one added: But she’s finally looking at you like you’re on her side.

And for some reason… that mattered.

She stared at a doodle of Elliot with stars around his head.

Riveting stuff, honestly.

Cruel stuff, too.

But she stayed quiet and she let Zoey keep reading.

And Tikki stayed silent, her little eyes still locked on Lia.

The weight of the kwami’s disapproval was starting to settle like a heavy stone in Lia’s gut, but Zoey was too busy howling with laughter to notice.

The sound of angry shouts echoed down the hallway, and Lia froze in her tracks. She didn’t need to look up to know what was going on. She already knew the voices—Zoey’s shrill, mocking tone, and Milly’s fiery growl.

When she finally looked, the scene in front of her hit her like a punch to the gut. Zoey was on the ground, hair scattered across the floor, and Milly was gripping a lock of it in a vice-like hold, yanking it back with ferocious determination.

"Give it back!" Milly growled, her face a mask of fury. "You think you can mess with me? Think again."

"Get off me!" Zoey snapped back, trying to wriggle free but not able to get the leverage she needed. The whole thing was like a scene straight out of a bad reality show, but this was real. And somehow, Lia couldn't tear her eyes away.

A crowd had gathered, and they were loving it. Phones were already out, and people were taking bets on how long it would take for someone to break it up.

Lia wanted to step in. She should step in. But something inside her was stuck—frozen, unsure whether to intervene or just let the two girls go at it.

"Seriously," Lia muttered under her breath, feeling the weight of indecision drag her down.

And then, like some kind of heroic idiot, Jake appeared.

"Hey, hey! Break it up!" He said, stepping forward with that stupid heroic grin. But the second he got close enough, Milly, in a burst of pure frustration, spun and swung a fist. The punch landed square in Jake’s face, and he stumbled back, holding his jaw as a small bruise started to form around his eye.

"Ow," Jake muttered, rubbing his cheek, but there was no stopping him. He was Jake. He had to fix everything, even if it meant making things worse. "Milly, knock it off!"

The crowd’s murmurs got louder as they watched Jake, and that’s when Luke finally stepped forward, pulling Milly off Zoey with a firm grip.

"Enough, Milly," Luke said, his calm demeanor in direct contrast to the chaos. Milly, still seething with rage, kicked her feet a few times but finally relented.

At that moment, Miss Jones appeared. Normally, she was the picture of soft-spoken calmness, always measured, always controlled. But today? Today, Miss Jones was livid. Her eyes flashed with fury as she stepped between the two girls.

"That’s enough!" she snapped, her voice so sharp it cut through the tension like a knife. The crowd quickly began dispersing, realizing it was over. "Milly, if I see one more fight like this, you’ll be expelled from the music club. Understood?"

Milly glared at her, but the anger in her eyes softened just slightly as she muttered a sharp, "Fine."

Zoey, still fuming and trying to gather her dignity, wiped the mock tears from her eyes. Her voice was venomous as she glared at Milly. "You’re lucky I don’t press charges. You savage."

Milly scoffed, crossing her arms as she muttered, "Crocodile tears."

"Shut up, Milly," Zoey shot back, eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint.

The hall had gone quiet as everyone else seemed to either scatter or watch from a distance, but Lia couldn’t take her eyes off Jake. She had seen him take that punch, seen the way he staggered back, the bruise already starting to form around his eye.

She took a step toward him, her voice coming out louder than she intended, her words rushing forward.

"Oh my god, Jake, are you okay? That savage punched you right in the face! Should I take you to the school nurse?" Her eyes were wide, scanning his face for any more damage, any signs of injury beyond the bruise. She couldn’t help but feel a little frantic.

Jake, however, stepped back almost instinctively, a flicker of discomfort passing over his face. He looked at her, a quick smile tugging at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Oh, thanks, Lia," he said, his tone casual, almost distant. "But I’ll be alright. It’s just a bit of swelling." He rubbed his jaw lightly, but even that seemed more to reassure her than out of any real discomfort.

Lia felt a brief sting in her chest, that familiar feeling of wanting to do more, but knowing she wasn’t wanted that way. She could feel her cheeks heat up, the awkwardness hanging in the air like a thick fog. She didn’t pull back immediately, though, her concern still outweighing the discomfort.

"Are you sure? I can—" she started, but Jake quickly waved her off, his smile turning more forced now.

"I’m fine, really," he said, stepping back a little more. "It’s just a bruise. Nothing to worry about."

Lia hesitated, unsure of whether to press further or just back off. She could feel the sting of his distance, the unspoken message clear—he didn’t want her hovering, didn’t want her to care too much. She swallowed hard, then nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Alright, if you’re sure," she said, her voice a little quieter now.

Jake gave her a half-hearted nod before turning his attention elsewhere, and Lia finally stepped back, standing in the crowd once again. Despite the chaos that had just unfolded, she felt… off. Not because of the fight, not because of Zoey or Milly, but because of the way Jake had pulled away from her.

For a moment, she wished she could take it all back—take back her words, her concern, the sudden burst of emotion she couldn’t quite control. But it was too late. The distance between them had only grown, and Lia wasn’t sure how to close it again.

Milly’s hands were trembling, her pulse racing, heart thumping like it might leap right out of her chest. The words felt like they were clawing at her throat, ready to burst out, but she couldn’t make them. She couldn’t say what she knew would hurt even more.

The club was mad at her. She could feel the weight of their disappointment hanging in the air like a suffocating cloud, and that made her stomach twist. Worst. Feeling. Ever.

Hailey’s face was tight with concern, and Luke... Luke had that “we’re in this together” stare that made her feel like she was suffocating under their worry.

"We’re worried about you, Milly! What did she do?" Hailey’s voice was soft but desperate, and the panic in her eyes made Milly want to scream, not at her, but at everything.

"Yeah, what’s going on? Why the hell are you fighting Zoey again?" Luke added, his brows were furrowed with genuine worry, but the last thing Milly wanted right now was to unload on them, especially not when they looked at her like she was... a mess.

She couldn’t tell them the truth. Not yet. Zoey had taken her damn diary. Her private stuff. She’d never let Zoey get away with it—not after everything. But she wasn’t about to tell them that. No way in hell.

“I can deal with it myself,” Milly snapped, and her voice came out a little sharper than she meant. “I don’t need you guys getting involved.”

But even as she said it, she could feel her stomach knot up. She didn’t want them to think she was a total freak. Hell, she didn’t want anyone thinking that, but now, as Zander gave her a disappointed look, it made her heart drop into her stomach.

“I know you’re all worried, but—” Milly started, but then she saw Jake come into the room, his face bruised. It was like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t meant for him to get involved, not like this.

Great, just great.

Hailey was the first to speak, her voice trembling but firm. “Look, Milly, I know what those girls are like. They harass me as well. But if you keep getting into trouble like this, the school won’t let you compete in the band competition! You could get expelled! We don’t want to lose you! So please, stop fighting!”

Milly’s chest tightened, her stomach churning. If I stop fighting, what do I even have left?

“I... It’s not as simple as that,” she muttered, her eyes not meeting anyone’s, her voice cracking despite herself.

But then Zander... Zander had to open his mouth. His disappointment was like a weight on her chest, and his words made her blood boil.

“That’s a little selfish, don’t you think? Because you can’t control your anger, we all have to pay the price. Does the band mean nothing to you?”

She felt the words hit her like a slap, but there was no time to process it because—Goddammit—she snapped.

“You can’t be talking, Zander!” Milly shot back, her voice rising in pitch and frustration. "It was a day ago when you got so angry you got akumatized and wanted to kill Jake. You’ve got some nerve acting like I’m the problem!"

The room went dead silent.

Zander’s face froze. His mouth parted in shock, and his eyes went wide. Milly could almost see the exact moment when he realized what she’d just said. The rest of the club stared at her in a stunned silence, like she’d just thrown a bomb in the room.

Hailey, horrified, cupped her mouth with both hands, her eyes flicking back and forth between Milly and Zander. “Milly...” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Milly didn’t know what to say. Her words had left her, and she was standing there, in the middle of all of them, feeling like a monster. She could feel their judgment, their eyes burning holes into her skin. She rubbed her face with her hand, feeling the sting of embarrassment, and then she just... couldn’t do it anymore.

With a muttered curse, Milly turned on her heel and stormed out of the club room. She didn’t even care if they were all staring at her.

As she marched down the hall, her chest heaving, she cursed Zoey for even starting this mess and cursed herself for losing control in front of everyone.

Milly's footsteps echoed off the concrete walls as she marched out of the club room, heart hammering, throat burning. She didn’t know where she was going, just away. Away from their stares. Their words. The betrayal that still clung to her skin like sweat.

You’re selfish.

We’re worried about you.

Does the band mean nothing to you?

Zander's voice, full of judgment, Hailey’s trembling concern, and worst of all—Jake’s bruised face. That damn bruise.

“I didn’t mean to—” she muttered under her breath, like saying it aloud would scrub it all away. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

She pressed her back to a stairwell wall, clenched her fists, and squeezed her eyes shut.

And then, the air changed.

It got colder.

Quieter.

Like the world was holding its breath.

Then came the voice. Silky. Serpentine.

“No one listens to you.”

Milly’s eyes snapped open. A faint purple shimmer danced before her, swirling like smoke.

“No one sees how hard you try, how much you care. All they see is your temper. All they feel is fear.”

A butterfly. Black and violet. It hovered in front of her face like a whisper. And then, him.

“They blame you for your righteous anger, Milly,” the voice continued, echoing directly into her thoughts. “But you are not the monster. You are the wounded. Abandoned. Mocked. Hurt.”

Milly’s throat clenched. “I just wanted them to stop. To give it back. To understand.”

“And yet they punish you for demanding dignity.”

“If I gave you the power to make them understand, to take back what was stolen—would you use it?”

The butterfly shimmered, drawing closer.

“All I ask in return is a simple favor.”

“There are two Miraculous out there—items of great power. Retrieve them for me.”

Milly stared at the butterfly. Her reflection shimmered in its wings—pink hair brighter, eyes aflame with fury. The image of her clubmates faded behind it.

Her fists unclenched.

"...Yes," she said.

"Yes. I’ll do it."

The butterfly dove into her glove.

And Milly screamed.

The library buzzed softly with whispers and rustling pages—until Zoey’s laugh sliced through the air like glass.

Lia sat across from her, head in hand, pretending to be interested in whatever cruel thing Zoey had found this time. She wasn’t. But she played along because it was easier. Because pretending to be normal around Zoey kept her from being the next target.

Zoey leaned in, the corner of a torn pink page fluttering between her manicured fingers.

“I still can’t believe it,” she giggled. “She likes Elliot. Can you imagine? Garden club Elliot. With the social skills of a rock and all the charm of a sad flower.”

Lia raised a brow. “Thrilling. Please, tell me more about our school’s least threatening crush.”

Zoey rolled her eyes and fanned herself with the paper. “But it’s her fault, really. Who leaves their diary on their desk like that? Someone else would’ve picked it up anyway. I’m just doing her a favor by reading it first.”

Before Lia could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Isn’t that, like… breaking girl code or something?”

Jake stood just behind them, one hand resting casually on the back of Lia’s chair. He was trying to sound casual, but the bruise under his eye from earlier betrayed a hard day. His gaze flicked to Zoey, unreadable.

Zoey scoffed. “Please. That only counts if you actually consider her a girl. She’s a tramp, Jake.”

The air dropped five degrees. Even the hum of the overhead lights seemed to quiet.

Lia didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Jake blinked slowly, the corners of his mouth flattening.

“Yeah,” he said, softly. “Okay. I think you should give that back to her.”

Zoey whipped around in her seat. “Excuse me? Are you seriously taking her side? After she attacked me this morning?”

Her voice rose, shrill and tight with disbelief. “I know you only joined their little freak show to sing or whatever, but it’s not like you need her.”

Jake stepped back, his expression going flat. “Alright, fine. Keep it. I’ll just go see what Drew’s up to.” He paused, then added, casually, “I’ve been meaning to tell him how I saw you with your sugar daddy last weekend.”

Zoey froze. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.

Lia blinked. “Wait—what?”

Jake shrugged. “Zoey wasn’t exactly lowkey. Shopping mall. Last month. She had her arm glued to him. Looked very cozy.”

Zoey’s face drained of color. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

“Try me.”

And then—

Boom.

The explosion was sudden—loud and hot. Something red and blazing slammed into their table, setting it ablaze. Pages fluttered upward like birds in panic before catching fire mid-air. Students screamed. Someone yanked the fire alarm.

From the smoke, a shape emerged—hulking, glowing, furious.

Milly wasn’t Milly anymore.

Her curls had become wild neon flames, her skin tinted with an angry red glow. Devil horns crowned her head, pulsing like coals. Her eyes were molten, cracked through with glowing rage.

And those gloves—massive, armored boxing gloves—flexed like living things, shifting into hammer-like gauntlets with each twitch of her fingers.

Lia’s heart slammed into her ribs.

“Milly?” she whispered.

But it wasn’t Milly who answered.

“Thought it was funny, huh?” the voice growled—Milly’s voice, but warped and twisted. “Laughing at my pain? You think I’m a joke?”

The air around her rippled with heat and pressure.

Zoey backed into the bookshelves, face pale. “Oh my god—oh my god—”

Jake stepped forward, one hand out. “Milly, hey—hey, it’s okay—”

“SHUT UP!” she roared, and her fist slammed into the ground. The tile cracked like ice under her glove. Sparks flew. Books tumbled off shelves in a wave.

Lia didn’t move.

She could feel Tikki stirring inside her pencil case, the miraculous growing warm against her chest.

“Lia,” the kwami whispered, “You need to transform—now.”

But Lia just stared at Milly, at what she'd become.

A pink-haired devil, wings of heat flaring behind her, fists glowing with righteous fury.

This wasn’t about Zoey’s cruelty anymore.

This was about the moment someone stopped pretending everything was fine.

And chose violence instead.

Lia could transform right now. She should. But her feet didn’t move.

Zoey was still standing there—backed into the bookshelf, paralyzed by fear, lips trembling like a blown-out match. Her perfectly glossed mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Another flaming fist rocketed toward them.

Lia’s instincts kicked in.

“Move!” she shouted, grabbing Zoey’s arm and yanking her back as the flaming projectile slammed into the shelf behind them, erupting in a blast of sparks and flying paper.

They bolted.

Bookshelves blurred past as they weaved through the aisles. The fire wasn’t spreading naturally—it moved in surges, chasing them. Hunting them.

Zoey stumbled in her heels, gasping. “What the hell is wrong with her—?!”

“Gee, I dunno!” Lia snapped. “Maybe it’s the theft, the public humiliation, or the constant harassment! Ring any bells!?”

They skidded to a stop near a storage closet wedged between two study rooms. Lia didn’t hesitate. She shoved Zoey toward it.

“Get in. Don’t open the door unless you want to be barbecued.”

“What about—?”

“I’ve got this,” Lia lied.

Before Zoey could argue, Lia slammed the door shut and turned, running again. Flames danced in the air behind her, searing hot and fast. Other students were streaming for the exits in panic, smoke stinging their eyes. Someone screamed as another desk went flying.

She turned down a hallway, heart in her throat, and threw open the nearest classroom door.

Empty.

Perfect.

She slammed it behind her, locking it.

Then yanked open her pencil case. Tikki blinked up at her, tense and alert.

“You waited too long!” the kwami hissed, fluttering into the air. “She could’ve hurt you!”

“She almost did,” Lia muttered, tugging her sleeve down. Her arm stung from a near miss.

Tikki looked at her closely. “You were protecting Zoey.”

Lia rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t about to let her become a human kebab just because she’s a bitch.”

She held out her hand.

“Let’s go, Tikki.”

“Spots on!”

The warmth rushed over her like fire and silk. Her suit clicked into place, the mask sealing across her eyes. Gone was the girl in a school uniform with a heavy heart.

In her place stood Crimson Wing—silent, fast, furious.

She turned back toward the door, took one breath—and ran headfirst into the blaze.

Drew was leaning against a locker, half-listening to Liam and Henry bicker about which energy drink tasted like battery acid and which one tasted like “tropical betrayal,” when the sound of hurried footsteps caught his attention.

It started as a murmur—just one or two students moving faster than usual.

Then it became a current.

Then a flood.

Kids sprinted past him, wide-eyed and yelling, their backpacks bouncing. One girl shouted, “Fire! There’s a fire in the library!” and someone else screamed about a monster.

Drew pushed off the locker, straightening. “The hell—?”

That’s when he smelled it.

Burnt paper. Charred wood. The acrid sting of smoke curling through the vents. It hit his nose hard, and something in his chest went tight.

He looked to Liam and Henry. “Did one of you idiots leave a Bunsen burner on again, or—”

“Nope,” Henry said, backing away. “That was one time.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed. No alarms were going off, which meant either the system was rigged to hell, or this wasn’t just some dumb fire.

A red glow flickered at the end of the hallway.

And then—boom.

The library doors exploded outward, and a wave of smoke curled like a living thing through the corridor. People screamed and scrambled harder for the exits.

And from the smoke stepped a shape.

Not quite Milly.

But kind of.

She had pink skin like glowing coals and her hair was wild, glowing hot and curling upward like living fire. Giant, brutal gloves hung at her sides—shaped like something between a gauntlet and a wrecking ball. The devil horns atop her head shimmered with a molten glow, and as she stepped forward, the tiles beneath her boots cracked.

Drew took a slow step back, stunned silent for once.

“…Milly?” he muttered.

No response. Her glowing eyes swept the crowd.

Someone next to him shouted, “She’s been akumatized!”

Drew’s blood ran cold.

“No, no, no—fuck!” He turned to Liam and Henry. “Go hide. Now.”

“What about you?” Liam asked, wide-eyed.

“I’m going to… uh, go find Jake,” Drew muttered.

Drew ducked into an empty classroom, slamming the door behind him as another tremor shook the hallway. Touched his ring—his Miraculous. It pulsed faintly with a cold energy.

“Claws out,” he muttered.

In a flash of obsidian light, the shadows seemed to ripple off the walls and coil around him. His hoodie vanished, replaced with his sleek black suit—feline in its cut, sharp in its edges, with slashes of black along his gloves and boots. A curved, cat-like mask snapped over his eyes. Night Claw was back.

He emerged from the room and was immediately hit with heat—too much for any school fire.

And there she was.

Smackdown.

She stood in the middle of the burning corridor like a goddess of rage. Her glowing fists flexed and shifted shape—one moment a hammer, the next a jagged club—her every step leaving scorched cracks behind.

But what made Drew curse wasn’t the fire.

It was them.

Hailey and Sean were right in front of her.

Sean, ever the peacemaker, had his hands slightly raised. “Milly, I know you're hurting—but you don’t have to do this. We can help you—”

Hailey nodded, trying to keep calm. “We’re your friends, okay? Whatever Zoey did, it’s not worth—”

“Are you kidding me?” Drew hissed through his teeth.

He sprinted forward just as Smackdown raised her fists. Her gaze zeroed in on them—and one of her hands glowed molten red before launching a fireball, wild and angry, straight at the two.

“Idiots—MOVE!”

Drew tackled both Sean and Hailey, dragging them back and just clearing the blast radius as the fireball detonated against a row of lockers, sending metal flying like shrapnel. The blast pushed them back, and Drew rolled, coming up in a crouch with both of them beside him, coughing from the smoke.

“Are you trying to get hurt?!” he snapped at them, brushing embers off Hailey’s sleeve. “What part of ‘giant fire demon version of that girl made you think it was a good time for a group hug?!”

Hailey blinked. “We thought maybe we could talk her down—”

“She’s not talking, she’s smashing!” Drew growled, eyes flashing behind his mask. “You wanna play therapist, do it after we survive this.”

Sean looked toward Milly—her glowing eyes wild, searching for her next target—and nodded slowly. “…Right. Okay.”

Drew stood, dusting himself off. “Good. Now stay out of the way. Let the professionals handle it.”

He cracked his knuckles, gaze narrowing as he stepped toward the flames.

“Time to declaw a devil.”

Smoke curled around the hallway like a living thing—thick, choking, red with heat. Lockers melted. Sprinklers sputtered, useless against the rage-fueled firestorm rampaging at its center.

Smackdown roared, voice guttural and distorted. She charged, gloves shifting into massive, spike-laced gauntlets, each swing carving deep gouges into the floor as sparks flew in every direction.

And then—

CLANG.

A sleek obsidian baton smacked her gauntlet sideways mid-swing, redirecting it into a nearby wall with a shattering crunch.

Drew—Night Claw—landed low and smooth, baton extended, eyes gleaming beneath his mask. His cape fluttered from the force of the impact.

“Alright,” he growled, circling her, “cool it before I shove that oversized fist up your—”

She screamed and lunged, eyes glowing brighter with fury.

“Yeah, yeah, righteous anger, I get it,” he muttered, flipping backwards as she slammed the floor where he’d just stood. Concrete cracked.

Drew twisted mid-air and snapped his baton open—extending it into a longer staff with one fluid motion. He jabbed it into the ground as leverage, pivoted, and kicked Smackdown in the side of the head—just enough to spin her off-balance without seriously hurting her.

“Try using your words, Ever heard of those?!”

She turned, snorting hot air from her nose, the flame-like curls of her pink hair whipping with her movement. Her gauntlets shifted again—now glowing with heat, pulsating like heartbeat drums.

Another fireball formed in her hand.

Drew sighed.

“I swear,” he muttered, bracing, “if one more of those music freaks gets akumatised, I’m gonna apply for a transfer to a school, far far away.”

He slid forward, baton spinning, ready to block.

Just as the fireball launched toward him—

A whip of glowing black light cracked through the flames, snapping the blast away mid-air.

They both turned.

There, stepping into the scorched hallway through a cloud of smoke, her silhouette framed in light—

Crimson wing.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said coolly, her voice low and smooth as silk. “Did I miss the fun?”

“Crimson wing!”

Zoey, panic stretched across her face like smeared makeup, launched herself into the hero’s arms with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. “Please—save me! She's a psycho! She tried to roast me alive!”

Crimson Wing barely kept her balance, her heels scraping against the tile as Zoey clung to her like they’d been best friends since birth—and not like Zoey had spent the morning reading Milly’s diary aloud like a stand-up set.

Crimson wing’s jaw twitched.

“Weren’t you hiding in a closet ten minutes ago?” she sighed, prying Zoey off her suit with two fingers.

From the sidelines, Drew scowled. Sure, this was a life-or-death situation with flying fireballs and a pink demon girl threatening to destroy the building, but... his girlfriend currently had her arms around another girl and that didn’t exactly sit well with him.

“You good there, Crimson wing?” he muttered under his breath, baton spinning once in his palm.

“Peachy,” she replied, without looking at him, as Zoey was finally pushed behind a book cart with all the grace of shoving laundry into a closet before company arrives.

“Try to stay in a safe place next time,” Crimson wing muttered. 

Zoey whimpered behind her, just as Smackdown's flaming gauntlets cracked together with a thunderous BOOM.

The fight wasn’t over—not even close.

Smackdown’s molten fists slammed into the floor, sending a shockwave tearing down the library hallway. Bookshelves tipped like dominoes, and the ground buckled beneath the heat. Her neon-pink hair snapped behind her like a wild flame.

“Come out, come out, little rats!” Smackdown roared, voice warped and booming. “No more hiding. No more games!”

From above, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

Snap!

Crimson wing’s yo-yo coiled around a light fixture, and she launched herself forward, kicking off the wall and swinging low. In one fluid motion, she swept her leg beneath Smackdown’s stance, throwing the villain off-balance.

“Try reading the code of conduct, you brute!” she snapped, landing in a crouch.

But Smackdown wasn’t fazed. She backflipped out of the way, her gauntlets reshaping mid-air into twin spike-maces. With a howl of rage, she hurled them at Crimson wing.

CLANG!

The maces ricocheted off something solid.

Night Claw stood firm, baton extended and glowing with energy. “Need help?”

Crimson wing gave him a crooked grin. “I had it handled, alley cat.”

“Almost being roasted alive says otherwise.”

“Touché.”

Smackdown shrieked, and the walls around them shook. “You think you’re funny? I’ll turn you both into burnt toast!”

She charged—full speed, her boots tearing through the floor like a plow. But the heroes were already moving.

Night Claw vaulted up, baton spinning into a shield-form to deflect the next fireball. “Go left!” he barked.

Crimson wing obeyed, diving into a slide, yo-yo lashing out and catching Smackdown’s arm. She yanked hard, giving Night Claw an opening.

“Nice assist!” he called as he flipped over Smackdown’s head, baton glowing with a sharp pulse of energy.

WHAM!

The strike cracked against Smackdown’s back, sending her stumbling. She snarled and spun around, fists reshaping into enormous boxing gloves.

“Oh no,” Night Claw muttered. “I made her mad.”

“Not really that hard since it’s you,” Crimson wing said. “Now let’s not die.”

Another volley of flame-fists came screaming toward them.

Smackdown slammed her fists together and a wave of heat exploded outward. The windows cracked from the pressure, and the few standing bookshelves burst into flames. The floor was scorched and slick with ash.

“She’s overheating the whole hallway,” Night Claw growled, shielding his eyes with his forearm. “If she powers up again—this place is gone.”

“I know,” Crimson wing muttered, panting. Her grip tightened on her yo-yo. “I’m using it.”

She flicked her wrist.

“Lucky Charm!”

A burst of red sparkles erupted above her hand—and a glowing, ordinary paperclip landed in her palm.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Smackdown roared in the background, toppling another shelf with a flaming uppercut. Crimson wing scanned the hallway—charred books, crumbling walls, flickering lights… and above, sprinklers, still intact.

But—

Her eyes narrowed.

“They’re not going off,” she murmured.

Night Claw cursed under his breath. “They should’ve triggered minutes ago.”

“Too much heat,” Crimson wing said grimly. “She’s melted the fuse wire.”

She looked down at the paperclip, then at the busted emergency panel half-melted against the wall. A grin crept onto her face.

“Okay. New plan. We’re forcing them on.”

Night Claw raised an eyebrow. “With what? Hope and dreams?”

She tossed him the paperclip. “Your baton’s still supercharged from the heat. Use that and this to short the trigger wire. Just enough current to trip the system.”

He sighed, already heading toward the emergency box. “Remind me never to go camping with you.”

As he jammed his baton into the wiring and worked the clip into position, Crimson wing zipped forward, deflecting a searing punch from Smackdown with her yo-yo.

“You’re overheating, Smackdown!” she shouted. “You’re gonna burn yourself out!”

“DON’T TELL ME TO COOL IT!”

Crimson wing ducked another flaming fist. “God, you villains are so literal…”

Behind her, a CRACK sparked through the air—

FZZZZT—

SSSSHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The sprinklers burst to life, a cold downpour crashing down from the ceiling. Steam hissed and swirled across the hallway as flames sputtered and died.

Smackdown staggered, her fire flickering. Her gloves dimmed.

Crimson wing’s eyes sharpened. “There—her gloves. They’re channeling it.”

Night Claw landed beside her, soaked and grimacing. “Akuma?”

“Bet on it.”

Together, they lunged. Crimson wing’s yo-yo lashed out, wrapping Smackdown’s arm and yanking her sideways. Night Claw slammed his cataclysm against the weakened glove.

The metal splintered, and a dark fluttering shape burst into the air.

“There you are,” Crimson wing said, spinning her yo-yo. “Time to purify.”

She flicked it forward.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

A warm pulse of red light swept over the hallway—bookshelves repairing, scorch marks vanishing, broken wiring resealing.

The sprinklers cut off. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling.

And in the center of the hallway stood Milly—soaked, shivering, and blinking rapidly.

Night Claw crouched beside her. “You good?”

“I… I think so…”

Crimson wing exhaled slowly and smiled.

“…I’ve got you.”

Crimson Wing turned just in time to see Zoey fixing her hair, as if she hadn’t been crying in a closet and screaming for help less than ten minutes ago. Her clothes were damp, but her smile was already photo-ready.

“Crimson Wing!” Zoey gasped, eyes sparkling. “Before you go, can I get a pic? Like, just real quick—”

Lia didn’t answer right away. She stepped closer, face unreadable behind her mask. “Actually, yeah. I do need something from you.”

Zoey tilted her head. “What, an autograph?”

“No.” She sighed. “Whatever you stole from her.”

The room went still again—Zoey’s smile faltered, her lashes fluttering as if she hadn’t heard right. “What?”

“You know what. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Zoey glanced around like she might deny it—but there was no point. Crimson Wing was a hero. And Zoey knew how to read an audience. With an exaggerated sigh, she reached into her bag and pulled out a folded, water-stained page. “Fine,” she muttered. “It wasn’t even that juicy.”

Crimson Wing took the page without a word and walked over to Milly, who was still seated on the floor, soaked and silent, her hands clenched into fists. She crouched down beside her and held the page out gently.

Milly stared for a second before taking it with trembling fingers. Her eyes widened.

“You got it back,” she whispered.

“I told you,” Crimson Wing said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

But before either of them could say more, a burst of flashbulbs and a clatter of footsteps filled the hallway.

“Crimson Wing! Night claw! Over here!”

“Were you the first on the scene?”

“Was it true that one of the students transformed into a villain?”

“What does this say about the security at Rosemeadow High?!”

A dozen microphones thrust forward. The crowd of press had swarmed in like flies to sugar, camera lights bouncing off the soaked walls, reporters elbowing one another for a closer shot of the black-clad hero. Crimson Wing’s expression stiffened. This wasn’t what Milly needed. Not now.

She straightened, eyes narrowing under her mask.

“I’ll answer your questions later,” she said firmly. “But right now, this girl needs space.”

The reporters pushed forward anyway, ignoring the warning.

Until a deep voice said, “Back up.”

Night Claw stood in the shadows, baton in hand, posture calm but deadly. The reporters hesitated. One took a photo. Another looked nervously at his claws.

Crimson Wing stepped in front of Milly, shielding her from the flashes.

“Enough,” she said again, voice edged in steel. “We're done here.”

Lia walked the hallway with her head down, her steps echoing lightly in the now half-empty school. 

The fire damage had been contained, and the building hadn’t closed—probably thanks to some rushed PR from the administration and a good word from the press about the “mystery heroes.” But that didn’t stop the panic. Parents had flooded the front office. One by one, students were pulled out.

She was one of the last left when her mom finally pulled up. Now, she sat stiffly in the passenger seat, bag in her lap, the faint scent of smoke still clinging to her hoodie. The car hummed quietly, the AC on low. Her mom glanced at her, eyes flickering with worry.

Lia sat in the passenger seat of her mom’s car, the school fading behind them. Her mom’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as they pulled out of the lot, her lips tight with concern.

“I just don’t understand what’s going on,” she muttered. “This isn’t New York. This is supposed to be a normal school. Why would supervillains show up here?”

Lia kept her eyes forward, arms crossed. Her hoodie smelled faintly of smoke, and her phone buzzed in her pocket—probably Zoey. Or worse, the group chat she hadn't muted yet.

Her mom sighed. “And that poor girl—Milly, I think? The one everyone’s saying attacked another student? That’s the one who transformed, right?”

Lia made a noncommittal sound. “Guess she finally cracked.”

Her mother glanced at her, surprised by the coldness. “Lia…”

“What?” Lia snapped before softening it into a shrug. “Look, she’s always been a bit unhinged. It was only a matter of time before she blew.”

“You shouldn’t talk about people like that.”

Lia didn’t answer. Her conscience twinged, but she swatted the feeling away. The truth was, she’d laughed at Zoey’s jokes. She’d watched Milly unravel and hadn’t done a thing. Maybe she didn’t throw the first stone, but she hadn’t stopped anyone from throwing the fifth.

Her mom was still talking, but the words were static now. Something about safety, transfer options, checking in with the school counselor. Lia stared out the window, replaying the moment Zoey launched herself into Crimson Wing’s arms, sobbing for help like she hadn’t instigated everything.

She wondered if Milly had known—knew—that the same girl who smiled at her behind a mask was the one who stood quietly beside her bully in the halls.

And more hauntingly… if she didn’t care.

The waiting room smelled like cheap carpet cleaner and lukewarm resentment.

Zander sat two chairs away from Milly, arms folded, legs angled away like she might explode again. The too-soft cushion made him sink lower than he wanted to. Everything about this room felt wrong. Sterile. Padded like a cell. The plastic ficus in the corner swayed under the vent, brushing a ceiling tile that looked ready to cave.

Across from them, a poster read: “Anger is a Voice. Are You Listening?” in Comic Sans.

He wanted to rip it down.

This wasn’t about anger. This was about optics. About damage control. About making sure kids like Milly and him didn’t embarrass the school again. They wanted them calm, quiet, manageable. Buttoned-up tragedies they could point to when the media asked what they were doing to “prevent future incidents.”

His jaw tensed.

Milly hadn’t looked at him since they sat down. She stared at the floor like it owed her money, foot tapping in a rapid rhythm, sleeves tugged over her fists. He noticed the burn marks—faint, curling along the fabric. Evidence. Like everything else she touched lately.

He still hadn’t said anything.

Because what was he supposed to say? Sorry I pushed you right before you snapped? Sorry I called you selfish while you were trying not to drown?

He was sorry. God, he was.

But it wouldn’t come out clean.

It never did.

“I don’t need to be here,” Milly said, suddenly.

Her voice was raw. Like her throat still ached from shouting. Or screaming.

Zander didn’t look at her. “Then don’t be.”

Her head turned sharply. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, feigning indifference. “Doors right there.”

He hated himself the second he said it.

Her glare was molten. “You’re unbelievable.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. That was fair. He was. “At least I don’t light up the walls every time someone breathes wrong.”

The words hit their mark. She flinched—just slightly—but didn’t back down. “You think I wanted that to happen?”

“No,” he muttered. “I think you didn’t care if it did.”

That was a lie. He knew she cared. He’d seen the way her hands shook afterward, the panic in her eyes. But it was easier to say something cruel than admit he didn’t know how to make it right.

She glared at him, fists tightening. “You’re such a smug little—”

“Say it,” he said flatly. “Might as well.”

Because he deserved it. He’d been cruel. She’d been hurt. He knew that. But instead of apologizing, he was still out here baring his teeth like it mattered.

The silence between them was thick enough to choke on.

Milly looked away first. “I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

Zander stared at the floor. His voice came quieter, bitter. “Didn’t mean to call you selfish either.”

She blinked. “...Really?”

It had been a low blow. A reflex. But he knew better. He’d been there—back when Milly had long, bouncy hair and too-big dreams. When she still raised her hand in class. When her laugh came easy and her fights were playful, not sharp. He’d seen that girl fade into someone hardened. Jaded. Hair cropped close like a shield. Voice louder, rougher—fighting before someone could even think of hitting first. 

To call her selfish now, for reacting to a girl who had made most of her school life hell… It wasn’t just wrong. It was cruel.

He forced a shrug instead. “Just calling it like I saw it.”

No, he didn’t mean that. He didn’t believe it. But the truth was messy and vulnerable and real, and he didn’t know how to be any of those things without splitting open.

Milly scoffed softly. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Yeah.” His laugh came out hollow. “Tell me something new.”

The words tasted like ash.

They fell quiet again. The air between them still burned, but maybe not as sharp. More like the smoke that lingers after a fire. Bitter. Clinging.

Milly shifted, pulled her sleeves tighter. “I shouldn’t have thrown your akumatisation in your face.”

He glanced at her. “No. But you did.”

“And you hit low first.”

He nodded once. Fair.

Across the room, the fake plant rattled again. Zander watched it twitch.

Milly tapped the chair’s armrest. “Do you think this stuff actually helps?”

He snorted. “Therapy? Maybe. This?” He gestured vaguely. “Not unless the chairs start doing something useful.”

A ghost of a smile flickered on her face. Just barely.

The door creaked open, and the counselor appeared. Clipboard. Smile too wide. Eyes too bright.

“Milly? We’re ready for you.”

She stood, back straight but wary. He didn’t look up right away. Then, just before she left—

“Truce?” he asked. Voice dry. Tired.

She raised an eyebrow. “Temporary?”

He gave her a look. “You’re not that charming.”

She smirked faintly. “I’m irresistible, and you know it.”

He didn’t smile back. Just gave the smallest nod.

When the door shut behind her, he slumped in the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

God, he was such a coward.

Later that night, when the house had settled into the hush of post-dinner silence and her mom was talking to neighbours on the phone in the other room, Lia slipped out her window and dropped behind her house. The air smelled like scorched grass and wet ash. She sat on the concrete curb, tossing a wrapped biscuit in her hand like a coin.

“Tikki,” she muttered, unwrapping it.

The little red kwami floated out of her hoodie pocket with a dry expression, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, finally,” she said, folding her tiny arms. “Some time for reflection. I was beginning to think all you did was enable mean girls and set fires.”

Lia raised a brow. “You’re a real ray of sunshine.”

“I’m older than sunshine,” Tikki sniffed.

She hovered quietly as Lia held out the biscuit. Tikki took it, but didn’t say thank you. She munched with her usual dainty precision, staring Lia down like a disappointed aunt who had seen too much and had no patience left.

Lia let the silence stretch.

“…Tikki,” she finally said, “what did you do before all of this?”

Tikki blinked, but didn’t look surprised. “Before this life?”

I’m 

Lia nodded.

“I granted power to people who knew what to do with it,” Tikki said softly. “To queens who defended cities, to children who stood up when the world told them to sit down. I guided revolutionaries. Healers. Soldiers. You’re not my first Crimson Wing.”

That landed like a stone in Lia’s gut. “Right.”

“I’ve seen heroes rise from the gutter and villains fall from castles. But I’ve never seen someone ask for power just to feel… wanted.”

That one stung.

Lia rolled her jaw. “I didn’t ask to be anyone’s savior.”

“No,” Tikki said, “you asked to be noticed.”

Lia looked away, jaw tight. “I didn’t ask for you either.”

Tikki made a small noise—tut tut—and floated upward, biscuit crumbs falling like glitter.

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “But here we are.”

Lia looked up at the little creature, silhouetted by the school’s backlight, tiny wings fluttering, her eyes too ancient to look that cute.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asked.

Tikki tilted her head. “I think you’re a girl who doesn’t know which side of the line she’s on yet.”

A long pause. Lia exhaled. “That’s... vague.”

“Good,” Tikki replied. “You’re learning.”

The fridge door hung open, casting pale light into the dark kitchen. Drew stood in tanks and pajama pants, barefoot on cold tile, chucking slice after slice of cheddar onto the counter like cards in a rigged game. Somewhere behind him, Plagg hovered in the air with the posture of a cat who knew he’d won.

“Cheddar. Brie. That sad excuse for gouda. Literally all of it?” Drew muttered, grabbing the last half-wheel of Havarti.

“You want information or not?” Plagg drawled, floating lazily on his back, paws behind his head like he was sunbathing in some Parisian ruin. “I’m risking divine secrets here. The least you can do is cough up the dairy.”

Drew side-eyed him. “You’re a god.”

“A hungry god,” Plagg said with a smirk, catching a cube of cheese in his mouth mid-air. “Besides, most gods don’t give you the time of day unless you’re sacrificing something. I’m easy. Cheese is good.”

Drew crossed his arms. “You really expect me to believe you don’t remember who’s akumatizing people?”

Plagg yawned. “I didn’t say I don’t remember. I said I don’t know who it is this time.”

“You’re infinity years old. And you can sense destruction.”

“And I sense a lot of destruction these days,” Plagg said, licking cheese grease from his paw. “America is basically one giant microwave of bad shit.”

Drew leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Void. Smackdown. Mataw—the big bad. You’re telling me you haven’t seen a pattern?”

“Oh, there’s always a pattern,” Plagg said with a shrug. “But sometimes patterns take centuries. Or, you know, three more akumatizations.”

Drew sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not helpful.”

“I’m not paid to be helpful,” Plagg said. “I’m here to give you the power to blow stuff up in tight pants and brood on rooftops. I think I’m doing a spectacular job, thank you.”

Drew threw him a wedge of muenster. “Fine. Then what can you tell me?”

Plagg caught it, chewed thoughtfully, and floated a little higher.

“This one felt different,” he said after a beat. “There was something beneath the rage in Milly. Something seeded. Whoever’s doing this… they’re not just feeding on pain. They’re shaping it.”

Drew’s brow furrowed. “So they’re not just reacting. They’re planning.”

“Oh, darling,” Plagg said with a toothy grin, “aren’t they always?”

He leaned back against the fridge door, letting it thud shut behind him. Plagg didn’t float off this time—just hovered near Drew’s shoulder, quieter than usual. That alone was unsettling.

“So we’re dealing with a rogue holder,” Drew muttered, “and we’re the only ones who can stop them.”

“You and Crimson Wing,” Plagg said dryly, tail flicking.

Drew frowned. Crimson Wing. He hadn’t gotten much more than glimpses of her, but the way she fought—fierce, smart, no wasted movement—wasn’t luck. It was something sharpened, bitter. She moved like someone who wasn’t used to being seen.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to meet up. Talk. Like, actually talk.”

Plagg snorted. “Big talk for someone who’s barely said more than three words to her in battle.”

“She’s not exactly handing out phone numbers,” Drew said. “And I don’t even know where she comes from. She just appears.”

“And disappears before you can ask who she is. Mysterious,” Plagg mused, nibbling on an invisible cube of cheese.

“Too mysterious,” Drew muttered. “Maybe on purpose.”

He headed toward his bedroom window, where the skyline stretched out in twinkling silence. Somewhere out there, Crimson Wing was probably doing the same—watching the city and wondering what the hell was going on.

Drew pulled out his phone and opened an encrypted, hero-only contact app they’d set up through the miraculous themselves. It was primitive—just a simple signal beacon. No personal info. No names.

He typed out a message to the shared thread:

Night Claw: We need to talk. Midnight. Old observatory roof. This time, let’s not be sloppy.

He hit send.

The message blinked in the feed. No response yet. But he’d be there.

They were done running blind.