The sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Vale estate, cutting across Thorne's room in golden lines. He stood barefoot on the cool marble floor, phone cradled to his ear, voice low and teasing.
"You sure you want to trade New York skylines for Paris rooftops?"
On the other end, Zoé Lee let out a light chuckle. "You're there, aren't you? That makes it worth it."
Thorne smiled, soft and rare. "I had your schedule merged into my class. Mlle. Bustier will have a new favorite."
"You bribed someone, didn't you?"
"I only spoke to someone very persuasive."
"Let me guess—Chloé's father?"
"You're scary good at this."
They both laughed, and for a moment, the past and future felt distant. There was just now.
"I'll see you soon," she said finally.
"I'll be the idiot with the sign that says 'Best Decision You Ever Made' at the gate."
"Try not to cause an international incident until I arrive."
"No promises."
It had been pure chance—or fate—that Thorne wandered into the Agreste Studio's glass-walled photoshoot venue.
Technically, he had been invited through business channels—his parents' silent stake in one of the rising design firms had earned him a pass. But Thorne hadn't expected to run into him so soon.
Adrien Agreste.
Even without the context of the future, Adrien's presence was captivating. Effortlessly graceful. Kind but distant. His movements were practiced, every tilt of the chin or step toward the light perfect—but to Thorne, something felt off.
Like a boy playing someone else's role in his own life.
Thorne leaned against the wall quietly, watching. His sharp eyes didn't miss Adrien's slight hesitation when the camera flashed too long. Or the way his father, Gabriel Agreste, stood near the monitor—silent, looming, ever judgmental.
"That's him," said a voice to Thorne's left. "Adrien Agreste. Son of the great Gabriel. The boy with a golden smile and tired eyes."
Thorne turned and met the gaze of a seemingly unremarkable old man.
Tan coat. Flat cap. Wooden cane.
Master Fu.
Thorne didn't react, but inside, alarms rang. If Fu was already observing him, it meant his presence was shaking more threads than expected.
"You're new here, aren't you?" Fu asked gently.
"Transferred from New York," Thorne said. "Recently."
"You watch more than most do," Fu commented, his eyes subtly measuring Thorne. "People often miss the pain behind performance."
Thorne looked back toward Adrien, who was now resetting for another shoot. "I know what it's like to wear a mask."
Fu nodded slightly, almost pleased. "And what would you say you see behind his?"
Thorne didn't answer at first.
Finally, he said quietly, "Someone who wants to be free—but doesn't know what that even looks like anymore."
Fu gave a soft hum of approval.
"Not many your age notice these things."
"I'm not like most people my age," Thorne replied, truthfully.
Fu studied him for a moment longer. "The world is full of stories unraveling at once. Some people watch… some participate… and some?" He paused. "Some are weavers."
With that cryptic remark, Fu nodded and walked away into the crowd.
But Thorne noticed the small flicker of light near Fu's cane—a barely perceptible glyph that shimmered and vanished. A mark of interest. A mental note.
Fu had tagged him.
Later That Afternoon — Agreste Studio Courtyard
Thorne was drinking from a bottle of mineral water when a voice called out to him.
"Hey. You were watching the shoot, right?"
He turned to find Adrien walking up, casual now in a light hoodie and jeans. No entourage. Just a boy his age with curious eyes and a charming smile.
"Yeah," Thorne said coolly. "You're surprisingly good at pretending you're not miserable."
Adrien blinked, caught off-guard—then laughed. "Wow. That's… accurate. Brutally so."
"I've seen better actors in theater clubs," Thorne added with a smirk.
"Ouch," Adrien mock-winced. "So you are a critic."
"Only of people who deserve better than they're getting."
That silenced Adrien. For a moment, the weight of Thorne's words sank in. Then Adrien extended a hand.
"I'm Adrien."
"Thorne."
They shook hands.
"You from Paris?"
"Moved here two days ago. Just trying to find where I fit."
Adrien nodded, then offered a crooked smile. "If you're looking for strange, confusing friendships in a school full of drama and chaotic classmates, you're gonna fit right in."
Thorne smirked. "Sounds perfect."
Adrien glanced at his phone. "You coming to Françoise Dupont?"
"Yeah. Starting tomorrow."
"Cool. I'll see you there."
As Adrien walked off, Thorne looked up toward the studio rooftop.
Fu was gone—but Thorne could feel the invisible strings already shifting around him.
In the quiet of his hidden sanctum, Master Fu stood before a locked case of ancient relics. Not the Ladybug. Not the Black Cat.
Instead, he opened a smaller velvet-lined drawer.
Inside was a Miraculous untouched for decades: a sleek pendant inlaid with a shifting black and white stone—half yin, half yang.
The Miraculous of Balance.
Fu's fingers hovered above it.
"So many wield power born of passion and polarity," he whispered. "But what of the one who walks between chaos and control? Creation and ruin? That boy… Thorne Vale…"
He closed the case slowly.
"I will watch him."
Evening — Vale Estate
Thorne stood in his room, the Eiffel Tower glittering in the distance as he called his father.
"I need the jet ready," he said.
"For Zoé?" his father asked.
Thorne nodded. "Tomorrow. No delays. I want her here before anything begins."
His mother's voice joined in. "You're sure this is the right choice?"
"She's the only anchor I've ever had," Thorne replied. "She's not just a transfer student. She's someone who makes me feel human."
There was silence on the line, then soft approval.
"Very well. She'll be on the flight tomorrow night."
As the call ended, Thorne stood by the window, gaze sharp.
He didn't tell them what he felt in the air today.
The subtle shift. The tension in the sky.
The wind before the storm.
And in the silence of his room, the first trace of dark energy began to stir on the horizon.