The rhythm of Paris was different from New York.
There, the city roared. Here, it breathed.
But Thorne Vale had always known how to adapt, even if deep down, he still missed the gleam of Manhattan's skyline and the girl who once made it feel like home.
He hadn't spoken her name aloud since arriving.
Zoé Lee.
Memories of her were stitched into his every thought—her calm when things felt chaotic, her voice when the world grew loud, and that slight tilt of her head when she tried to hide how much she cared. They had met at a private gala hosted by their parents, both tired of formalities, both quietly craving something real. One late-night escape onto a balcony changed everything.
She made New York feel warm.
But now, Thorne stood in the heart of Paris, feeling like the world had shifted beneath his feet—and she wasn't there.
Later That Day
The Dupain-Cheng bakery had closed for the evening. The sky was turning the color of faded lavender as he wandered the upper part of Le Marais. Lights flickered on inside charming shops and the occasional fancy patisserie, but Thorne wasn't looking for sweets.
He was looking for leverage.
Specifically, André Bourgeois, the Mayor of Paris—and Chloé's father.
It wasn't hard to find his office. The Hotel de Ville, Paris's city hall, stood tall with grandeur and political polish. A receptionist eyed Thorne warily, but a few smooth lines and a mention of his surname—Vale—opened doors.
Soon, Thorne was sitting in an elegant office, surrounded by portraits of former city officials and luxury-laced décor.
Mayor Bourgeois entered with the casual arrogance of a man who'd never truly lost an argument in his life.
"Thorne Vale," he greeted, offering a brief handshake while adjusting his golden cufflinks. "New York blood in Paris. I heard whispers."
"I figured you would," Thorne replied coolly, standing to meet him.
André smirked. "You're lucky. I usually don't grant meetings this late."
"I won't waste your time."
"Then let's hear it."
Thorne didn't hesitate. "I want Zoé transferred to Françoise Dupont. To my class. She belongs here in Paris."
The room fell quiet.
André's expression changed subtly—just enough for Thorne to catch it.
"You and Zoé were close in New York, weren't you?"
Thorne nodded. "We dated. But it's more than that. She's different from Chloé. Kind, honest... she doesn't play games. I trust her. And this city, believe it or not, could use someone like her."
André sighed, sitting behind his ornate desk. "Chloé won't be thrilled."
"She'll live."
The mayor chuckled. "You're sharp. Confident. You remind me of myself when I was your age."
Thorne remained silent.
André folded his hands. "I can open the transfer path. But the school will need a formal guardian's approval on this side—and one from her family in New York. You're lucky the school board listens to me."
"That's all I need," Thorne said. "I'll handle the rest."
As Thorne left the Hôtel de Ville, the streetlights of Paris blinked to life one by one, like stars aligning.
That Night
The Vale estate in Paris stood in the quieter district near the 7th arrondissement—tall, private, and modern in contrast to its historic neighbors.
Thorne stepped into his room, kicking off his shoes and pulling out his phone. His reflection in the window showed a composed young man, but his heart beat faster than ever.
He pressed the contact labeled MOM & DAD – NY HQ.
The call picked up on the second ring.
"Thorne?" his father's deep voice asked. "Everything alright?"
Thorne smiled. "Better than alright. I need a favor."
His mother's voice joined the line, teasing. "This sounds expensive."
"Not really," Thorne said. "I want Zoé to transfer to my class here in Paris."
There was a pause.
Then his father replied, "That's... unexpected."
"I miss her," Thorne admitted, letting the truth hang in the air. "She made everything easier in New York. I need her here."
His mother was quiet for a moment. "We always liked her. She had a good head on her shoulders. She grounded you."
"And she won't be a distraction?" his father added.
"No," Thorne said firmly. "She'll be my anchor."
Another pause.
"We'll make the arrangements," his mother said. "Flights, paperwork—give us 48 hours."
"Thanks," Thorne whispered, something catching in his throat.
As the call ended, he stared out the window at the glowing city.
The countdown to the first akuma was ticking louder.
But now he wasn't going to face it alone.
Zoé was coming.
And Paris would never be the same again.