Adrien's heart sank further, and tears came to his eyes. Even if she wasn't telling him, she made it all too clear who it had to be.

He squeezed the front of his shirt, looked down at his arms, at the bruises still discoloring his skin, every breath pulling at his cracked ribs, the pieces of his mind he couldn't categorize, and shivered.

He had fought.

Marinette had fought. These weren't defensive wounds.

We were on the same team.

"Was it me?" he asked, and his voice was very soft, as empty as he could make it.