Harmony

The northeastern wing was well-lit, isolated, and quiet in a way she hadn’t expected of the lengthy corridor. Darkness would have left it far more concerning, for how every shadow would’ve harbored a threat. It was still just as ominous and unsettling to know what awaited at the end. Not once did she curse the absence of life, by which she feared not all who called SIAR home had stuck to the lobby tonight. It was an extremely lucky coincidence, were it one at all. Her urgent footsteps echoing off every tight wall were her only company. SIAR was twisting and unforgiving. She went straight and straight only.

As to where Drey had actually gone, she knew only the general direction. Octavia hardly had the time to search thoroughly, given the multitude of doors she could’ve opted to delve past. She’d charged deep enough into the heart of SIAR that the violent songs at her back no longer reached her ears. Still, she knew them to exist, and her clock was technically ticking in that sense. Josiah was most likely correct about Drey’s intent to trap her. She didn’t particularly care.

The corridor terminated deep, deep into the depths of the institute, if the length of her hurried dash was any indicator. It came with metal, large and foreboding. One flat palm upon it left her skin cold, and the slightest of forward motions found it heavy to the touch. As she caught her breath, she let her forehead kiss the iron. She welcomed the chill, her every pore otherwise radiating heat. It was the most notable entrance of all she’d found throughout the corridor. She couldn’t prove he was behind it, and yet it was an instinct once again that left her heart pounding. If he was going to corner her, she’d let him. She pushed.

It took her entire body weight shoved hard against the door to move it so much as an inch. She strained beneath the pressure, her laborious shoving rewarded with a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. Doing so with Stradivaria in hand was difficult, and she was grateful she didn’t trip over the half-obscured threshold in the process. The sharpened edges of the door scraped her knees as she squirmed her way in, and she winced. At the very least, she wasn’t left scrambling in darkness.

She was simultaneously grateful for the abundant lighting glowing above and unnerved by the sheer scale of the room. Where the entrance of SIAR had been strikingly white, its heart was suffocatingly gray. Box after box after box destroyed the monotony of four dull walls, whether wooden or steel in origin. Speckled and stacked in equal measure, they were abundant, both sealed and not as what lay within peeked beyond and shimmered beautifully. Works of art were plentiful, corners of canvas and framing just barely cresting from lids ajar. There were weapons, sometimes, and she knew them on sight by metal that sparkled beneath the spilling light overhead. Some bore dust. Some didn’t. It made enough sense that their storage unit would rest so deep into the institute, sealed away from prying eyes.

Octavia’s hands trembled around Stradivaria with every shaky step. The sickening silence left her equally sick, and she feared her own breaths would echo. It was the first time in as long as she could recall that she was truly alone, with nary a song nor soul at her side. She’d chosen this path, to be fair. She did have company, technically, nestled squarely on her shoulder even now. It still took far more courage than she knew herself to hold to press forward.

Her eyes darted between, behind, and before each container that rose to meet them, both piled high and close to the ground. The vast, vast majority were more than sizable enough to conceal him, should he be here. From what she knew of him, she still doubted he was the type of man to strike her with stealth. His bluster spoke to a head-on approach, and he didn’t present himself as a coward. Even so, she’d already misjudged him enough. Her guard was impenetrable, and Octavia shifted her body as was necessary on every side.

The slam that crashed into every wall echoed so fiercely that she feared the ceiling would cave. She jumped just as viciously, her grip around Stradivaria enough to leave her muscles aching. Octavia nearly snapped her neck in the process of turning, and still, she was correct. It was perfect. It was disgusting.

Drey was clad in every shadow, his hand against the cold steel of the door. For a moment, he was motionless, offering only his back to her instead. It didn’t matter, and her trembling mattered just as little. She steadied the bow over the strings. She braced against the floor. She struggled to still her rattling breaths, and she hunted for the thousands of words she’d sought to choke him with. She found none of them.

When at last he turned, he was blessed with the light above in the worst way. The steel that stole the same, shimmering and sparkling, had been traded in place of that which stood marred by scarlet. It was long, ornate, and well at home in his sturdy hands. For how his arm dangled so carelessly, the tip of the blade nearly scraped the floor. Every inlay and pattern was still just as beautifully sweeping as she’d remembered. It took her a moment regardless. When it clicked, it burned.

He knew, maybe. “You recall this weapon, yes?”

“Velrose,” she answered, her voice wobbling somewhat.

“Indeed.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re trapping me in here?”

Drey shook his head, gesturing to the entrance calmly. “The door is unlocked. You are free to leave, if you wish. Even so, I doubt you would.”

“You’re damn right,” she snarled.

His approach was unhurried, the weapon pressed closely to his side. It was his footsteps, now, that echoed where her own once had. She had to resist the urge to scramble for distance, mildly desperate for space. The image of Renato’s hands crashing to the floor was too fresh. She feared the same, if not more.

“You wished to talk,” he said.

“I’ve decided you’re hardly worth talking to.”

“I apologize. I truly do owe you an explanation before I take your life.”

“What happened to not talking to the dead?” Octavia spat.

“Octavia, please,” he spoke softly. “Even now, it is not too late to turn back. We could start anew.”

Every honeyed word out of his mouth, laced with deceit, only served to leave her blood boiling. “It’s too late for everything. The only thing left is for you to die.”

He wrapped either hand firmly around the shaft of the polearm, steadied and aloft. Still, his expression was pained. “Octavia, my friend, please do not hate me for what I’ve done.”

The adrenaline was beginning to make her head hurt, restrained as it was. “Get my name out of your mouth. Don’t you ever call me your friend again. You are nothing to me.”

“Everything I do, I do with reason. There is nothing I have done without purpose.”

“Liar.”

“This, if nothing else, is the truth,” he pleaded. “Would you not believe me?”

It took everything in her power not to strike him down right then and there. Her ears were ringing. “How could I? After everything you’ve done? After all of the people you’ve hurt? You’re pure evil!”

“There is no ‘pure evil’ in this world, Octavia!” he cried. “There is no blood spilt only for the sake of frivolous matters!”

Hearing him raise his voice to such a degree was startling. Even as he’d sought to take her life, not once had he spoken so sharply to her. Still, still, his eyes had pooled with only hurt. Octavia had no words to respond with, bitter or otherwise.

“If you wish to think me a villain, Octavia, then go on! Think me a villain! Do so, if that is what drives you forward for your cause!”

He tensed. She could do little more than watch the way he lifted the weapon high, the blade capturing the gleam of every light above. She, in turn, adjusted her feet and angled the bow. She inhaled. She exhaled. She did so once more, every finger stiff and shaky around the neck of the violin. She wondered how hard it was to take a life. He was an exception, surely.

“Know that every man who walks this earth has ideals for which he would lay down his life without hesitation. If your drive is truly as strong as you say, then understand that this was inevitable. In another life, Octavia, perhaps we could have truly been comrades.”

Drey swung the polearm downwards, the blade steadied and level with the Maestra before him. “Above all else, know that this is not personal. With all that I am, from the depths of my soul, I am sorry for what I am about to do.”

He lunged first. If she ever found guilt, she could perhaps claim self-defense. For the life of her, she’d never regret it.

Drey didn’t pull his punches. He didn’t hesitate for an instant. Every swift slash and swing was born of the intent to kill, and his aim was horrifying. She’d stolen enough of his skill with her eyes as he’d clashed with the strength of sound head-on, and yet that had been with a weapon entirely different. Here, his posture was new. His movements were fresh. His combat was unique, and his form was perfect. It was a separate style altogether, and she was learning him all over again.

She could only transfer so much of what she’d seen, for how he’d become a different warrior altogether. Each blow came agonizingly close, and she could physically hear the whoosh of steel slicing the air clean in two. At least once, strands of hair clipped so precisely from her braids scattered in her peripheral vision. She didn’t have the leeway to follow their path to the floor.

It wasn’t enough to shake her. Octavia retaliated with everything she had, her heart ablaze and her burning blood much the same as her song seized every muscle and vein. Her soul was explosive, and her light was unrestrained. The warmth she’d nurtured so carefully beneath scorched fingertips now seared and scathed infinitely, the sun ripping her apart from the inside out and erupting into every note.

Her radiance besieged the strings in full, surging and sizzling into the rays she’d come to know so well. Every white-hot beam of brilliance was locked onto Drey and Drey alone, and every last one sailed towards him without mercy. Even he was hard-pressed to keep up with their speed, evading to the best of his ability. Those that missed crashed at his feet, bursting with a startling boom that left marble sprinkled with radiant debris.

Each time he came at her, her stomach lurched. His reaction time was phenomenal, and hers paled in comparison. Her light pleaded for distance. His polearm was built to steal it away. Simple and skillful thrusts sought to take her down, not-so-subtly aimed for her heart or spearing between her eyes. Several swings left the blade sweeping horizontally towards her neck, as necessary. It was her own reaction time that was put to the test, and it was with a response far less practiced that she found herself defending her life.

The shrill, sharp slashes of the bow across the strings left brilliance pooling from screeching notes, bubbling and surging for one man in place of a violet sea. It wasn’t perfect, hastily-crafted as it was. It was somewhat of a gamble, at first, given the difference between unnatural darkness and mortal steel. Still, the radiant glass that wrapped her up in full was enough to just barely block his assault, buckling slightly beneath the crushing blows. Her luminescent shield burst into shattering starlight as she regained her footing, staggering backwards to reclaim her offenses. She was never content to take his hits for long, and it was a countermeasure she refused to cling to forever. She played faster.

“Please, Octavia, let me make this painless for you!” he begged, briefly stifling his assault as he stilled.

On the tail end of another blow, her shining shield was left to dissipate with an audible sizzle. It was never enough to stem her song, and she held fast to the swirling luminescence that called her shoulders home. “You’ve haven’t made anything painless for anyone. All you’ve brought is pain!”

He lunged once more, and she rushed to meet his head-on assault identically. The force of the crashing blade against her brilliant dome left her flinching, and she gritted her teeth.

“Tell me, then, who have I wronged that has led you down this path?” he shouted.

For how he continued to push ever harder, she hated the way it buckled yet more. She experimented. With a swift strike of the bow, relentless and shrill, she left her radiance bursting. He earned it in full, outwards and rushing to greet his steel violence as it ruptured. She hoped it scalded him, and the way she watched him recoil in the wake of her splashing luminescence was promising. She spun sharply on her heel to the right, lest he exploit her lightless vulnerability.

Instead, of what light she’d harbored aloft, she cursed him in excess. What gently-swirling golds had orbited her speared towards the man viciously, nearly in time with his every movement. It took him even more effort to avoid her rushing wrath than usual, and yet he was still exceedingly skilled. With each passing second, his visage spoke to more of a fighter than a businessman. It was yet one more way he’d deceived her.

“My friends,” she snapped. “Cadence! My sister! Everyone!”

This time, she was well aware of the way at least one surging strand of light grazed his shoulder blade. He gritted his own teeth. “Would it ease your pain to know each reason in turn? Is that a blessing I can grant before death claims you, Octavia?”

She wanted to ignore him, and she struggled to do so. Still, there was little ignoring the lump in her throat, nor the bitter tears that stung the corners of her eyes. Her words were half-hearted. She shook her head fervently. “It’s too late for that!”

Yet again did her brilliant song leave her radiance sharp and piercing. Rays stolen from a sun not gifted to Solenford burned within the walls of SIAR instead, and she put every last one to use. Their aim was true, their path perfect. Not every one missed, and one pulsing beam clipped his right thigh. He grunted in pain, stumbling as he fought for renewed footing.

“The cycle of life and death in this world is not to be trifled with, Octavia, no matter how sorrowful its consequences may be! You and your kind, whether or not I understand in full, I know of your ambitions. I know the way you toy with fate, the way by which you interrupt the course of nature!”

When he found his balance, it came with an opportunity. He lunged. Her reaction was dangerously dulled, and it was too close a call. Her enveloping barrier of brilliance was born much later than she would’ve liked. He clashed, it bent, and she yelped.

“Your sister, she was a saint. She, too, I called my friend. In our own ways, we sought the betterment of this world. Our paths divulged, and yet she was solely misguided! Believe me, Octavia, I did not enjoy taking her life!”

“Shut up!” Octavia cried, despising the sensation of tears stinging her cheeks. Once more, her hands were trembling around Stradivaria. “You know nothing about her!”

“Whether or not you accept it, I knew her!” Drey pushed. “You are her splitting image in every way! You fight for your cause with such determination that you are blinded to what must be done, just the same as she!”

“You don’t know me!” she screamed. “You don’t know anything about me, either!”

Her vision was blurred, swimming in a sorrowful haze. Her response time was weakening, and she knew it to be true. She birthed the same shining barrier time and time again, and yet his blows seemed to grow only stronger. Whether it was herself that grew weaker instead, she couldn’t tell.

“That night, your face was the same, down to every last feature. So highly she spoke of her sister, time and time again, that I knew your visage on sight!”

Octavia shook her head desperately. “Shut up, shut up!”

“Do you honestly believe Velrose was your own idea? Imagine my surprise when you so willingly chose to go!”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You are foolish to believe your world is hidden, that the signs of your unnatural magic are not on full display! You are an even greater fool to believe that your quest comes without consequence!”

“I said shut up!”

“I know more than you think, Octavia. I know of the dark forces that plague this earth, just as your sister had told me. I know of the way they have manifested long before our time, and I know of the suffering they lead to!”

“Stop it!” Octavia pleaded tearfully.

“But I also know what cannot be changed. I know what nature must allow! I know that mere children should not be playing with the forces of life and death themselves!”

She was openly sobbing as she fought, and it was her sorrow that proved her greatest threat. Her rage was haphazard, her song a pendulum somewhere between ire and a shattered soul. No matter how she played, she was compromised. Her alignment was marred by hate and robbed of accuracy. Every blast of radiance that bore down upon Drey missed its target time after time, her brilliant hatred traded for audible pain as he dodged with ease.

“I do not fault you! You do not deserve to lead this life, and so I gave you a choice to step away! Even now, Octavia, you could go home and begin again! You could start anew without that wretched violin for which your sister threw away her life!”

She had no words. Of the heart from which her light was born, he hit his mark as he slashed it to pieces again and again and again.

“I did not kill your friend. I merely stole his ability to fight, lest he walk this path forevermore. I could not do the same for Cadence, however I may have tried. Despite my efforts, I, too, could not save your sister, who raged until her last breath.”

Her useless rays fell to earth with a pitiful boom from afar. Her bitter tears splashed onto her boots from much nearer. She feared she’d fumble the bow.

“I know what I have done to that city, and I do not regret it.”

She froze. Her tears stilled. Her song screeched to a halt, and he, too, was still.

“What…did you say?”

He exhaled deeply. “I thank you for showing me the truth of the Blessed City, and the Cursed City below. Know that my cause runs deep. A place--places, if you will--which meddles with the same forces of the natural world cannot stand. I bitterly regret the innocent lives lost in the process.”

Her entire body was shaking. Her breaths were rapid. She couldn’t see straight.

“You…Selena?”

“In one sense, there is someone I truly saved. She will never suffer again. Know that it was not I who drove her to her breaking point. That fault lies with others. I pity her, for it was fate which made her a catalyst.”

The world was spinning. Her ears were ringing. It was an agony violet could never bring.

“It was you,” Octavia breathed. “You…told the clergy. You knew what would happen.”

And when he nodded, the remorse in his eyes meant nothing yet again. It was all she could do to scream.

If her wails and cries of uncontrolled pain offered up a song of sorrow, then Stradivaria’s song offered up the uncontrolled sun. It was a melody of discord, disorganized and sharp in a way that would surely have stung even her own ears. Her light was explosive, and no longer in a way she embraced. From her veins it poured, and she bled starlight so fiercely that she’d surely die. She was a star cursed to burn forever, lashing luminescence boiling and writhing on every side. She’d had a barrier, once, neat and condensed as it guarded her life. Now, she was engulfed in light somewhere between that of Heaven and Hell. She was the center of a cursed solar system, sobbing in the depths of a sparkling inferno.

She didn’t care where she was hitting, nor if she was hitting anything at all. Her fingers were moving, and the sound of a violin’s desperate cries matched her own upon the heated air. It was enough of an indicator that she was playing at all. She could at least see Drey raise one hand aloft, shielding his eyes from the blinding luminosity of her absolute rage.

“What must it feel like, you might wonder, to be unable to truly save anyone from this path?” he called above her aimless harmony. “To be villainized, hindered, rallied against at every step for attempting to restore order where order is due? For attempting to steer the innocent away from a life of pain and endless violence? Do you truly think I enjoy killing children, Octavia? Is that what you genuinely believe?”

No amount of screeching was drowning out his words, desperate as it was. No amount of playing was loud enough to overtake his voice.

“I say again to you, Octavia, know that I honestly do care for you! My word is true, and I did what I could to spare you the same fate as those before you! You dabble with magic that you do not understand, and someday you will surely pay the price!”

It didn’t matter if she seared her pupils on the fringes of her own broken sun. It didn’t matter if she squeezed her eyes shut and clung to compromised darkness. There was no escaping the bells echoing in her head. Selena was there, crushed in more ways than one beneath the touch of dawn. Sonata was there, suffering with wounded hands. Cadence’s eyes were unforgettable. Renato’s grin was unmistakable. Priscilla’s face would forever be beautiful.

It had only taken one man to steal it all away. Her heart was his victim, just the same.

“This is the only way I can save you. In death, I hope you will understand.”

It was her fault. She’d more or less handed him his opportunity.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he missed his exact mark. With skill, Drey wove between the swirling wrath of the sun that called Octavia home, undaunted by the scorching heat threatening him on every side. A skillful thrust of the polearm left remorseless steel on a collision course with her face, and the blade sliced her left cheek far too cleanly. She cried out, recoiling instantly beneath the sudden sting of wounded flesh. Blood splattered against her shoulder, and she lost what little breath she still had. It was a second miracle that she’d managed to keep her footing, stumbling in reverse rather than collapsing in full. Had she fallen, for what second chance he would’ve gotten, there would’ve been no further miracles.

Her nova was a reflex, the sickening screech of the bow along every string largely unintentional. It left an exploding sun behind, rupturing and expanding uncontrollably. Every lashing ray blighted him in full, even haphazard and woven in utter disarray as they were. He stumbled backwards, arms aloft with only a polearm to uselessly guard against the unraveling star. The heat was immense, not lost on Octavia’s own skin as the sizzling light erupted into sparkling nothing with a luminosity far too vivid. She panted, shoulders heaving. Her cheek burned. Her eyes widened, and she was trembling once more.

Calm yourself.

In the deepest throes of agony, every word was clear.

Temper your anger or you will lose your life.

It was no longer a guess.

“Stradivaria,” she breathed aloud.

Her ruptured sun had been fleeting, and the man was already balanced once more. The weapon was readied, his eyes were sharp, and his stance was perfect. His shoulders hardly heaved with labored breaths, nor did sweat cling to his skin. By comparison, her fingers burned. Her muscles screamed. Somewhere along the way, she’d sliced her skin of her own accord, rugged copper claiming gentle red as her blood speckled the strings. She clenched the neck of the violin harder beneath the weight of a shudder. Within the walls of SIAR, it was the first time she’d feared for her life.

“What should I do?” she whispered to the voice unseen.

The silence she earned felt eternal. Her heartbeat filled the gap, deafening as it was.

If you possess the resolve to take a life, you will do what must be done.

It was an echo of a sentiment spoken by the man before her. The weight in every word was identical. It was still a task easier said than done, for how Drey had proven himself to be a man more than fit to challenge her world. Where the strength of sound had surely left him outmatched, he’d escaped unscathed. Where a heart of light sought to pin him down, it was her life that now hung in the balance.

She’d tried everything. She’d earned nothing. She settled the bow against the strings once more, steadying her footing. She was running out of time, physically. For what it had taken to get this far, he needed to die. There was no alternative. Panic was setting in, and she felt it writhing in her stomach. She didn’t have the leeway to close her eyes.

It was with a spark that one idea alone came to her. It was completely and utterly sickening.

She slid one foot backwards, fixing her eyes firmly on Drey as she tensed her fingers around the bow. It was revolting. It was vicious. It was forbidden. It was all she had. It was necessary. It was necessary. It was necessary. She wondered what Priscilla would say.

And when he lunged, she offered a silent prayer to Stradivaria.

Forgive me.

Drey’s speed was identical to that which he’d carried throughout their battle, unbound by exhaustion or hesitation as he surged forth. The tip of the blade was level with her heart, and she briefly wondered if he intended to offer the same swift end he’d granted to Cadence. With what strength she had left, Octavia bolted sharply, pivoting swiftly to the right on one heel. It was enough for the steel to snag the hem of her dress instead, fabric slashed and torn in place of vital organs. She didn’t flinch, and she watched as he stumbled.

It was the one and only opportunity she would get. She seized it with a song she still couldn’t fathom.

He earned her eyes upon his own, and she hoped that burned enough. If it didn’t, the fiery wrath barreling down his throat surely would. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t speak. Octavia strongly doubted he could breathe, for his how palms surrendered the polearm so quickly. The fumbled weapon clattered to the floor with an echoing thud, his hands darting to his throat as he clutched desperately. She gave him pain. She gave him all the pain in the world.

She’d been concerned about her aim, last time, and she’d somewhat feared missing her mark here as well. She needn’t have worried, ultimately, and the spearing ray of radiance that erupted from the bridge chased him down and stung his soul. It spiraled deep, swirled vibrantly, and left him aglow as her brilliance seeped through his skin. The thin, pulsing line of gold left her light within for once. There was nothing to grasp this time, nor anything to hunt for. There was no tension to be expected. There was no fear of failure. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, a perversion of something sacred. It was a concern that lost out to wrath. She hoped it hurt. She needed it to hurt. She so, so desperately needed it to hurt.

She’d feared failing, once. Right now, of this alone, she’d never wanted to fail more in her life.

She was screaming all the way there. It was with every last ounce of energy she had, and yet more so she hardly knew she possessed, that she tore him apart. Where the sun was so often born of her blood, she unleashed it within his. Where heat so often boiled beneath her skin, she was doubly sure to leave his own twice as scathing. Where her brilliance bubbled and burst with such power in every swift movement and on every sparkling note, she’d leave him erupting with the same from every orifice.

He was light in the worst way, spilling and overflowing with her hateful luminescence. He couldn’t beg, nor could he plead. He couldn’t move, and screaming was her right alone. In the instant before his eyes surrendered to beaming light, his corneas surely annihilated from behind, she could swear she saw agony. It was perfect. She relished it, and she fought for more.

She wasn’t sure for how long she played. She wasn’t certain for how long she was content to sear him from the inside out, incinerating every last inch of his very soul. He was a shell at some point, undoubtedly, an empty vessel that held solely her leaking light alone. If she stilled, her revenge would end. It kept her going, and her rage was endless. She played, and played, and played, and played. He was absolutely, undeniably dead, and part of her was privy to the knowledge that she was desecrating his corpse. She played. It felt good.

And when she’d had her fill--whenever that time had come, for how she hardly remembered it--she watched as her brilliant beam once meant to heal split and splintered. Crackling in two, it dissipated with a sizzle. Drey fell, crumpling lifelessly to the cold floor below. The marble was in stark contrast to what radiating heat still claimed him within. Part of her hoped it stayed forever.

It hit. It took a moment to hit, by which she had to stare at his body for at least ten seconds. Her light hadn’t been all that was content to sizzle, apparently, and she could hear it from here. He deserved it. He deserved it. It was disgusting. It was cruel. It was sick.

Her hands trembled fiercely, and the world began to spin. At some point, her fingers unfurled slowly, eternally clutching Stradivaria as they’d been. The violin clattered to the floor, and she nearly did the same. She doubled over, clutching her stomach instead as she vomited onto the marble underfoot.

Octavia Ellis, she heard, your toll has been paid twice over.

She didn’t have the words to respond, nor did she have the energy to understand. She heaved until she was certain there was nothing left of her stomach. Even then, she couldn’t stop herself from doing much of the same yet again. She would raise her eyes to Drey, and the cycle would begin anew. There came a point where she could bring herself to look at him no longer, and she was left squeezing her eyes shut. She gasped desperately for air, tears and sweat cascading down her cheeks in equal measure. It was all she could do to stay upright. Her knees trembled horrifically, and her head was throbbing.

Whatever footsteps she heard beating upon the floor outside were beyond her control. She could hear them echoing off every wall of the corridor, seeping into a storage unit she’d turned into the sickest of coffins. It was all she could do to turn her head. Self-defense was out of the question, for how everything ached and everything burned. Maybe whatever was to come was justified. Maybe it wasn’t. She was his executioner, and perhaps she in turn had deserved her own.

Heavy steel scraped against more delicate flooring with an ominous creak, and that, too, echoed. Every sound in the world was amplified in the tomb of her own making, and her racing heart was now the least of it. She’d been correct about additional workers, although she was stunned it had taken so long to attract attention. Drey had sealed their duel away from prying eyes, granted. Still, she doubted her furious song had been particularly soft.

The face that stared her down from the shadows was hardly a face at all, obscured in full by a white equal to the blinding motif of SIAR itself. They were clad in the same, thicker and bulkier in the slightest. It was a far cry from the crisp and flimsier coats she’d seen in the lobby. For what chemicals could be found in an institute of restoration, she could understand the mask. It seemed suffocating, if nothing else, and she couldn’t so much as make out the stranger’s eyes. She held her breath, suffocated in turn. She didn’t move.

“Octavia?” they spoke.

She could’ve sworn she’d heard that voice once, if not only once. To place exactly where would’ve killed her, given how hard her head was throbbing.

Their head drifted towards Drey’s lifeless visage, and yet again back to her. “You need to leave, quickly. Get out of here. I will handle the rest. Get on the midnight train out of Solenford and don’t come back.”

Octavia stared blankly. “Who--”

“Take your friends and go, now,” they warned sternly. “That boy needs a doctor.”

She hadn’t forgotten her companions in the slightest. Still, in the moment, Drey had taken precedence. Now, for what she’d managed to leave behind, they were once more of the utmost importance. She surrendered her interest in the stranger, burning as their voice was. Her hands shook violently as she reclaimed Stradivaria from the unforgiving marble, and her knees rattled with every step she fought to take. The world wasn’t real. She wasn’t there.

When she found her focus, she lost her stranger just as quickly. It was as though she’d blinked and surrendered them, distracted as she’d been. She wondered for how long she’d disconnected. Even now, it was difficult to stay tethered to her own body. It would’ve been painfully easy to float so high above, looking down onto the murderer of a murderer. She’d hoped for pride and relief. She found guilt and disgust. She was somewhere in the center of both, a pendulum between satisfied and sickened that left her hyper-aware of blood upon her song. Revenge felt different than she’d expected. It was what she’d asked for.

She didn’t afford a final look at Drey’s body, silent and devoid of any words with which to pierce her broken heart. With her partner cradled in her arms, Octavia left him behind. So, too, did she leave every ounce of hatred in her soul clinging to his corpse on the way out.