Harmony

It wasn’t overly difficult for Viola to keep a straight face in front of Octavia--at least, not right now. There was little need for tears, screams, or anything in between. Instead, the numbness that came with the surprise was almost welcome. She’d come to embrace it since receiving the news, bundling up in a warm blanket that she knew to be dangerously close to denial. She wondered when it would sink in. She wondered if this was how it was sinking in.

The way Octavia looked at her carried enough emotion for the both of them.

“Why would--”

“I don’t know.”

She knew the question would come, perhaps almost immediately. She hadn’t quite formulated a solid answer yet. She didn’t have the energy. Today was too much.

“When does--”

“Four days.”

In some twisted way, Viola appreciated the way Octavia’s horror and panic compensated for what should have been her own. She wished she had the capacity. This was the reaction she knew she should’ve had fifteen minutes ago, squandered in favor of abject silence.

“Four days?” came an echo of terror.

“Yeah.”

“So soon? Just, like, out of nowhere?”

“Yeah.”

There was nothing more to say.

Octavia folded her hands together over her heart, a meaningless prayer to no one for a situation so far beyond her control. Were it truly a prayer, Viola at least appreciated the gesture. For the brief period of time that Octavia fell speechless, Viola couldn’t blame her. There really, truly was so little to say.

“I don’t…you just found out?”

“Yeah.”

“From your grandmother?”

“Yeah.”

She had half a mind to wonder if Octavia expected more of a reaction from her. She doubted she was delivering a performance that spoke to the severity of the loss she was about to encounter. Some curious, sadistic part of her wondered if Octavia would be required to go back and witness a new toll for Silver Brevada. This one, in some twisted way, would probably fit the criteria--provided that was how that worked. Contemplating it was easier than absorbing the horrified look on Octavia’s face right now.

“Should we…we should talk about this, right? Let’s figure something out together. There must be a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake.”

“What if it’s someone playing a really sick prank?”

“It’s not a joke.”

“We can definitely…do something to fix this. We have to try!”

“It’s not something I can fix.”

“Not by yourself!” Octavia cried, her eyes glimmering dangerously.

Viola knew that look. Usually, she had nothing but appreciation and admiration for it. Right now, it wouldn’t do her much good. “You don’t understand,” she breathed.

“Let’s call everyone back together again. Let’s talk this over!”

“Octavia, please.”

“Can’t we at least try?”

“We’ve talked enough for one day. We’ve done enough for one day. Everyone’s either burned out, upset, or angry.”

“If they know one of us has a problem, you know they’d drop everything to help! You know that!” Octavia argued.

Viola inhaled deeply. “This is my problem. No one else’s. If it’s to be dealt with, I’ll deal with it myself. If there’s nothing to be done, I’ll cross that bridge on my own, too.”

“But--”

“This,” Viola interrupted, “has always been my problem. This will always be my problem, and this is a problem I won’t surrender to anyone else--for better or worse. This problem is mine.”

She wouldn't let Octavia respond. She did her best to dash that opportunity immediately, turning on her heel and making for any direction except for here. Sound traveled faster than she did.

“I won’t let it be,” came a murmur from behind.

Even from Octavia, the words meant nothing. Empty resolution in a soul of ice swallowed them whole. Viola had no plan, and maybe that was for the best. If she had her selfish way, the end would come on her own terms. Of this, and of him, it was the first time she'd get to choose.

Octavia didn’t spare her at dinner.

She was amazed that all six Maestros congregated at dinner at all. Viola had been completely confident that, at the absolute least, one of them would be a no-show. She declined to offer the person in question an apology, and would continue to do so. She didn’t particularly expect one in return. That, too, was maybe for the best. He wouldn’t so much as look at her, content instead to fixate on his food. She liked to imagine it was simply the joy brought about by Madrigal’s cooking. In truth, she wondered if he now hated her.

She was surprised their chef had mustered the energy to cook at all, even relative to her regular routine. Madrigal enjoyed cooking with such notable fervor that the act was hardly a chore--from an outside perspective, at least. Even so, the shock of their prior conversation, had Viola instead been on the receiving end of such a revelation, would’ve been enough to bind her to her room for days. For her ability to bounce back, Viola held nothing but respect for the girl. It didn’t erase the glassy glaze that coated her eyes.

The discomfort visible on both Harper and Renato’s faces was, perhaps, equally as unsettling. Really, the only thing more shocking than seeing the latter shut his mouth for more than ten seconds was the world-ending image of him in any state short of enthusiasm. She rarely wished for him to be annoying. Tonight was an exception.

Harper, by comparison, hurt to look at. His soft, wandering eyes were offered in turn to each and every occupant with concern that stung her heart. When they landed on herself, Viola had to resist the urge to reach for him. Even a gentle, wordless brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand would’ve been enough. Any form of individual attention from him would be enough to ease her soul in the slightest. She knew she wouldn’t get it.

This left her pinned somewhere between the rising steam of the baked potato inches from her face and the pressing eyes of a stubborn Maestra across the table. It was the first time in a very, very long time that Octavia had opted to sit anywhere except directly beside her. Her absence and subsequent new placement were, respectively, equal parts lonesome and jarring. The only thing she disliked more than the lack of Octavia at her side was the harsh, indiscernible look she’d been fixing Viola with since they’d sat down.

Viola had at least a vague guess as to what was expected of her. Even so, for all of her rash behaviors, Octavia was absolutely not the kind of person to pressure her into doing something she didn’t want to do. Usually, that role was reversed. She'd never felt particularly proud of it.

That left an intolerable silence, more agonizing than the prior chaos in every way. It took everything in her power to shatter it, even if it wasn’t with the words Octavia hoped for.

“Thank you,” Viola murmured to Madrigal at her side. “For making dinner. It’s…really good.”

Madrigal didn’t grace her praise with words. A solemn nod was all she earned, her curls bobbing twice in tandem just above an empty expression. Viola’s heart sank. On closer inspection, the girl hadn’t so much as attempted to touch her own food.

On even closer inspection, Renato seemed far more occupied with staring at Madrigal than actually eating. The way his eyes flickered back and forth between his meal--usually devoured without issue--and Madrigal’s face weren't subtle. He propped an elbow up against the table, resting his cheek lazily in one hand. For the extent to which Renato poked the Maestra with his sporadic gaze again and again, he might've been just as uncomfortable.

“You’re…not hungry?” he finally tried.

Once more, Madrigal was wordless. She shook her head.

“That’s alright,” Renato said softly. “Maybe I can…make you somethin’ later. Or now. Do you want anything else?”

She shook her head again.

“Lemme…know if you change your mind, okay?”

Madrigal gave one single, silent nod.

“Right.”

This was agonizing.

“Anyone else extremely stressed out right now?”

Harper said more or less exactly what Viola was thinking--albeit with wildly surprising coolness, composure, and bluntness. There was some sick irony in the nature of his words relative to her closely-guarded situation. He seemed perhaps the least stressed out of everyone, his attention offered solely to his food as he continued his meal with little hesitation. It didn’t spare him from the multiple sets of eyes that immediately snapped to him. He wasn’t ignorant to them, shrugging.

“I’m just being honest. That was a lot. No pretending otherwise. I started this morning with my lungs full of smoke, and it got followed up by a thousand more bombs. Today has been insane. Whatever we’ve got going on--any of this--can wait until tomorrow.”

In the most generalizing way possible, he waved his fork in equal measure amongst the Maestros. Viola tensed. There were multiple different levels of ‘this’, some of which were manifesting almost immediately. She knew she was a part of several of them. She knew he didn’t know one of them existed.

“I think we should handle some of it now.”

She was going to strangle Octavia.

Harper’s eyes fell to her, still tired as they were. Even with the desperately-necessary few hours of sleep he’d finally gotten, she doubted it had been enough to make up for what he’d been through over the past few days--particularly if Octavia’s prior description of his injuries was anything to go by. “You don’t think we should all just…simmer down a bit?”

Octavia shook her head, her braids gently brushing against her cheeks with each movement. “That’s not what I mean.”

Octavia’s eyes met Viola’s own, resolute and stubborn as always. She wasn’t forcing Viola to speak with a knife at her back. She was, however, doing her best to drive her to the edge of a cliff. Against her will, Viola’s heart was beginning to beat just the slightest bit faster.

Harper was sharp. That much wasn’t new. As such, when his eyes followed the path of Octavia’s and trailed all the way to Viola, the latter began to sweat.

No amount of saying “don’t” with her gaze, no matter how aggravated or desperate, was working. She opted for mouthing it instead, as subtly as she could, to the Maestra forcing her hand. It was useless, and that, too, didn’t slip past Harper in the slightest. His eyes darted to the recipient of every worthless plea instead.

“Drop it”, no matter how carefully emulated with wordless motions of her lips, also meant nothing to Octavia--nor did “please”, “knock it off”, or “stop”. Only the sharp stinging beneath her nail beds clued Viola in to the degree to which she was digging her fingernails into the tabletop.

She made the fatal mistake of looking at Harper. He tilted his head at her, his eyes narrow.

“What’s…going on with you?” he whispered, just barely out of earshot of Madrigal--let alone everyone else.

Viola didn’t quite feel sick to her stomach. Still, a general discomfort that killed her appetite had taken up residence in some capacity. She didn’t dare make eye contact. “N-Nothing.”

Harper was silent for a brief moment. “Look at me.”

She almost did. It was halfway through turning her head that something clicked. The moment it hit, her eyes darted in a random direction far from his own. “I’m not falling for that.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”

Viola balled her fists in her lap, her gaze still as distant as she could will it to be. Any glance to her left, at this point, would be fatal.

“You realize avoiding answering is just as incriminating, right?” he said gently.

“I don’t need you prying things out of me that I don’t want to share,” she grumbled.

His soft tone never faltered, even in the face of her harsh words. “Everything I ask, I ask out of concern, not because I’m trying to mess with you. Trust me, okay?”

In an instant, Octavia had gone from making this a two-person problem to a three-person problem. It was a problem that was only ever intended to be a one-person issue in the first place--her issue, exclusively. This wasn’t anyone else’s business. She very rarely felt any semblance of anger towards Octavia. As with so many things, today was rapidly becoming an exception. For once, Viola was beginning to get aggravated.

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

The words that followed Harper’s pleas for trust were so disconnected from the prior discussion that Viola initially thought she’d misheard. It was only when she felt the sensation of her mouth slightly ajar that she realized something had slipped out. As to which line of thought it had been, she was unsure. If it was regarding her anger towards Octavia, she suddenly felt bad.

“What’s…no one’s business?” he continued softly.

Now she felt sick to her stomach.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she muttered.

Out of the corner of her eye, Madrigal’s head turning in her direction didn’t elude her. She didn’t even want to know if Josiah and Renato were following suit, and she didn’t dare check. On her way up to Octavia’s gaze, she hardly had a choice. The Maestra hadn’t changed her expression in the slightest, still as unflinching and determined as she’d been since they’d sat down. Part of Viola wanted to scream. Throwing something might’ve helped just as much.

“You, uh, you good over there?” Renato asked hesitantly.

She winced. It was the last thing she wanted to hear. He was the last person she wanted to hear it from. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice notably strained.

“Look, we kinda already laid everything out earlier. If there’s anything left, you might as well just…add to the pile. Otherwise, none of us are gonna be able to sleep tonight,” he offered. “Get it off your chest. You’ll feel better.”

Given their speaker, his words were surprisingly reassuring--under normal circumstances. Her hands were still curled into fists, pressing harshly against her knees beneath the table. “I…appreciate it, but this is something I should keep to myself.”

He shrugged. “Respect that. I won’t force ya. We’re all ears if you need us, you know that.”

She must’ve visibly been far worse off than she’d thought if Renato, of all people, was being so kind to her. Surely the universe was collapsing. Octavia’s fervent nodding immediately after his reassurance was, in its own way, more irritating.

Octavia wasn’t going to let this go. Worse still, everyone’s eyes were on Viola. She rested her face snugly upon her palms. Two elbows propped against the table served as the only thing separating her from the urge to smash her forehead against the mahogany. If she couldn’t escape, a singular mention would hopefully be enough to placate Octavia. Acknowledgement didn’t necessarily mean dragging them all to Hell with her. She weighed the decision as carefully as the words that followed, bringing one deep breath to show for it.

“They sentenced my father to death,” Viola said plainly.

There were no immediate exclamations of surprise, nor did any of them leap to their feet in shock. There was, somewhat humorously, at least one person who’d dropped their utensil of choice, the silver clattering noisily against their plate. She didn’t care enough to check who.

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she gave Renato credit--for once. It was most definitely off her chest, for better or worse. Getting Octavia off of her back was of higher priority and sweeter relief. Viola wasn’t looking forward to the questions that would follow. It was one more thing she could curse Octavia for.

“Your dad? Why the hell would they change that all of a sudden?” Renato finally asked, arms spread wide with animated confusion.

“Viola, I’m so sorry,” Madrigal murmured, laying one hand upon the Soulful Maestra’s shoulder.

“Like, I know the guy screwed up, but I didn’t think they were gonna kill him!”

“Renato!” Octavia hissed through her teeth.

He winced. “Sorry.”

“They can just change sentences like that? Halfway through someone serving one already?”

Josiah’s voice genuinely startled Viola, even calm and neutral as it was. She’d expected any words out of his mouth aimed at her to be hostile, should they come at all. She feared he’d mock her, or perhaps make the discussion more difficult in general. Cynical as he was, she doubted he’d choose emotional tact over whatever cold logic he’d been hunting for lately. She really, really didn’t have the energy to deal with him right now.

“They’re not supposed to. This isn’t normal,” she answered quietly.

“Is there a precedent for this? Like, has this happened to someone else before?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I imagine not.”

Josiah paused, raising one hand to his mouth as he organized his words. “What’s the sentencing process here?”

“In Coda? What do you mean?”

“When you get arrested. For anything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You…get arrested, you get a fair trial, you get one solid sentence, and you serve that sentence. When you’re done, they let you go. If it’s the death penalty, you die. That applies literally everywhere. Have you not…seen that before?”

Josiah blinked slowly. “I didn’t exactly grow up in a place with a sparkling criminal justice system.”

Viola gulped. She forgot.

“Do they have new evidence or something? Something that would change their minds on what they already decided?” Octavia asked instead.

“I mean, they shouldn’t. The whole…ordeal with him happened when I was little. Maybe eight years ago. There’s no way they found anything--no way they could have found anything to change their minds. They already know the damage that was done.”

“Maybe they figured out there was a fourth person.”

Harper’s voice was so quiet that she almost didn’t hear him. When his words finally hit, their gravity threatened to suck her into a black hole and crush her into pieces. Viola didn’t dare entertain the implications. She didn’t dare look at him at all.

“The only people who would know that,” she began, her voice shaking in the slightest, “are sitting at this table right now. So, unless one of you went to the authorities to report that after we found out, they have absolutely no way of knowing. And I…really, really like to imagine that’s not what happened. If I’m wrong, whoever did it is more than welcome to speak up.”

Renato rested his forehead against one palm. “You guys got the whole sentence appeal system here? We’ve got that in Selbright for the death penalty.”

Viola was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t think about that. Yes, we do.”

Octavia tilted her head. “The what?”

“Hypothetically, in Coda, you could appeal a sentence on a few different grounds. In this case, it wouldn’t be unfeasible to argue that they’d require a whole new trial to come to this sort of conclusion. If they didn’t have one, you could ask for one,” she explained.

“You don’t think they had one behind closed doors?” Josiah tried.

Viola shook her head. “Not allowed in Coda. All trials have to be public and transparent. Family of the accused has to be notified, too.”

“How long does he have?” Madrigal asked.

Viola didn’t particularly want to answer. “According to the notice we got, four days.”

“Four?” Renato exclaimed. “God, what the hell is the rush? That’s four days until they kill him, right?”

“Could you at least try to choose your words better?” Octavia growled through her teeth.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hands aloft before him in defeat. “Sorry, sorry!”

“If I’m following this right, then,” Josiah offered calmly, “that still gives you a few days to file an appeal, right? If that’s…how that works here? Then what?”

Viola sighed. “If they accept that appeal, Coda would grant the rights to a retrial. They’d stay the execution so a full trial could be prepared and held. The odds of getting him out of a life sentence are pretty slim, so it would just have to come down to avoiding the death penalty. Figuring out what exactly made them change their minds would help, or how that law got skirted in the first place.”

“Could he plead insanity?”

Viola fell silent. It took a moment to gather her words. Even then, they were sparse. “What?”

Josiah didn’t hesitate. “If you could prove your father wasn’t aware of what he was doing, could his sentence not be cut even further?”

“I-I…” Viola stammered, initially speechless. “It’s a…resentencing trial. I don’t know if his entire plea could be changed. He’s already been established to be guilty, and…getting the defense on board with that would be difficult.”

Renato scoffed. “Seriously? You’re gonna try to explain friggin’ Dissonance to a jury?”

“Don’t have to,” Josiah continued, shaking his head. “Don’t even need to mention it. Plenty of other ways to insinuate insanity.”

“Like?”

“We have a witness now.”

When his words abruptly halted, it took a collective moment for their implications to sink in. The implications in question drew all eyes to the one person for whom the term “witness” usually carried a far different connotation. Viola didn’t particularly enjoy where this was going. She assumed Octavia didn’t, either.

“M-Me?” their innocent target stuttered.

Josiah nodded. “You’ve seen every one of his crimes in full. You’ve seen every single detail. You’re the one and only person in the entire world who knows what happened that night. You’re the perfect witness that he never had. If anyone can secure an insanity ruling for him, it’s you.”

Octavia winced. “But…after all these years? They’re not gonna randomly believe a new witness that shows up out of nowhere, are they? How would they even know my testimony holds any merit in the first place?”

“Because the details you can give are so specific that they can’t be argued. I wasn’t there. None of us were there. Octavia, you have literally breathed the last breaths of every one of these people. I told you that I won’t push for more than the highlights, but I know you know what you saw, for better or worse. Ironically, that’s what’ll save him.”

Usually, his blunt wording was borderline disrespectful, casting Octavia’s feelings to the wayside in pursuit of logic. For once, Viola doubted that was his intent. She never thought she’d be grateful for his phrasing, even given the look of discomfort that plagued Octavia’s face.

“Then there’s…something I need to ask first,” Octavia interrupted.

Josiah let her speak. Even so, it was Viola to whom Octavia’s eyes fell. This was heading nowhere positive.

“I’ve been…trying not to ask this for a really, really, really long time, because I sincerely thought it was none of my business. That being said, if this is something you want me to do, and if I’m supposed to stand up for a Dissonant man I’ve never met before, this is my business now. I can’t keep avoiding it, and it’s been getting more and more complicated.”

Viola inhaled sharply. She had a very faint idea of where this was going. She was sweating.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to,” Octavia reassured softly. “I won’t push you, and I know it’s…personal, but it would help a lot. If this is gonna work, it would really, really help if I--we--knew.”

Octavia was right about that much. Viola, with certainty, didn't want to answer. She’d somewhat seen it coming. That was how they’d ended up here, after all.

“What exactly…happened with your father?”

The moment the question left Octavia’s mouth, the feeling of all eyes on Viola was unbearable. She strongly considered leaping from her chair and running forever. Finding a different solution alone was still a possibility. It would keep her from prying into things best left sealed and silenced, by comparison.

It wasn’t a simple question. It was loaded. It was overloaded, really. It was explosive. It wound through facets of her life she hadn’t yet dared to address with them. If she asked Octavia to let her give the answer in private, she wondered if the Maestra would oblige. Even so, Viola strongly doubted she’d ever be able to summon the energy to tell the story twice.

She closed her eyes. She inhaled. She exhaled. She wondered what she was even doing here. In the words of Josiah, she’d stick to the highlights.

“My mother and father got along poorly, even before I was born. They liked each other well enough when they got married, but they started to drift apart at some point. They fought over everything from the direction of the art trading business to the way one another dressed. They fought more than they spoke, at some point. When they fought, they fought. My mother threw things at him. She berated him constantly, and she called him horrible things. I…don’t think either of them ever actually hit each other. I don’t know what they saw in one another the first time around.”

She paused, tensing. “When I was born, they changed for a while. My father adored me, and I loved him to pieces. We were inseparable. Most memories I have as a child are with him at my side. I spent time with my mother, too, but not as much. She didn’t dote on me and spoil me even slightly as much as he did, but she was still good to me. I think she loved me, too. Around me, they behaved. When they thought I was out of sight and earshot, they went back to what they usually did. They fought more and more as I got older--multiple times a day. I’ve never seen two people with so much disdain for each other.”

Viola considered opening her eyes and gauging their reactions. She ultimately decided against it. If she did, she risked losing the drive to continue altogether. “I…didn’t know this next part until I got a lot older. My grandmother had to tell me. When I was about seven years old, my mother finally filed for divorce. She stole money from our family account to bribe the judge regarding…me. She tried to get full custody of me, to keep my father from having the rights to so much as visit me, and she made up all these awful lies about him. I think she wanted to use me to hurt him one more time. That’s…that was the breaking point, I’m pretty sure.”

It took everything in her power to keep her voice steady. “The night he found out was the night it happened. You…know the rest. My grandmother found him just outside of the city, in one of the outer residential districts near the woods. She got him back to normal. She didn’t turn him in, but there was enough eyewitness testimony that the authorities were able to catch him shortly after that. By that point, he barely remembered anything. I didn’t even know until the next day. I was safe and asleep in my bed the entire time while my father was out killing people. They found two bodies outright. He confessed to killing a third person. They took his admission as truth. They tried him, found him guilty on three counts of murder, all by the same method. Gave him a life sentence. Two days later, my mother left all of her things behind, gave some choice words to my grandmother, and walked out of my life forever. I never saw her again.”

Viola opened her eyes at last, content to drink in the deeply uncomfortable silence for a moment. “And that’s…that.”

There was little meaningful response she could earn. Madrigal at least tried. “Thank you for sharing that with us,” she said gently.

Octavia hesitated to speak. She found her words eventually. “I thought you told me he didn’t remember anything. How did he remember he killed anyone to begin with?”

Viola sighed. “Supposedly, in the trial, he said his memory was extremely hazy. Even so, he still had bits and pieces. He remembered enough to know the gist of what he did.”

“And these were just random people?” Josiah asked.

It was Viola’s turn to hesitate. “Up until very recently, I would’ve said yes. That being said, I’ve kind of wondered about something lately. You’re…rational. Tell me what you think about this idea.”

At her subtle praise, he raised an eyebrow. Still, his silence acted as permission.

“There’s been a kind of…trend I’ve seen with a few of the Dissonant people we’ve dealt with. They go after specific people sometimes--people they were already on poor terms with when they were lucid. I’ve been starting to wonder if their actions aren’t as indiscriminate as I thought they were.”

Briefly, Josiah’s eyes widened. When his expression returned to something more composed, it contrasted starkly with the horror of Octavia’s own beside him. Viola was aware that her statement was loaded. Even so, it was hardly worth that much of a reaction.

“I can see where you’re coming from. I think I know what you’re talking about, from what I’ve seen, too. And even recently, right?” he said.

It was Octavia who answered him, initially tripping over her words. “A-At the camp, when she was Dissonant, Ivy still only ever went after Harper, not me.”

Viola nodded. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m…not sure if it was random anymore. Octavia, the women you saw in my tolls, what did you say they were like again?”

Octavia blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What did they look like?” she specified. “How did they act?”

Octavia hesitated. “One had blonde hair, and her skin was kind of pale. She had a--”

“She sounds like my mother.”

It was Octavia’s turn for wide eyes. “You mean…”

“What about the other one?”

“Uh, brown hair, tan, a lot of makeup.”

“What else?”

Octavia squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “Argumentative. And a…really heavy drinker.”

Viola sighed. “That sounds like my mother, too.”

Renato shook his head in disbelief. “Hold up, you think your dad was intentionally going after women who reminded him of your mom? That’s…seriously messed up.”

Harsh wording aside, he was entirely correct. “Dissonance in general is seriously messed up,” Viola replied.

“So what did my parents do wrong, then?”

Harper’s words were neutral, emotionless, and as unsettling as the look on his face that she made the horrible mistake of seeking. At her side, he’d since curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around his knees as he sat perched atop his chair. He spared her from eye contact, at the very least. Viola didn’t need it to see how empty his eyes were in the first place. Her blood froze over.

She’d completely forgotten he was there. She’d completely forgotten he’d been forced to listen to this conversation, along with all that came with it. Assumption or not, frozen veins or otherwise, she couldn’t avoid giving an answer.

“I’m…not completely confident,” Viola began, “but if I had to guess, I think it might be because he found a family full of love. Real love.”

Harper didn’t respond. It was for the best, maybe. She feared the many, many different possible words that could’ve left his lips right then and there.

“I…think the reason he didn’t confess to killing your father is because he didn’t even know he did it. From what Octavia told me, he just…left him.”

Harper nodded weakly. “Right.”

Viola kicked herself for even including that part.

“We don’t need to communicate anything that could indicate actual intent,” Josiah clarified. “Otherwise, we’re putting our insanity plea in jeopardy, even if we know the truth behind it. We put in the sentence appeal, wait for the retrial confirmation, bring Octavia as our witness, and try to see if we can retroactively change his plea to insanity. If they give us a hard time about Octavia, we’ll say she only recently came forward with her story, or something like that. Cross that bridge when we get there.”

“All of this seems a lot easier said than done,” Renato grumbled.

Josiah sighed. “Obviously. But it’s a framework we can start with. We’ve got to try.”

“Just to clarify, we can’t break this guy out of prison? Like, cut out the tough stuff and just get him out of there now?” Renato offered. “Dead serious.”

Viola rolled her eyes. “No.”

Renato shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

“If it’s all of us together, we can do it,” Madrigal said. Again, her gentle touch made its way to Viola’s shoulder. This time, the latter was far less resistant to the feeling. “We’ll always be there to help, no matter what.”

Her smile, kind as it was, paled in comparison to Octavia’s. The silent “I told you so” on her lips, plucked straight from Madrigal’s words, was as sassy as it was genuine. Viola simultaneously hated the sentiment and loathed the way it warmed her heart. She couldn’t decide whether to slap the Maestra or hug her tightly enough to break every bone in her body. She was angry. She was relieved. At the very least, she had something slightly more to go off of than she did several minutes ago.

The loud squeak of chair legs torturing the floor made Viola jump. At her side, Harper had risen to his feet, his quiet movements in stark contrast to the volume of his ascent.

“I’m sitting this one out,” he said, his voice monotone. “Good luck.”

When he made to turn his back to the table, Josiah didn’t give him the chance. “Where are you going?”

“Away from here.”

His blunt words were unlike him. Viola winced. Octavia stole her concern.

“Is…everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

Josiah was more direct. “You’re not gonna help?”

Harper exhaled with far too much force. “You guys seem to have this all figured out. You don’t need me.”

“But we always need an extra helping hand,” Madrigal murmured sadly.

Even with how slowly Harper’s eyes drifted towards Viola’s own, the weight they carried was still crushing enough to make her dizzy. If just being within sight of his lie-detecting gaze was disorienting, then this expression might’ve been lethal if she locked eyes with him for long enough.

“Viola,” he began, his voice low and rough, “you know you’re important to me. You know how much you mean to me, and how much I treasure you as a friend. You know I would do almost anything for you. If you don’t know that, now you do.”

It was only upon inhaling again that his breath rattled notably. “I will not, under any circumstance, help the man who stole my family from me. I know you understand.”

His words were a near-instant trigger for tears, caged behind her eyes only by sheer willpower. Her voice barely held steady in tandem. “But--”

“I respect that he’s your father,” Harper continued. “I know he didn’t do it on purpose. I know he doesn’t remember. It doesn’t change the fact that it happened. I can’t look at his face and be impartial to that. If you push me, if you force my hand on this, I am prepared to get on my hands and knees, right now, and beg you to leave me out of this. I wish you the best. I’m not doing this.”

Her sorrow, set free, meant little. She didn’t dare attempt to persuade him. Harper, who would always rush to her with arms outstretched and a gentle touch ready to battle the tears on her cheeks, didn’t so much as budge. Instead, his only movement came in the form of departure. He, at the very least, had eaten. Heartbroken as she was, a tiny part of her hoped he physically felt better soon.

From the others, there was no scolding Harper. There was no berating, nor harassment. His logic was clear. Were it any of them, Viola doubted the choice would’ve been different. In the sickest way imaginable, he’d earned the right to decline.

Any of the words of comfort that followed meant nothing, no matter from whom they came. Even Octavia’s gentle sentiments were muffled. Viola could do little but stare at Harper’s empty seat, his refusal looping in her head infinitely. So many times since they’d met had she been reminded that the sins of her father were his alone. Even so, she had never in her life felt more guilty for crimes that weren't her own than tonight.

The caveats of the retrial nearly made her vomit on the confirmation letter.

Equally as unprecedented as the sudden change of sentence were the restrictions of the retrial itself, granted within a day of submission. The wait of one full day had been excruciatingly tense, by which Viola had done all she could to distract herself in every conceivable manner. What had been granted to her as a prize for her patience was another letter. At the very least, she intercepted it herself this time.

The approval speed of the sentence appeal, let alone the retrial that followed, was incredibly abnormal. She blamed it on the speed of the sentence change, in turn. Far more distressing was the execution date, still unhindered and firmly scheduled for three days away. No stay was granted, and the retrial was tomorrow--two meager days prior to the death of Vincent Vacanti. It should’ve taken weeks. Instead, her entire scramble to save a man’s life left ninety-six hours of panic and zero explanation.

More waiting was one crisis, and that came bundled with agony. Ninety-six hours stole her chances at proper preparation, and she earned a second crisis as compensation. Lawyers were out of the question. A professional case was beyond her reach to build. Whatever attorney Coda would provide for her father by default would hardly matter. For all intents and purposes, they were completely on their own.

Ultimately, as with so much else, everything fell to Octavia once more. Part of her was remorseful for yet another burden she’d placed upon the Maestra, particularly one so far removed from the responsibilities of the Ambassador. It was her one wish that Octavia wouldn't be crushed by the weight of a human life upon her shoulders--again.

She entertained the idea of visiting her father. She threw out the concept immediately. She entertained the idea of apologizing to Harper. She threw out that concept as well, albeit with a bit more hesitation. She entertained the idea of speaking with her grandmother again. The fear of being told to step back and let fate have its way, as she’d been told many times over of so much else, was a deterrent. She entertained the idea of going insane. That one was easy. She was already halfway there.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

The apology Josiah offered to her initially didn’t register. It took her an additional moment to drag her eyes away from the inky, repeating lines of the confirmation letter. She raised her head, her fingers clasping the flimsy paper slightly tighter than she’d intended to.

“I…it’s okay.”

The distance between them in the foyer was notable by several feet, either Maestro perfectly still and stagnant in an uncomfortable staring match. Even so, the noxious silence that kept settling between them wasn't entirely unwelcome. Viola had almost forgotten the entirety of yesterday. The letter in her hands had ruined her, by comparison.

“It’s not. I shouldn’t have taken all of that out on you. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at some...circumstances. I don’t do well with being lied to.”

Viola blinked. “Who’s lying to you?”

Josiah opened his mouth, closing it just as quickly. “I’m not gonna get into it right now. This isn’t the time or the place. Just know that whatever I had going on yesterday, it wasn’t aimed at you. I’m sorry if it seemed like it was.”

Viola shook her head. “I didn’t think it was, honestly. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I’m not gonna pry, but I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through.”

Josiah nodded once. “Thanks. You doing alright?”

She scoffed. “Not really, no.”

He averted his eyes. “Alright, stupid question. I kind of deserved that one. If you need to talk, I’m here. I’m not exactly the greatest person for it, but I’ll do my best.”

“I feel like everyone’s being a bit too nice to me lately. What’s the occasion?”

He smirked. “Did you want us to be mean to you?”

Viola rolled her eyes. “I’ve already got one chronic pain in the ass. Don’t need four more. Even he’s on a nice streak.”

Josiah shrugged. “He’s not actually that bad of a guy. I want to strangle him at least 50% of the time, but he’s got a pretty good heart. Solid listener. Questionable morals, though.”

Viola gagged. “The stories I could tell you.”

He chuckled. “You don’t actually hate him. You paid for his hands.”

Viola shook her head. “I didn’t, actually. I just…went to pick up the order. I’m pretty sure my grandmother ordered them. Never asked her. All I did was follow the address on the letter.”

Josiah raised an eyebrow. “That was nice of her.”

“Well, she knows that we're all close. It wouldn’t surprise me. You’re all…really, really good to me.”

He smiled softly. “We’re like a messed-up little family. Trust me, I’ve got a lot to appreciate, too. And we’ll figure out this mess together, okay?”

Viola’s face fell. She threw her eyes to the floor, tangling her fingers together. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do if this doesn’t work. If Octavia’s testimony isn’t enough, is he…actually gonna die?”

Josiah paused. He approached, laying one hand carefully and calmly upon her shoulder. It was enough for her to meet his eyes. The gaze he fixed her with was equal parts serious and gentle.

“I have a backup plan. This’ll work out, one way or another.”

Viola tilted her head. “What is it?”

“If I tell you, it won’t work.”

She blinked.

“I know that sounds crazy, but you have to trust me. Please.”

Viola exhaled heavily. “Fine. Just don’t do anything that’ll get anyone hurt, please.”

“Besides,” Josiah continued, “after all this is over, we’re still gonna have to figure out exactly why this happened in the first place. You might wanna start thinking about that now, even.”

Viola tensed. She hadn’t headed down that mental avenue yet. Logically, it would be a better use of her energy than worrying. Truthfully, she wasn’t completely certain that she had the psychological clarity to do so, at the moment. She entertained the idea of recruiting him for a brainstorming session. She eventually dismissed the concept. He’d done enough.

Instead, Viola repaid his kindness with a smile. “Thank you. For all of your help.”

Josiah nodded. “Hang in there. We’ll get through it.”

It wasn’t “getting through” her emotions that was going to be the hardest part--although that was going to be miserable in and of itself. The worst part was going to be getting through the next eighteen hours. The worst part was going to be getting through the voyage to the front steps of the courthouse. The worst part was going to be seeing Vincent Vacanti’s face for the first time in eight years.