Harmony

The moment in which Octavia's feet touched the ground in Solenford was bittersweet. The sweetness was fleeting, miniscule and flavored only to the tune of ten days of monotony--and one additional night of agony. Absolutely everything else conceivable was bitter. The worst of it was likely to be found in muscle memory, her own steps a magnet for the place that had already stolen away so much.

She’d already burned its visage well into her mind, following a route she’d mentally retraced dozens of times over. So, too, had she been forced to walk the same steps through brighter eyes. She’d done so with stronger hands, bigger dreams, and ambitions that would bleed into disaster after disaster with false remorse. If Octavia forgot the path to SIAR, she was no longer worthy of challenging it again.

It was, at least, a time not so blessed by the moon that had watched over the bloodshed before. The sun, in exchange, had just barely begun its ascent, the faintest crest of morning pressing against the furthest edge of the horizon. The twinkling stars that had accompanied her harrowing voyage had begun to flicker and fade, sinking away into the backdrop of dawn. The sky wasn't yet flecked with the soft pinks and flaming oranges that hallmarked true sunrise, still largely draped in the fleeting coat of night. It was different than last time, and simultaneously not. The fact that there was a second time at all should’ve elicited far more of a reaction from her.

It hadn’t been that long ago, technically. Octavia could count the weeks backwards on a calendar, if she so chose. Last time, at least, she somewhat knew what to expect. As to her second encounter, freed of the crushing shackles of rage, she was going in utterly blind. Whether the feeling was better or worse, she couldn’t tell.

The walk was nearly silent. The sentiment was widespread, apprehension tinted with just a hint of fear. Only on occasion was there any brief dialogue. Any semblance of communication--relevant or irrelevant to the situation that awaited them--came in crumbs.

“Will there be staff there again?” Viola murmured.

“There were a lot of them last time,” Harper answered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if not much has changed. It…hasn’t been that long.”

“Be ready for anything,” Josiah added.

And when silence overtook them yet again, it wasn’t unexpected. Octavia steeped in it, for what was to come. She doubted it would last.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Renato tried, breaking the fragile peace once more.

Octavia didn’t have an excellent response. “Anything. Anyone.”

He didn’t let it go. “That doesn’t help much.”

“Things…you know, related to…any of this. Things related to him. People related to him. This was his home. This was his everything. I can’t say with certainty that the answer for every problem we have is in there. Still, if it’s about my sister, then I can at least count on that.”

“I…see,” Renato said plainly. “Guess we can work with that.”

There had been numerous times in which Octavia had questioned her instincts, the lingering feelings in the pit of her stomach that had taken hold and steered her to places she’d never imagined existed. On her last trip here, she’d been confident. Even now, with so little to guide her aside from a sinking feeling and the heavy weight of a toll she couldn’t unsee, she still felt the same. There was something. As to what it was, she couldn’t begin to guess. It was a tainted confidence.

Logically, she knew she had options. Barring the initial resistance she could be expected to face at the hands of the highly-trained SIAR staff, it would largely be an investigative process. She could recall the general layout, both by her own memory and by the extensive tours her own eyesight had granted her through the world of a heinous toll. It still left much to be desired, gaping wings unexplored and aged memories doing injustice to the state of the place today.

Getting around would be tricky, if not time-consuming alone. Still, it wasn’t as though they confronted SIAR with a singular and soul-devouring goal twice over. Octavia had grown greedy. If she had to turn the entire building inside-out this time, she would. If she had to take any unfortunate occupants with her in the process, she had few qualms about doing that, too. Drey’s cover story was irrelevant. At this point, all who called SIAR home were within her righteous line of fire.

“That’s it,” Madrigal said.

It was a sight any of them would be remiss to forget. The same stark-white architectural marvel, crowned by the same deceptively-beautiful foreground of beloved flora, was just as Octavia had envisioned in her nightmares. The garden was still a radiant rainbow of tender petals clinging to a thicket that guided her way. The ominous doors still stood proud, guardians of the harrowing secrets and decrepit artifacts beyond their protection. The fountain still sang softly with the ambient sounds of its spray, the singular interruption to their loaded silence. It was every bit as breathtaking as she remembered, if not more so with her eyes unblinded by raw hatred.

There was a new perspective to be found post-toll--one that she continued to trample upon and beat down to the best of her ability. Octavia loathed considering his view, she resented acknowledging his dreams, and she found only pain in recalling the depths of his purer ambitions. Before her eyes was all the man could ever have wanted, and she was once again close enough to reach out and touch his passion herself. With her hesitant gaze upon every rose, every carnation, every last blossom that clung to the circling bushes, Cadence’s touch was nowhere to be seen. In that way, just maybe, it wasn’t the same place at all.

Her feet stopped somewhere in the midst of her approach to the doors. The institute’s visage alone was the point of no return, ultimately. It was again that silence largely poisoned the atmosphere, shattered only by the apprehensive sounds of case locks clicking and zippers unzipping. Octavia didn’t need to fear for the violin’s home, content to leave it ajar and discarded in the grass. She’d be back for it. All that mattered was Stradivaria at her side, again tucked tightly against her chest. To have him in her heart was equally as important.

Stay with me, okay?

There is nowhere else I would go.

That was enough, weak as it was. This, too, was one more difference from her last voyage to the vile institute. For as sick as she felt dragging the others down with her, he’d at least been involved from the start--long before herself, in the hands of another. Perhaps his pain in this place predated her own.

“I’m…ready whenever you are,” Viola offered quietly, raising Silver Brevada in a display of preparedness.

“Do we have a plan?” Harper asked.

They’d already danced around the subject, and Octavia was still no closer to an answer. Still, this was her own mess. “Clear out whoever’s inside first. There’s…probably going to be people trying to hurt us again. We’ll take them out, and…see what we can find from there. We’ll go over everything. There’s something here. I know it.”

“Fight first, search later,” Josiah interpreted. “Am I understanding that right?”

She wasn’t sure how far he’d get with the knife, once more poised to defend whatever he possibly could. Still, the sentiment was there, and she appreciated it. “Yeah. More or…less.”

Madrigal nodded, settling her fingers into position over the strings of Lyra’s Repose. “Then we’ll--”

“You guys, I’m sorry,” Octavia interrupted suddenly. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’m sorry for dragging you all back here again, and putting you all in danger for a second time. I’m following my heart again, and I don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t even know if all of the answers we’re looking for are here. I just...pulled you all down with me to find my own. You don’t have to do this with me if you don’t want to.”

They gave her the pause she deserved, her heart pounding as she soaked up the discomfort that came with uncertainty. Even now, Octavia could hardly bring herself to make eye contact with any of them. Her gaze clung to the grass, and she was left to stew in her own doubts.

This was a bad idea. All of this was a bad idea, and she was full of them. Her own twisted domino effect had already endangered their lives once tonight, and they hadn’t so much as stepped foot inside the institute yet.

It was Viola’s hand clamping down on her shoulder that shook her, a strong and unbroken smile awaiting when she raised her head.

“Do you seriously think we’re gonna back out now? You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get rid of us, Ambassador.”

Her fingers curled against Stradivaria’s body uncomfortably. “I-I…but--”

“We won’t leave you. Even if we can’t solve our problems in one go, we’re here for yours. We’re here for you. The things that hurt you are important, too. If it was any one of us, we know you’d fight like hell on our behalf,” she reassured.

“And you already have,” Harper added with a grin.

“If you’re gonna try that hard for things that don’t concern you,” Josiah continued, “then you need to at least let us do the same. It’s what you deserve.”

Madrigal beamed. “And no matter what happens, we’ll figure everything out together. We’ll always be a team, and we’ll always have our leader!”

“Our fearless leader,” Viola said with gleaming eyes of her own.

Their words were warm, and her heart was much the same. She treasured the feeling of Viola’s hand on her shoulder, her touch oozing with strength. With the glint of their Harmonial Instruments just barely capturing the last stray flecks of moonlight as it passed them by, their determination was contagious. What she should have brought of her own accord, she found within those she’d chosen to love instead. It was a feeling far too wonderful for as awful a place as this.

“Then let’s…do this,” Octavia said, hints of doubt still dripping from her voice.

There was nothing more. Her four words of hollow confidence were permission enough. In unison, they moved with resolve towards the building that offered up and stole so much from her all at once. Their footsteps were haphazard, uneven as they passed to fall in adjacent to her side. Octavia’s eyes drifted over each in turn as they walked, desperate to express some semblance of gratitude in the face of the unknown that awaited them. Four sets of eyes met her gaze with resolution to ail her concerns, filling in where she felt weakest.

She couldn’t find the fifth. Alone in her momentary search, her eyes chasing her surroundings, it took her a moment. Wide eyes weren't meant for her, cast only to the building before them. That gaze lagged behind substantially, closer even to the place in which she’d abandoned Stradivaria’s case than the doors themselves.

That gaze was unbroken, unbending as it drank in every last detail of SIAR’s visage from the perfect distance. That gaze had gone far beyond the glassiness she’d found in passing on several unfortunate occasions. Glass had shattered beneath the weight of fear, unrestrained and splashed plain as day across every flickering movement of those eyes. No amount of fervent, rapid blinking was driving it out. It was stained, permanent. It was raw.

“Renato?” Octavia called softly.

He didn’t respond. Instead, she found motions she’d recognized previously, muted manifestations of an encounter she lamented on his behalf. His shoulders rose and fell faster, the false hands that clung mercilessly to Mistral Asunder now shaking at his sides. Still, he wouldn’t look away, transfixed in the worst possible way by the looming presence of the institute before him. He was frozen in place, utterly motionless save for the immense efforts that came with laborious breaths.

“Renato,” she tried again, her voice firmer in the absolute slightest.

His horrified eyes snapped to hers. It burned.

“Renato, you coming?” Harper called instead. “Let’s go.”

He wouldn’t look away from Octavia. His terror was boring holes down into her soul, holding onto her for dear life. Under the crushing pressure of his silent scream, she, too, was at risk of crumbling. It was Octavia who worried she’d lose her breath.

In the slowest, most subtle motion he could manage, eyes locked with hers forever, she watched as Renato shook his head wordlessly.

“Renato?” Madrigal asked aloud, hesitant steps slowing to a halt.

Again, he shook his head, his gaze given to Octavia alone.

By now, every footstep was still, all eyes cast over shoulders at the boy whose breathing grew steadily more ragged. It was by no means loud--physically, at least. The sounds his panic made to Octavia’s heart were intolerable all the same. He shook his head faster, eyes widening ever further upon hers.

“I can’t,” Renato said. His trembling voice was so tiny that Octavia almost didn’t catch it.

She made for him in the lightest of jogs, arms still tightly embracing Stradivaria as it jostled against her body. The sound of the grass rustling beneath her every step paled in comparison to the volume of his unspoken cries. So hard did he grip either drumstick that she was all but certain they would snap clean in half. Octavia knew the other four were watching. She didn’t care.

“Talk to me,” she pleaded in a whisper, coming to a halt just inches from the petrified Maestro.

“I can’t,” Renato whispered back. “I can’t do this.”

Octavia winced. “Renato--”

“I can’t do this again. I can’t.”

“You don’t have to,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

“I thought it’d be fine, I thought I’d be fine, but I’m here, and it’s…”

When she saw his fearful eyes begin to drift to the cherry oak grasping his partners, Octavia struggled to recapture his full attention. “Stay here. Just stay here and wait. We can take care of this.”

“I don’t want to do that to you,” Renato whispered urgently, his voice cracking.

“What’s…going on?” Josiah asked.

“Give me a minute,” Octavia answered, her tone a bit more biting than intended.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Renato repeated, breathing faster every second.

“You don’t have to,” she repeated in turn. “No one’s gonna make you.”

“We’re all…gonna be fine,” Harper tried gently. “We’ll look out for each other.”

It was sinking in, a circulating realization that Octavia resented the escape of just as much as Renato feared it. She found the tears that had begun to tinge the edges of his eyes, unshed and bound by alarm.

“We won’t let anyone get hurt,” Madrigal declared, her voice as firm as her gaze.

“Octavia,” he whispered simply, each syllable compromised and exceedingly unsteady.

“Renato,” Octavia offered back, her own voice strained despite her best efforts.

“Trust us,” Josiah said. “Please.”

Viola nodded. “It’ll all work out.”

Again, with his eyes upon her alone, Renato shook his head. “I can’t. Please, I can’t.”

Harper smiled softly. “Renato, come on, it’ll be okay. I promise. We’ll all--”

“Leave him alone!” Octavia snapped.

While Harper’s expression of shock and hurt was enough to mark her outburst as personal, it was far from such. Ideally, it was well understood. Angry eyes traveled over each of the four, defensive and panicked in her own way.

“If he…doesn’t want to go, then don’t pressure him,” Octavia growled, somewhat more muted. “Please.”

The “please” was largely for emphasis over gentleness, confusion at her harsh words echoing on their faces even now. It was still enough to shut them up. They got the message. Octavia did what she could to swallow the remainder of her aggravation, satisfied with their silence. Renato’s well-being took priority over aggression.

I knew this would happen.

It was a voice that came not from aloud, born somewhere within. Octavia blinked.

Is this the extent of your resolve, then?

They were voices not meant for her.

“I-I…”

They were voices that tore Renato’s eyes from the Ambassador's, distant and unfocused instead of secure where she could hold his gaze. They were voices no amount of shouting would silence. Her heart pounded heavily, and she perhaps outmatched his own.

This is not who you are. This is not who we know you to be.

Is the one we begrudgingly call our own, then, a farce? Is this who you truly are?

Even as we have blessed you with so much, still you would crumble in doubt?

Still you would squander the strength that has been willingly given to you?

Renato grasped at his head, any desperate physical attempts to stifle their voices utterly fruitless. “That’s not it,” he murmured frantically. “That’s not it!”

That you would stand and tremble like a child in the face of adversity, have you no pride?

Have you no shame?

Where is your resilience?

Where is your drive?

“Please stop,” he sobbed in a hoarse whisper.

For all the chances you have been given, for we who have been so merciful to you?

For we who held on to the fire in your eyes, long after that time?

After you were broken?

And whose fault was that, honestly?

“Knock it off!” Octavia shouted, nearly dropping Stradivaria as she gripped one of Renato’s shoulders. “Leave him alone!”

Your arrogance becomes you.

And what that entails is well-deserved.

“Stop it!” Renato cried, eyes wide with horror. The cherry oak his partners mocked with such disdain gripped the sides of his face without remorse. Either end of Mistral Asunder dug squarely into his skin, leaving notable indents. He wasn’t fazed, tears once just barely restrained now pooling in his palms.

This is cowardice.

This is undignified.

Are you dishonorable, then?

Are you weak?

“I am weak!” he screamed, his quivering voice so loud that Octavia jumped.

In her surprise, she withdrew her hand sharply, her own tears lying in wait. She didn’t need to turn around to gauge the confused reactions of those who watched on. She could imagine their faces well enough, a backdrop to his agony at the moment. Octavia made to open her mouth, to hunt for any platitudes to ease his suffering in any manner. Renato didn’t give her the chance to try, shameful eyes discarded into the dirt at her feet.

“I am weak,” he sobbed softly. “I’m fine with that. I’m not gonna deny that. You want my resolve? Then I’ll stare this place down and let that weakness hit me over and over until I can’t friggin’ stand up anymore, because that’s what I get for the stupid mistakes I make.”

Every bitter tear that slipped between his fingers snuck through the cracks of Octavia’s heart. “I will live with that weakness,” Renato breathed, “but until the day I die, I am not going in there again.”

The haunting voices of the two Strong Muses ceased, their torment seemingly satisfied by his miserable confession. It still left him falling apart, crumbling in front of that which had stolen so much of himself away. If Octavia were to regret bringing along support for her cause, then it was Renato she kicked herself for most of all. She’d been cruel. She’d taken a word of which she should’ve known better.

“You’re…fine here. We’ll be okay. Thank you for just…being here, with me,” Octavia whispered.

He didn’t respond. In place of words, his head hung, the brim of his hat frustratingly stealing his eyes from her once more. His weeping was subtle, as were the tears that dropped directly into the grass. Even now, Renato refused to release his iron grip upon Mistral Asunder. His shoulders shook.

“I appreciate you,” Octavia murmured regardless. “We’ll…be back, okay?”

The nod she hoped for never came, his posture identical and his actions much the same. Still, she at least could be sure her words weren’t lost on him. She entertained the idea of countering his self-loathing, showering Renato with insistence as to his strength. The risk of hurting him further ached to think about.

Instead, Octavia swallowed her words and turned away. Her path towards the institute that had killed the boy inside was charted with far different emotion than he himself harbored. The act of returning to her mission almost felt disrespectful, uniquely cruel in a way she couldn’t avoid. The concept of leaving him there to drown in self-hatred was a pain all its own. She took steps she didn’t want to take, lined with lead for more reasons than one.

Those who’d stilled to watch the sorrowful spectacle now watched her slow approach with equal discomfort. They tensed as she passed them by, her outburst surely still fresh. Octavia didn’t particularly regret it just yet.

“Is he…going to be okay?” Madrigal asked, her own voice wobbling somewhat.

Octavia sighed heavily, willing herself to adjust her hold on Stradivaria instead. “Just…give him some space. Leave him be. We’ll take care of this and reconvene later.”

She loathed the way several of them tossed Renato looks of pity, offering concern for a flavor of hurt they couldn’t understand. The thought felt almost self-centered, somehow. She chose to cling to it nonetheless. Even so, she was far from immune to the same, hardly able to tear her gaze away from the broken boy she left in her wake. Even before Octavia had stepped beyond its doors, SIAR was already draining the love and joy from her life yet again.

It was empty.

Her highly-valid assumption that SIAR, constantly open as it was, would harbor a notable quantity of staff was quickly proven incorrect. There wasn't so much as a handful, nor a single face that greeted them upon entry--hostile or neutral alike. Every echoing footstep that bounced off the tile was one thousand times louder, the horrific silence within sending a fierce chill down Octavia’s spine. She was hesitant to make any sound at all, half-convinced that something awaited around every corner. Even with another four people at her back, equally armed, she was still just as unsettled and just as vulnerable.

The interior, too, was exactly as she’d remembered, if not exuding an even emptier aura in the midst of their isolation. It was still unapologetically white on every wall and well above her head. It was still unapologetically marble beneath every hesitant clack of her boots. It was still speckled in passing with works that meant nothing, paintings that hung where she didn’t care, and sculptures that stood where she’d sought to forget. It was fitting, then, that the first places her eyes went to upon entry were those where marble had met red twice over. Not a trace of their spilled sorrow was left. It was as much of an insult to the two Drey had forsaken before her as it was a relief.

“There’s…no one here?” Harper observed aloud, wincing at the resounding echo that followed his words.

“Seems that way,” Josiah answered in a voice somewhat quieter. Devoid of company or not, he still declined to lower his raised blade. “It wasn’t like this before.”

“It shouldn’t be like this at all,” Octavia added. “There’s…supposed to be people. That’s how this place works.”

“There might still be people,” Viola said sharply. She, too, was armed, Silver Brevada poised inches from her lips even now. “Don’t let your guard down. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

Madrigal shivered. “There might be an ambush. Let’s…be really careful, okay?”

As much as Octavia despised the idea, she wasn’t particularly inclined to disagree. She nodded, disregarding the second chill that slipped down her spine as much as she could.

“Where do we start, then?” Harper finally asked.

Octavia had been dreading that question, somewhat. The sheer silence of the building was jarring enough that it had set her back to square one, nervously reformulating some semblance of a safe approach towards investigation. She let her eyes wander, scanning the oversized lobby to the best of her ability. She’d had ideas, and none had been exceedingly safe thus far. The one with which she was left upon observation felt even more harrowing.

The most notable feature of SIAR was, perhaps, the four wings that ran far from the lobby’s embrace. They, too, were just as she remembered, their mouths gaping and unhindered by barriers of any kind. Evenly-spaced as they were, deep hallways scurrying away along multiple paths, she had options. Octavia racked her brain to remember which was which, dipping into the pool of residual memories she’d sought to cling to well after the passage of Drey’s toll.

Of the northeastern wing, she was positive she would find the scene of her own crimes, unforgettable no matter how hard she tried--a storage unit in which she’d tangled with death and ruin at the hands of one ruthless man. She hated that she could rule it out at all.

She knew one wing to be a laboratory, if Cadence’s memories were anything to go by. Given the urgency of her prior visit, she’d never had the chance to actually explore it herself--let alone the other two. Whether the western, northwestern, or eastern wing called the restoration hub and all of its chemicals home, she had no clue. What lay beyond those which remained was an equal mystery.

Octavia cursed herself for her inability to slow time that wasn’t hers. Ideally, she could pick and choose again which of Drey’s memories to dissect frame by frame in search of his every step. She cursed herself for wanting to relive any time through his eyes at all. Even now, part of her hoped he was waiting in a storage unit once more, ready to swallow her light and burn to ashes twice over. Twice, perhaps, still wasn’t enough.

Of the four hallways, three were pitch-black, uninviting and blighted by darkness that threatened her passage. It was the one that stood alone, illuminated with the standard lighting she’d seen once before, that caught her attention the most. In isolation of its own kind, that was perhaps the most eerie of all.

“That one’s…lit,” Octavia mumbled.

“That’s kind of ominous, isn’t it?” Harper muttered nervously.

Viola narrowed her eyes at the pathway in question. “Does that mean someone is here, then?”

“Do we know what’s back there?” Madrigal asked.

It was the northwestern wing, neighboring the fateful place in which she’d drawn blood. She shook her head. “I don’t know what that one is. I know the one next to it is some kind of storage unit. One of these is a laboratory. The other two…I don’t know.”

“You saw Drey’s toll,” Josiah tried. “Did you…see anything that would point you towards anywhere meaningful?”

He had the same idea. It was no more fruitful, and she shook her head. “This is all I really have to work with, from what I can remember.”

“Wouldn’t following the one that’s actually lit up be the best place to start?” Harper offered.

Now it was Viola, instead, who shook her head in turn. “What Madrigal said about an ambush is still valid. It really could be a trap.”

“But what if this one isn't?” the Maestra in question countered. “What if there really is someone?”

“Maybe we’re reading too much into this,” Josiah muttered. “We’re not exactly in a rush. We’ve…got time. There’s not a lot of harm in checking.”

“Provided there’s no interruptions,” Viola said instead. “We might not have as much time as you think, depending on what happens.”

“If something happens.”

“Then should we split up? To cover more ground?” Harper offered.

“No,” Octavia nearly cried, just barely reining in her voice at the last second. “We can’t split up. Not in here. Not…not in this place. Please.”

He gulped. “R-Right.”

“In that case, what do you want to do?” Viola asked, turning to her instead.

There wasn’t particularly a correct answer. In actuality, even the storage unit couldn’t be ruled out. In any other context, the idea of playing detective might’ve been interesting. In SIAR, even alone as they were, it was Hell. Octavia took the path of least resistance, one hesitant finger following the stagnant lights. “That one, then. We’ll…have to check them all anyway, eventually.”

Frankly, that philosophy had been ruining her for the past several weeks. A little more indulgence wouldn’t kill her.

There was no resistance or disagreement, the Maestros not daring to counter the words of the Ambassador--nor their fearless leader. Even aware of that much, having them at her back as she walked still felt more vulnerable than it did protective. Octavia chalked it up to the aura of SIAR itself, wrapping her up in its grasp and suffocating her in deadly silence. If it was possible to be anxious on behalf of another, she carried four loaded worries that weren't her own on her shoulders.

Octavia was just as hesitant to actually step into the path of the northwestern wing as she’d been to implicate it, her heart pounding over the idea of whatever lay beyond. Unlike that of the northeastern wing, if memory served, there was no overwhelming mess of twists and turns. There was no abundance of doors, no confusing pathways that trailed off to who-knew-where. It was long, barren, and painstakingly white in every direction.

Marble still touched her soles with each apprehensive movement forward. The singular discrepancy at the end of a straight shot, well over what she surmised to be at least a three-minute walk, was a lonely curve to a hard left. Anything further, even illuminated in tandem as it was, was beyond her sight. Wherever this went, it plunged deep into the heart of SIAR.

Octavia didn’t realize she was holding Viola’s hand until after the fact. If the latter minded, she made no indication. She squeezed gently. Octavia squeezed back.

“So the…things that don’t add up,” Harper began. “There’s my whole…situation, both with the attacks and with Holly and Ivy. There’s Viola’s father. There’s Madrigal’s brother and the letter he got. There’s Octavia’s sister, the thing with those letters.”

“Both of them,” Octavia continued, picking up where he left off. “One with the photos and one with the toll. There’s the fact that someone covered up Drey’s death, too.”

“And someone knows you’re the Ambassador, I think,” Madrigal added. “If not, how would they send you that message about the toll?”

“Octavia,” Viola asked, “did you see anything else in Drey’s toll that was different than what you already knew about him?”

It was a loaded question. She squeezed Viola’s hand again. “A lot. I don’t even know where to begin. I told you guys the highlights already, but there was just…so much. The only thing I know is that if it’s something related to Priscilla, it’s probably related to him, too.”

The simple mention of Priscilla’s name was tense. It was enough to stifle their words in place of soft, disorganized footsteps. Octavia held the syllables on her tongue, savoring their sweet flavor in a building so foreboding. It was equally as warm as it was bitter.

“What was the relationship between them, exactly?” Josiah asked quietly, his question hesitant in its own right.

Octavia’s heart skipped a beat. She still wasn’t positive herself, let alone confident enough to answer. “They were…friends, I think. Good friends. I hate to say it, but I think he might’ve been telling the truth about that part. I just don’t know why. They’re such different people.”

Viola tilted her head. “Was Priscilla just that kind of person?”

Hearing Priscilla’s name from lips she trusted instead of lips she loathed felt warm. She half-heartedly wished she could hear it again. “Yeah. She…made friends with everyone.”

Josiah smirked. “She sounds like you.”

Regardless of the situation, the sentiment was enough to bless Octavia with the tiniest smile she could muster. “You guys would’ve liked her.”

Madrigal beamed. “You make her sound so wonderful. How could we not?”

“She was wonderful,” Octavia breathed, her heart warm with the thought alone. “She was kind, and she was brave, and she was…everything. It would…honestly be really fun for all of us to spend time together. If she were here, I think she would--”

It was sudden, indifferent to her love.

Her words were stolen in an instant, a silence once filled with adoration instead shattered by every sense failing her at once. Her sight, sound, touch, and everything else that came with them were assailed in an instant, so violently that she was all but certain she was dreaming. Time slowed to a standstill, her hand still lingering peacefully in Viola’s, as the marble beneath her feet erupted without remorse.