Octavia enjoyed reading, usually.

Books sparked joy, for the most part, and she was content to soak up fiction and nonfiction alike. She had little preference, provided escapism was hers for the taking. The difficulties of the surrounding world were far less appealing. Newspapers didn’t count. Octavia hardly considered them literature in the first place, let alone useful. Silver Ridge was small enough, and what little news came through drifted past by word of mouth. Monochrome paper between her fingers was uncomfortable, if not unnatural. Her unwillingness to actually read it didn’t help.

She didn’t have a choice, given the subject matter.

His visage wasn’t enough to claim the front page, so far from his home as the tragedy had spread. It was impressive that it had taken weeks for the situation to even grace Coda’s ears, the warmth of Vacanti Manor embracing her well beforehand. His solemn end stole exactly half of page seven. He was hailed as a hero.

Famed Solenford Cultural Conservator Found Dead at Thirty-Six.

He was embellished in every way, achievements born of business and charity alike splattering paragraph after paragraph. There were testimonies, by which grieving lips spoke to a marvelous man. He was passionate. He was devoted. He was kind, he was resilient, he was utterly brilliant. He was stained in blood and choked by light. Octavia was both surprised and not that neither gruesome fact made it in. In truth, he was far from innocent. Pressed to paper alone, he was angelic.

And so, too, was Drey’s well-earned demise strikingly natural. Someone had done her dirty work.

At the very least, she couldn’t find another explanation. For the thorough inspection an autopsy would entail, chemicals served as a poor culprit. Granted, a raging heart of light was most definitely not an obvious conclusion. Still, it was an impossible mix-up. Those of SIAR knew better than that. It didn’t matter, and the story was swallowed by the world all the same. What toxins in question would’ve taken a life were debatable. She’d sprinted past enough of them that night, and they'd possibly cursed a cruel blade in turn. If nothing else, it warranted smothered protection.

She’d never bothered looking back. It left his corpse with a stranger, their face cloaked and voice untraceable. She had no remorse as to leaving his charred remains languishing upon cold marble. She hadn’t quite erased the irritation that came with not recognizing her interloper. They matched her benefactor, maybe. Curiosity burned. Octavia had suspicions. For the life of her, she had zero proof. Guessing only ached more.

Even with her eyes shut and the paper surrendered to the table, Drey’s monochromatic image still stung her pupils. She traded material sensations, embracing textured mahogany beneath her fingertips. Lazily, Octavia trailed her touch along the curves of Stradivaria’s scroll in her lap. Silence was lonely. Silence almost hurt. Silence was somewhat better than empty words overall.

Each conversation was awkward, although she still wasn’t certain if the feeling was personal. Most of them were fine. Josiah was doing far, far better than she’d expected, given the circumstances. Madrigal’s meals came with love, and she still enjoyed the company of both a soul of ice and the will of fire in tandem. They were warm, and the cold grasp of catastrophe had done little to change that much. She’d always wondered exactly how much space the manor had, and she found out quickly enough. Five spare beds were plenty. They were practically living together, and Octavia genuinely enjoyed it.

She liked her room enough. Renato rarely left his.

Four could block out the suffering in their wake. One couldn’t, for how peace slipped away each time he looked down. Granted, his recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, wounds once critical now simply scarred and curving. No one was bothered by the sight of his wrists. Still, he’d insisted on hiding them away. Harper did a good enough job at that, and skillfully-stitched cloth left two victims of flashing steel well-obscured in daylight. Octavia had learned a new talent of his that day.

Renato had hardly spoken. Renato had hardly looked at her. His brief exceptions came bundled with deceptive grins sure to shatter like glass behind closed doors. They were surprisingly effective four times over, for who he was. That, too, was a talent, and his false enthusiasm helped. Octavia knew better.

He was tired. He was always tired, apparently, although that was a far more viable excuse. He’d been crushed in more ways than one, and miracles didn’t erase the strain of physical toil in full. He was getting better about it. He could eat. He could bathe. He could swear under his breath in isolation, stringing frustrations together behind the thin sanctuary of closed doors. He could feign a smile for Madrigal, resilient in the face of a harp singing with good intentions. He could reciprocate her love, budding warmth between the two easing Octavia’s heart. He could sob instead of sleep, for how Lyra’s Repose tortured him instead.

It was almost cruel. If Madrigal knew, it was more so. What she could do, he could not, beloved cherry oak languishing at his bedside. The thought alone was agonizing. With certainty, it paled in comparison to how he felt.

Octavia inched her fingers along the bridge of the violin. Cold contact with sturdy wood helped the chill seizing her spine. The less she considered the concept of losing her partner, the better.

“Stradivaria.”

Yes?

She paused. “Nothing. I…just wanted to know you were there.”

I am here, as always I shall be. I will not leave your side.

“Promise?”

I promise.

It was one warmth she hadn’t lost, fostered rather than degrading. She’d spoken of his voice to the others. She’d expected more surprise, in truth. Somehow, they took it much more calmly than anticipated. They’d experienced stranger circumstances lately, to be fair. Octavia settled for what bond she’d earned all the same, treasuring the words in her head each time she caught them.

“Do you…wanna talk about that thing again?”

Of what do you speak?

“The thing that you want me to do.”

I wish only for your recovery. At the moment, I do not believe action to be wise.

She’d seen it coming, given how many times she’d earned the same answer. It was entirely his fault for leaving her steeped in suspense. She appreciated his concern for her mental fragility enough, and yet eleven days had long since come and passed. False happiness on every side was grating at best and hellish at worst. Curiosity was evolving into desperation.

“No one wants to talk about it. No one wants to take the next step. I want to do something.”

And what is it that you seek, then?

She was outright stroking the strings. The motion felt somewhat ridiculous. It was still calming, and Octavia indulged in it regardless. “I have questions. I’ve been waiting, and I know I’m not the only one. There’s Priscilla, there’s the Dissonance, there’s…so much. I don’t know why no one cares. We--I--killed someone. We watched people die. I don’t get how they can smile after all of that. I know Viola wants the Dissonance gone, and I know she’d never be fine with stopping here. I…can’t wait anymore. This feels horrible.”

Complaints came with mental images. Mental images came with rapid heartbeats. It took more effort than it should’ve to steady her breaths, let alone gather her words.

“Please. I can’t wait,” she repeated. “I need to take the next step, whatever that is. I’ll do it alone if I have to. I’m begging you.”

For a moment, he was silent. What task is to be bestowed is meant for one alone, and that much is true. Even so, I highly suggest that you take comfort in companionship. Of your heart, in particular, it is doubly so.

Octavia blinked. “What do you mean?”

You are independent and valiant, like your sister before you. Still, it is amongst those you cherish that your light shines most brilliant. Octavia, I…strongly suggest that your companions hear my words in turn.

She sighed, her head flopping against the couch cushions with an exasperated thump. “So you won’t tell me what’s going on until I get everyone involved.”

It is so.

“All of them?”

He hesitated for a moment. I would advise it.

Octavia groaned. “Including Renato?”

Once more, I would advise it.

“Your advice sounds more like a demand to me,” she grumbled.

He didn’t respond. In place of words, she could’ve sworn she heard the softest hum. It came from within, toned and sweet in a way she couldn’t describe. It was enough to make her heart skip a beat, and the tiny smile that crept onto her cheeks was irresistible. She wondered how hard it would be to make him do it again.

Octavia was so engrossed in her internal conversation that the click of the door latches nearly left her tumbling to the floor. At the very least, she regained her composure before they could torment her about it. Sneaking sunlight through the cracks gave way to three Maestros and a bonus accomplice. Two caught her eyes, waving with smiles she’d long since grown wary of. Once had been far less reddened on departure that morning. Octavia tilted her head.

Her staring was enough for Viola to rescind her gaze, tossing uncomfortable eyes at the hardwood. “I burn easily, okay?” she muttered.

“Someone doesn’t get outside much,” Harper teased, shutting the door in their wake.

“Not all of us grew up out in the sun,” Viola spat.

“Yeah, well, being homeless will do that to you.”

Viola winced. Harper smirked.

If she stared long enough at someone else, she could catch another smirk in a different flavor. By comparison, he wasn’t red. He caught her prying eyes, pinning her with amusement of his own.

“I tan,” Josiah offered with a shrug.

“Is it hot outside?” Octavia asked, cradling the violin against her chest as she battled her way out of the sinking cushions.

Harper nodded. “You’re missing the sunshine.”

“It’s really nice,” Madrigal continued, beaming. She, too, hardly seemed fazed by the sweltering heat. Octavia blamed her gardening skills. “You should come out with us!”

She’d been the one to decline. That was her fault. Viola had insisted, and still she’d argued against whatever shopping would’ve consisted of. She hadn’t been specific enough to sting Octavia with burning curiosity, at the time. Still, four people picking up one box was pushing it. The Maestra could’ve more than carried it herself.

“What’s in the box? Is that all you got?” Octavia asked.

Viola nodded. “It was all we needed. It was ordered a few days ago. We just had to go and pick it up.”

“It’s, uh…” Harper began, immediately trailing off shortly afterwards.

“You brought four people with you to get one box that was a pick-up order? You didn’t even have to actually pick anything out?”

“I...I get why she brought everyone,” he finished.

When Octavia eyed the box warily, Harper averted his eyes.

“We stopped for ice cream,” Madrigal added, her own smile faltering somewhat. “So it…wasn’t just that. I got vanilla.”

“What’s in the box?”

“I mean, it…still took us a while to find the place,” Josiah offered. “None of us had ever been there before. For how high-quality everything they make is, I’m surprised they--”

Harper elbowed him hard in the stomach. He winced, biting his words in half instantly.

They were deflecting. That wasn’t new. That was never a surprise. Octavia locked eyes with Viola, pouring whatever aggravation she could into her own pupils. If the way Viola recoiled meant anything, it worked.

“Viola,” Octavia began slowly, “what’s in the box?”

Viola exhaled. It took effort to balance the wrapped box in the crook of her arm, pinching the tail of the twine bindings with two fingers. One deft pull left crumpled packaging fluttering to the floor pitifully, well-crafted birch left to crown her embrace instead. It was lovely, for what it was. The wood was simple enough to work with, and yet the craftsmanship within Coda’s boundaries was unique in its own right. The staining was nice. Octavia appreciated it enough. It still very much did not warrant four people to obtain. Viola kicked the straying paper away, raising her head once more. Her eyes spoke only to pain.

“I thought we were gonna let him open it,” Madrigal whispered.

“I want her to see it first,” Viola answered softly, never tearing her eyes away from Octavia’s own.

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “‘Him’?”

Viola sighed. “Keep an open mind,” she pleaded.

“What are you talking about?” Octavia asked. It was as uncomfortable as it was frustrating.

It took far too long for the lid to come loose, Viola’s hands moving with an agonizing slowness. The paper within was softer, paler. It was gentle, by comparison, for what precious cargo it swaddled. Viola didn’t need to delve beyond the birch walls herself. The way by which the sheer veil parted naturally on Octavia’s behalf was as helpful as it was sickening. It took a moment to register the sight. It took a moment to process the context. It took much more than a moment to find words straddling ire and illness.

“Viola, no.”

“It doesn’t have to be right away, we just…wanted to have them available.”

“It’s way too soon to even consider. You’re gonna make him even more upset.”

“Shouldn’t that be up to Renato, though?” Viola asked.

“He won’t even leave his room and you want to dangle…this in front of him? Like it’ll help?”

Harper’s comforting touch made for her shoulder. “Hey, Octavia, he doesn’t have to use them right away. We just…wanted him to have them if he--”

Octavia shirked it, evading him in reverse with haste. “And you guys knew about this? And you were fine with it?”

She cursed them with silence. It was sorely needed. With certainty, she was making them uncomfortable, and that, too, was necessary. She was every bit as uncomfortable herself every time her eyes fell forward.

“Madrigal?” she asked sharply, stinging the Maestra with a glare she couldn’t control.

Octavia earned nothing in response. Madrigal only threw her shimmering gaze at her sandals.

Viola had averted her eyes in turn, a plea for compromise long since surrendered. Octavia was robbed of shameful gazes four times over. She loathed the way her own were left to meet with nothing but hollow birch. It was to say nothing of the cruel wood within.

They were shaped with care, and doubly so with love. Every wooden sliver that spoke to fingers, palms, and fasteners was skillfully made and expertly finished. There came dents that emulated nails, and the precise touch was almost sweet. She could lie. She could say they were gloves. Never once had she witnessed gloves so akin to works of art, so perfectly halted at wrist level.

And above all else, unmistakable in every way, cherry oak was the cruelest of all.

It was Octavia’s turn to plead. “Don’t give this to him. He’s not ready.”

“Octavia, there’s more to it than that,” Viola began.

“He’s not ready,” Octavia repeated. “You’re going to hurt him.”

“Octavia, listen to me.”

“You didn’t even ask him if this is what he wanted!”

“Octavia, listen to me, please!”

“You seriously think he’s doing alright? You guys are actually falling for that?”

“Octavia, there’s a bigger problem. You don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Octavia snapped. “None of you do!”

“Please, give me a second to talk!”

One sweeping motion clutched every last one in her line of fire. “You guys are really just going to ignore everything that happened? You’re seriously just going to move past everything? You’re gonna smile, and laugh, and pretend nothing’s wrong? You wanna talk about sunshine? Do you realize how many people are never gonna be able to see the sun again? People are dead! People are dead, and none of you care!”

“Octavia, Harmonial Instruments don’t stay with one Maestro forever!”

“You think it’s okay to torture him every night? Do you think it’s fun to play in front of someone who loves their partner just as much as you do? If not more?” Octavia snapped, boiling eyes burning Madrigal alive.

It was enough for Madrigal to flinch, her lip quivering as she soaked up every bit of scathing fire.

“If a Maestro can’t play anymore, they move on! They choose a new one!” Viola shouted.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Octavia screamed.

Her voice echoed off every wall in the foyer. She regretted it immediately, and not solely secondary to whatever disturbance she could curse Eleanor Vacanti with. The wide-eyed hurt on Viola’s face was a close second deterrent. The settling silence that choked her in turn was equally jarring, if not by the contrast alone.

She couldn’t erase the shaking ire in her voice as she spoke, her false calm be damned. “I am well aware of what happens, I promise you. It doesn’t matter. We can’t just push this on Renato. We can’t make this go any faster than it’s already going. You know that. I know that. Think long and hard about who really benefits from these…things.”

Viola shook her head, eyes tinted with disbelief. “You don’t want him to get the chance, do you?”

Octavia’s eyes narrowed. “I want him to have his partner more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“The hell are we yelling about?”

Renato’s voice was enough to jolt every last person in the path of Octavia’s anger, let alone herself. Today was a good day, if he’d managed to leave his room. It was more so, if he was fully dressed, and yet further, if the hat came with him. It was the one and only victory Octavia could celebrate. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She wasn’t the only one, for what was sure to come. As to what he’d heard, she didn’t dare guess. At the moment, she didn’t want to exist.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

His room was near enough to the foyer. It took him twenty seconds to walk. It took precisely half of those for Viola to recognize the consequences of her stillness. Vulnerable birch spilled its secrets to the world even now. Renato’s eyes dove within, and Octavia’s heart threatened to burst. The world stopped spinning. His breath hitched, his eyes veiled by indiscernible glass.

“R-Renato,” Viola began, anything further fleeing her instantly.

It had taken Octavia time to learn Renato, for how their travels in tandem were somewhat more limited. His body language had been of note, more than the rest, to a degree she could never ignore. Several weeks ago, it was amusing, bubbling over with enthusiasm and adorning his zest for life. Now, without fail, it was left to betray him. He slid one foot backwards and turned his body slightly. Octavia was all but certain he was going to bolt. When he stood his ground, it was a genuine shock.

“Whatcha got there?” Renato finally asked, his teasing tone compromised by his blank expression.

“They’re for you,” Madrigal offered softly, piercing the crushing atmosphere. “It’s okay if you don’t want them.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Eventually, the corner of his mouth twitched, curving upwards in the most useless grin Octavia had ever seen. “Damn, you guys got me a present? You shouldn’t have.”

The intent of every word was debatable. Venom and amusement were solid options, and both were equally hollow. It showed. For once, not one of them fell for it. Harper did what he could. “We, uh…we...they were custom-made. Here in Coda.”

Renato nodded, the same broken grin still plastered onto his face. His eyes didn’t match. “Mhm.”

“You…know what they are, right?” Viola asked, every word slow and trembling.

Renato nodded once more. “Oh, yeah, for sure. I appreciate it, you guys, seriously. I’ll try ‘em out later. See how they fit and all that. Maybe we can paint them or something.”

Josiah sighed. “Renato--”

“That cherry oak is lookin’ a bit bland without some more color, huh.”

The dizziness that crashed into Octavia was unbearable. She nearly staggered. One hand clamped over her mouth just barely stifled a gasp. As to who caught what slipped through her fingers, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She wanted to die.

“Octavia, you mind helping me carry those back to the room? I’m kinda tired. I was…trying to sleep. You guys sorta woke me up. Do me a favor, would you?”

Renato's grin was permanent, eternally false as it clung to his lips. His dead eyes on hers froze her soul, and still she couldn’t look away. It was an immense relief when he did so first. It left her nearly lunging for the box in Viola’s arms, awkwardly balancing the weights of cursed birch and Stradivaria. With the violin and bow tucked beneath her arm, she feared dropping either one. She feared disobeying him more, and she ignored every whisper that was left in her wake. If she caught them, audible with every step, then he surely did in turn. She wanted to scream. Inside, she did.

She entered his room first. It took both of Renato’s wrists in tandem to pull the door shut behind them. Octavia’s arms surrendered to his bed instantly, the box and violin colliding with the ruffled covers all at once. The prosthetics nearly spilled from their square home, and she panicked. She ushered them back into place hurriedly. Simply touching them was enough for her blood to clot. She didn’t dare imagine how Renato felt.

“Lock it,” he demanded. “The door.”

“Ren--”

“Now.”

Octavia did so, one hand fumbling behind her until she found a notable click. Not once did she look away from him, granted only his back in the first place. His shaking shoulders, too, were visible.

In the most pained whisper she’d ever heard, his voice trembled much the same. “Help me put them on.”

Her eyes widened. She matched his tone. “Right now?”

With a gaze still stolen, Renato nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Octavia was silent for a moment. Her eyes darted between Renato and the box resting on the covers. “I…you have to turn towards me.”

“I don’t want to,” he whispered again.

“Then I can’t.”

“Could you please try?”

“Not if you don’t look at me.”

“I don’t want to,” Renato repeated, his whispers growing ever more unstable. Where his voice trembled, his entire body began to follow suit.

“Renato, look at me,” Octavia pleaded gently.

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

Renato didn’t respond. Instead, he shook his head violently. His shoulders heaved.

His labored breaths were audible, and they gave way to rapid gasps in turn. Octavia’s hesitant hands settled upon his shoulders. She expected him to pull away, somewhat. Instead, he only jolted in the slightest.

She had enough space to claim his face by force, if she wanted. The gaps between the bed and nightstand allotted that much. She gave him the choice, if there was anything to choose. “Renato, look at me or I’m going to look at you myself.”

Renato hesitated. It took several seconds for him to turn, every step agonizingly slow. She’d expected it to be awful. She loathed that she’d expected it at all.

He’d surpassed trembling. He was outright shaking, hyperventilating as glazed eyes flooded with suffering. The tears were eternal, rushing down his cheeks and staining the carpet. There were sobs in there, somewhere, and she could hear them crawling out of his throat. His wrists touched his chest. His wrists touched his head. His wrists touched his cheeks, his mouth, his shoulders, his forearms. His eyes touched his wrists, and Hell touched his eyes every time.

“Don’t…look…at me,” he whimpered with great effort.

The eyes that pooled with agony drifted to the box. Octavia did what she could to sever his line of sight, stepping between the boy and the bed. “Renato,” she said plainly, desperate to keep his attention.

“Octavia,” he wept.

“It’s gonna be alright,” she murmured.

She was lying. She knew that he knew.

“Help…me…put them…on,” Renato begged between rapid breaths.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“I’m…begging you.”

“I need you to calm down first.”

“Help…me.”

Octavia entertained the idea of holding his wrists, for how there were no hands to hold and comfort. It would make it worse. It would make everything worse. She settled on his cheeks, reaching upwards to cradle either side of his face in shaking palms.

“You need to calm down.”

“I can’t.”

There was nothing to say. She had nothing to offer. Platitudes were useless, and every “it’ll be alright” was a scathing falsehood. She knew his reaction, just as she knew the personal Hell in his eyes. It was the same personal Hell that strangled her every Sunday.

He was taller than her. Octavia improvised, pulling him down to her level. Renato didn’t resist, and she gave him what she often wished for herself. It took mild effort to still his violent shaking as she delicately tapped her forehead against his. Her braids trailed along her hands, brushing against his damp cheeks in turn. He didn’t avert his eyes, nor squeeze them shut. Instead, he clung to hurried breaths alone, and she feared he’d faint. Ideally, he wouldn’t get that far. She locked onto his petrified gaze.

“Octavia,” he begged, “help me. Help me, please.”

“Renato, this’ll pass,” Octavia whispered. It was absolutely not the time for her own voice to crack. It took immense effort to hold herself together as he crumbled to pieces.

“Octavia, it…hurts.”

“I know, Renato.”

“Everything…hurts…so bad.”

“I know, Renato,” she repeated.

“I don’t…want…this.”

“You’re allowed to be upset, Renato.”

“I hate…this.”

“You’re allowed to hate it, Renato.”

“Octavia,” he wept. Only her name. Nothing more.

“Renato.”

In just the slightest, his breathing was slowing. He was catching on, maybe.

“Octavia,” he repeated, labored sobs touching every syllable.

“Renato.”

“Octavia.”

“Renato.”

He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes. Renato draped his arms over her shoulders as he trembled, pressing his forehead harder against her own. It didn’t particularly hurt. “Octavia,” he murmured.

“Renato.”

For a moment, he submitted to silence in their embrace. Octavia, too, offered nothing. Their volume was low, his panic sealed off from the world. It did nothing to alleviate the ruthless rush of emotion that poisoned the air. There was the tiniest part of Octavia that feared Madrigal would kill her, should she defeat a locked door right now.

“I’m supposed to be over it already,” Renato said with surprising coolness, his tone wavering in the slightest. His shoulders still shook on occasion, his breath hitching in time with residual sobs.

“No one expects you to be,” Octavia comforted.

“Everyone does.”

“Did someone say something to you?”

His eyes cracked open slowly, stray tears set free as they splashed against her fingertips. “I can feel their eyes on me.”

Octavia sighed. “I’m the only one looking at you right now.”

Literally. Their distance was painfully intimate. She knew what she meant. He knew what he meant. It didn’t make it look any better to a third party.

“Madrigal…would kill me,” Renato breathed.

It took everything in her power not to laugh. Octavia was thankful that the thought was at least mutual. Still, she couldn’t fight the tiny smile that crept onto her face. “You know what I mean. Don’t worry about them. It’s just us right now.”

“You don’t judge me, right?”

“I mean, sometimes you make it a bit difficult. You kiss girls you just met.”

“It was just her hand.”

“Still kissing.”

“You jealous?” Renato teased. Even devoid of a smile on a face utterly drained, the vigor behind his jokes was sincere for once. It felt good to hear again.

“You wish.”

“Right here, right now, this is the best chance you’ll ever get. All you gotta do is ask.”

“You’re a taken man.”

“Exactly. This was a test. You passed.”

“I’m too good for you,” she joked.

“You’re damn right.”

Octavia blinked. That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. “Do I dare ask what that even means?”

He shrugged, his shoulders finally still. “You shine too damn bright for the rest of us. Sometimes I can hardly look at you.”

Octavia couldn’t fight the blush that crept onto her cheeks, either. So close to him, inches from his face, there was no hiding it. “My God, are you flirting with me?”

Renato smiled. It was soft, genuine, and beautiful. It was enough for her heart to sing. “I mean what I say. I’m a man of my word. Take it as you will.”

It took Octavia a moment to find her words. “T-Thank you, I think.”

“Are we, uh, ever letting go? I’m serious about Maddie killing me if she sees this.”

Octavia flinched, untangling from him as quickly as possible. Her leftover blush was born of embarrassment alone. She smeared her palms on the skirt of her dress, Renato’s residual sorrow just barely soaking into the fabric. “I mean, door’s still locked.”

He wiped at his damp eyes with one wrist. “Yeah, but Maddie’s got so much magic stuff goin’ on that I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s, like…psychic or something at this point.”

Octavia laughed, settling down onto the bed. “I can’t even argue with that.”

“How, uh…how the hell did you know what to do? With…all that mess that just…you know?”

“Mess?”

He averted his eyes. “I mean, damn, sometimes I feel like you can read me like an open book.”

“You are an open book.”

Renato raised an eyebrow playfully. “Explain.”

“You always look away when you’re embarrassed, no matter what. You’re doing it right now.”

“Everyone does that.”

“When you run, you always kick off with your left foot. You put two sugars in your coffee when you’re alone, but when you have company, you drink it black. You always wear pine-scented cologne unless you’re going somewhere with Madrigal. When you are, you switch to this one that’s hard to describe, kinda smells like a river. You sing when you bathe, but you do it quietly enough that you don’t think anyone can hear you. That’s why you only take baths after everyone else bathes, probably. You never sleep without three pillows, and you actually write with your left--”

She stopped, biting her tongue at the last possible second. Octavia looked for the consequences on his face. In place of hurt, she found only a sparkle. He gazed at her incredulously.

“You…do that to anyone else?” Renato asked.

She shrugged. “Kinda. I see you guys every day, nonstop. Hard not to notice.”

“So you have that and the thing with figuring out the damn wood on sight. You’ve got some weird talents, braids, you know that?”

“And you’ve still got a talent for giving people annoying nicknames. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with for Josiah.”

“Hey, about the wood thing,” Renato muttered. It was only when his attention fell to encompassing birch that she realized he’d earned his line of sight. There was little point in concealing it anymore.

“What wood thing?” Octavia asked. She had a very vague idea of what he might’ve meant.

“Cherry oak,” he answered, his voice low. “Only one I recognize now. You taught me how to love it. Was that your idea?”

Dark topic or not, she was somewhat flattered by his words. “I promise you, I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know you were getting them. Genuine coincidence. I didn’t find out until after everyone brought them back.”

Renato sighed deeply. “Can I sit next to you?”

“I mean, it’s your room,” Octavia offered, patting the soft sheets beside her. He obliged, comfortably close in a way she didn’t quite mind.

“Do you think I should try them on?” Renato finally asked. She’d wondered how long it would take to come up.

“Do you want to? There’s absolutely no rush. No one expects you to right away.”

“I feel like everyone expects me to,” he answered, repeating an earlier sentiment.

“If they do, to hell with them. I’ll give them hell if they say a word about it to you, either.”

“Oh, you are bein’ extra nice to me today,” Renato jeered. “I feel spoiled.”

“Don’t get used to it. Special occasion. The minute I leave this room, we’re back to…whatever we’ve usually got going on.”

“No forehead-touching in public?”

“I know with 100% certainty your girlfriend has the literal capability to kill people.”

“It was…nice,” he continued. “It doesn’t have to mean that.”

Octavia blushed. “You are reading a little too much into this.”

Renato turned his attention back towards the prosthetics. “Do I actually need help to put these on, anyway?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You choose to ask me that now? Isn’t that why you brought me in here?”

He paused, his eyes drifting to the floor. “Not…necessarily.”

Octavia took a deep breath. “If you…ever want to talk, all you have to do is ask.”

Renato delicately laid one of his wrists atop the back of her hand, and she jolted beneath his sudden touch. Even so, she reciprocated the soft eye contact he offered. “You too. I mean it.”

For a moment, he gave her silence. “You’re not okay. I know you’re not okay. We’re not okay, either of us. Nothing is okay,” he continued. “So let’s be not okay together.”

She couldn’t find the words to respond. She didn’t get the chance, and he filled in the gaps. “What does it for you?”

“Does what?”

“That wasn’t your first time, was it?”

“First time with wha--”

“You know what,” Renato answered sharply.

Octavia shifted uncomfortably on the bed, tangling her fingers together. “Sundays.”

His initially-puzzled expression gave way to wide eyes and sorrow. “When the--”

“Yeah.”

“Look at me,” he demanded for once.

Octavia obliged. Renato's gaze was just as sharp as his words, his eyes loaded with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Every Sunday from now on, every single damn one. I don’t care what time it is, I don’t care if I’m in bed or not, you come get me. You find me, and we stay together until it’s over. Don’t you dare sit in your room like that alone. Please. Got it?”

She nodded, fighting the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. “I…got it.”

Octavia didn’t give silence the chance to sneak between them again. “And yes, to my understanding, they’re designed so that you can put them on alone. You seem like you’ve got the general hang of…using your wrists, for the most part. So, I mean, if you want me to, I can help, but it’s up to you.”

Renato chuckled. “I think that might be the most intimate thing you could do for me right now. I’m a little overstimulated. You’re gettin’ a guy flustered.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then put them on yourself. Don’t make this weird.”

“Not to say I’m not a bit…scared. I dunno what they’ll feel like. I know it won’t be the same, and I know they’re not the real deal, but I’m still nervous. All of this is happening so fast.”

Octavia sighed. “That’s why I told them it was a stupid idea to rush you.”

“I’m on a time limit, aren’t I?”

Octavia froze. “For?”

Renato’s eyes wandered to the nightstand. She regretted following along, her gaze settling upon Mistral Asunder in time with his own. As to how long either stick, in turn, had rested uselessly out of reach, Octavia didn’t bother trying to count the days. Were she to ask Renato, he might know anyway. He could turn his head and double-check, and still they would languish so near. Two slivers of cherry oak were the sickest of reminders, close and distant all at once. Octavia had almost succumbed to the same fate, if not worse. Today was rapidly becoming one of the days where she didn’t regret drawing blood.

“They switch Maestros. Viola has a big mouth. I heard somethin’ like that before, too, forgot from which one of us. Probably Vi, who, again, has a big mouth. You people sure can shout when you feel like it.”

“I’m sorry about that. It doesn’t necessarily mean--”

“How can you tell when they’ve given up on you?”

“I…don’t know,” Octavia answered feebly. “The only one who would know is Viola’s grandmother. Silver Brevada switched Maestras when she got too old to play anymore. I don’t know how she formally found out.”

“Do you think if I go to play them, even with those fake hands, they’ll still give me a chance? Do you think they’ve…already decided I’m not worth it?”

It was Octavia’s turn to rest her touch atop Renato’s wrists, curling her fingertips around the clinging cloths. “Maestro or not, you’ll always be worth it. You’ll always be important to me.”

He smirked. “I couldn’t help but notice the way you left out the ‘you’ll always be my friend’ part.”

“Stop reading into it.”

“Are we ever doing that again?”

“I’m leaving,” Octavia deadpanned, peeling herself off the bed. “Let’s go, Stradivaria.”

“You think Stradivaria watched that whole thing?” he teased, watching as she urgently gathered the violin into her arms once more.

“He definitely did not, and if he did, it means nothing to him. Leaving.”

“What are we now, exactly?”

“Leaving!” she repeated, fighting a grin she couldn’t erase from her lips.

“Octavia.”

She stopped in her tracks, one hand wrapped around the doorknob. She didn’t answer, nor did it matter. She could feel his smile pressing against her back.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes, leaving the Maestro in her wake. “Any time.”

Ideally, there wouldn’t be another. She knew better, for how she knew herself just the same.

----------------------------------------

No one pressed. For that, she was grateful, although she doubted she would’ve been honest with them to begin with. A smile had been enough to satisfy them, and the apologies she earned in turn were abundant. Her ire had largely eased, the moment since passed. In a perfect world, it wouldn’t be back. She was used to trading sorrow for anger, and the opposite exchange was jarring. She was sorry enough, and yet she skipped apologies of her own. The violin in her arms offered another type of atonement altogether, should she follow that path.

They weren’t happy to be in the foyer again.

“Can’t we go, like, anywhere else?” Harper whined. “I feel like enough has happened in here for one day.”

“I need to talk about something serious.”

The severity of her tone hit instantly. The four she’d dragged into a unit gave their sincere attention, and she didn’t let one nervous gaze go to waste. She took one deep breath.

“I know the past few weeks have been a mess. We went through a lot. I don’t…blame anyone for trying to process that. Even so, there’s still too much left. There’s too much that doesn’t make sense, and too much stuff that none of us understand. Maestros, my sister, all of it. What happened, happened. I hate it. I can’t ignore it. None of us can, but we’re still here. That…has to mean something.”

She earned no response. It was a loaded sentiment, adorned with yet more. She could hardly give it form in the first place, every buzzing emotion stumbling and snagging in her throat. There was more, and always would be. If she truly tried to give a voice to distress, she’d never speak normally again.

“Viola,” Octavia offered, “do you…still want to defeat the Dissonance? All of it?”

Viola’s head snapped upwards so quickly that Octavia feared she'd break her neck. “I…of course I do. I’ll...find a way to make it happen. I know we haven’t really gotten to--”

“Stradivaria has a way.”

Every word on Viola’s lips died instantly. She stilled, wide eyes matching perfectly with hitched breaths. For more than a moment, Octavia wondered if she was breathing at all.

“Stradivaria?” Josiah asked. “What do you mean?”

“What did he say to you?” Madrigal added.

Octavia shook her head. “I don’t know the details yet. He just said we have to be together for whatever this is. Honestly, even I don’t know what this involves yet, and I…won’t know until everyone agrees.”

Harper tilted his head. “That’s…horrifying. We’re agreeing to mystery terms?”

Octavia winced. “You don’t have to.”

To her surprise, he grinned. “You must be crazy if you think I’d have it any other way. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“Or me!” Madrigal exclaimed. “We’re gonna fight the darkness together!”

“We are literally living in the same house. I think we’d all end up in this, anyway. You’re not the only one with questions,” Josiah added.

“Octavia,” Viola finally breathed. “I…I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll do anything. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, if that’s how far I have to go.”

Her words meant the most. “I won’t let you down,” she answered softly.

It was enough, and consent to her whims was fourfold. It was easy. It was almost too easy, enough that the slack in her heart felt off. If they’d continued to care all along, then her doubts left her the most toxic of all. She kicked herself several times over. She’d cope with it later. Action came first, well within her grasp. Under her breath, she made her routine plea. For once, she felt positive about the outcome.

“Is that enough for you now?” she whispered to the violin in her arms. “Four is plenty.”

Five, it would seem.

“God, why are you people always so damn loud?”

Twice today had his voice brought the same room to a screeching silence. His footsteps echoed, quicker and lighter by comparison. He was physically okay, granted. It didn’t necessarily negate any aggravation of his own, should he still harbor any. Again, she was holding her breath. Even casual as his approach was, she feared for what awkward atmosphere his presence alone risked dragging in. She did what she could to stop it before it started.

“Renato, we…need you. There’s something we have to--”

“Maestro stuff?” he asked.

She blinked slowly. She nodded. “Maestro stuff.”

“I’m in.”

“That was easy,” Josiah muttered.

“But I didn’t even tell you what’s going on yet,” Octavia pressed.

Renato shrugged. “You don’t need to. If you guys are involved, I’m involved. That’s how that works. We doin’ this now, or what?”

Usually, the eyes that fell to him in passing were hesitant and wary. He was delicate, handled with fragile words and uncomfortable fear. For once, hesitation was absent, traded on every side for wide-eyed surprise. It wasn’t quite shock. It got close enough. Octavia didn’t mind, nor could she battle the beaming smile that erupted onto her lips when her eyes raced down his arms. “I mean, I…don’t see why not.”

With one cherry oak thumbs-up offered to her, he flashed Octavia the most wonderful grin she’d seen in a long time. “Then let’s get to it.”