◆ ◆ ◆
The way by which such slender hands could draw blood was exceedingly jarring.
Her motive was irrelevant, her intent even less so. Her origins were clear as crystal, at the very least, for how much the fingers stolen by the Ambassador could be scrutinized. They were soft, manicured, lovingly dipped in all manner of creams meant to exfoliate precious skin. Why such a refined stranger would make the conscious and knowing choice to take a road so vicious was baffling.
You realize that this is your own fault, correct?
I loved him.
And where did that get you?
I was so sure he was the one.
It’s a displeasure to say so, but you were a fool for trusting him. Now, you’re left with nothing. This is what blind faith earns you.
What should I do?
Make something of yourself. Quit devaluing your own worth and don’t rely on others.
But--
If you won’t try, you have no excuse. If you have no skills, by God, Rafaela, learn one. Pursue a talent and master it with such determination that your hands bleed. This is how you can better yourself, let alone sustain the life you hope for.
How can you be so sure?
Because the world is far clearer to see when you think with your head instead of your heart. Pull yourself together.
The lips Octavia shared with her stranger were sharp, her words frighteningly so in turn. The Ambassador's eyes, rented as always, eluded investigation into the depths of her borrowed soul. She wondered if the hint of positive intent that rested beneath such words was true.
She was a self-made woman, a hard worker in the truest sense. The wisdom that left her mouth wasn't hypocrisy. She delivered on the goals she set for herself, time after time, to the tune of financial stability the likes of which Octavia wouldn’t expect her to accrue from scratch. That was, in itself, impressive. The manner in which she picked up her violent craft was perhaps even more so.
The Ambassador's familiar stranger was a quick learner, to a degree that “quick” may have done her injustice. As much as Octavia despised giving the woman any credit, she was a borderline genius. Of any skill she sought to master, she found excellence in with time and dedication. It came as no surprise, then, that her foray into the profession of personal protection saw her blossom into a fearsome fighter.
It wasn’t often that her contracts required her to draw blood, granted. Typically, what ultimately boiled down to serving as a bodyguard was restricted to escorting those with much to protect, be it individual belongings or those more intended for trade. More commonly did Octavia's stranger associate with clientele in the latter field, accompanying far more businessmen and merchants than she ever did those outside of the world of fortune. She only ever dealt with bandits once. It was ironic. It was startlingly gruesome when it occurred, and Octavia was grateful she didn’t have to see it a second time.
Her weapons of choice, at that time, were largely more concealed than those Octavia had assumed she’d be most fond of. She noted the way her stranger peppered the inner linings of her dresses and skirts with small blades and jagged knives of all kinds--at least a few long since stained with the residue of more difficult breadwinning days.
There came a point when mere tolerance of the trade she accompanied became an appreciation. Then, it was a fondness. Octavia found the eyes she borrowed lingering upon fineries for far too long, stealing their radiance and splendor with her gaze alone. The luster of gemstones behind the sanctity of glass casings was of particular note, apparently. So long did she stare and stare, over the weeks, that even Octavia could start to see the imperfections her stranger fixated upon. With her bare eyes, that, too, she strove to master.
She fumbled exactly one purchase, a ruby whose color under too dim a light she was remiss to properly identify as false. She never made another mistake again. Still, of the beloved collection she began to build in her home, shockingly honest as it was, she kept it amongst its true brethren--a reminder of a singular failure, ultimately inconsequential.
Where her stranger had once found only the meaningless trudge through day-to-day labor and collection of coin for self-sustenance, she'd uncovered a genuine passion. Small as her flame was, she nurtured it in quiet. Her persistence in pushing towards mastery of yet another craft was a self-imposed challenge, by which she added spice to a life of violence. Clients became a gateway to test her abilities in silence, and Octavia wasn't immune to the way her borrowed eyes seemed to sparkle and widen far more frequently in the presence of such treasures.
He wasn’t a client, but he piqued her interest. He was loud, boisterous to a fault. His charisma was audible across the room. Really, it was the case for every room he chose to walk into, surely sparkling brighter than any gemstone she could ask for. He’d look far better with the shimmer of spilt blood coating his skin. Even now, his face was a bitter taste that poisoned Octavia from afar. She wondered how many more times she’d be forced to find it, even in the worst kind of passing.
It’s not real.
What do you mean?
You’re a fool if you’re thinking of trading for something you can’t even verify the authenticity of.
In truth, she had no reason to offer her assistance. It really was, exclusively, his charming magnet that pulled her forward and changed the course of her stranger’s life permanently. For all the effort she’d poured into her personal challenge, he not only recognized it in earnest--he applauded it.
That is utterly remarkable!
It’s not hard, she’d scoffed, humble.
I envy your talent, miss! Your keen eye is a diamond in the rough.
Octavia wondered if the praise felt nice, for all of her stranger’s efforts. She already knew what was to come.
Alessandro Drey.
Call me Portia.
Hearing his name, even on his own lips, was still enough to make Octavia’s blood bubble. She wasn't sure if that would ever go away. Today, at least, it was far more of a hateful annoyance than a soul-crushing encounter.
Samuel Sostoviri, aspiring historian. I look forward to working together.
Historian?
Indeed. It’s my life’s passion. In that way, somewhat, you could say I almost overlap with Alessandro.
I’m amazed you overlap with him at all. He’s so…eccentric.
I don’t deny that one bit, Samuel agreed with a laugh. Still, he’s enjoyable company. I think you’ll come to like him.
I’m here strictly for business, not to entertain whatever odd ideas are in his head.
I happen to have heard secondhand that your talents for appraisal are incredible. Surely, you could do business anywhere. If you’ve chosen to do such with him, of all people, I hesitate to believe your motives are purely guided by coin.
Portia scoffed. Still, she didn’t argue. At no point did she mention the knives pressed flat against her torso through her inner coat pockets. There was one talent, Octavia noticed with caution, that she kept close to her heart.
The environment Drey gave her in which to flourish, for as much as she wouldn’t admit it, was a variable playground of sorts. Every task he handed her, she mastered with aplomb. Every item she was tenderly entrusted to strip of its falsehoods, she sought its true form with impeccable precision. Portia was brilliant, and even more strikingly so under his eyes.
Drey's praise was relentless, try as she might to deflect it. She didn’t smile, nor did she offer her thanks. Still, Portia never shied away. She sought out his company. She sought out their company, the threesome Octavia had come to recognize solidifying into the most fatal friendship she’d ever borne witness to.
Portia had been honest in that she'd sincerely found no merit in Priscilla.
It didn’t begin as jealousy so much as irritation. The way by which the most beautiful girl in the world stole Drey’s heart from his very chest was plain to see. To see his downward spiral from afar was startling, the Ambassador’s eyes not limited to either of the two bloodstained parties in question. From her stranger’s perspective, it was even more graceless. It was yet more abhorrent. In a matter of weeks, he was a murderer-in-waiting.
It cannot come to pass.
What are you talking about?
I will stop them.
Who?
Those of her kind.
How will you stop them, then?
I will reason.
And if that isn’t enough?
Then I shall take what makes them special. Should that not suffice, I…will do what must be done.
You’re losing your mind!
She pledged to stand at his back. It didn’t keep her from questioning his sanity.
He’s lost it.
Calm yourself, Portia.
What reason could I possibly have to be calm? He’s going to make foolish decisions for the sake of chasing the words of a little girl! Even with his head in the clouds, this is too far for him to go!
What can we do? He’s a man of conviction. You and I both know this well.
He’s stubborn! He’s a fool!
We can only do our best to reason with him, futile as it may be. We can continue to try.
How can you be so calm about this? You, who was just as disturbed as myself at his words?
Samuel sighed heavily. I have long since learned to choose my battles with him carefully.
Spineless.
I assure you, that’s not the case.
Octavia was, at least, grateful that she knew of Samuel’s honest character beforehand. The added tension of questioning his motives, at this point, would’ve driven her insane. It was odd to know what her stranger did not, three separate stories unfolding tragically around her on a collision course with destiny. When three stories became two, she was still out of the loop.
There was an observable relief, Octavia found, that came with Priscilla’s gruesome slaying for Portia. The Alessandro Drey she’d grown fond of in her own subtle way was no more, irreversibly tainted by grief and by the blood on his hands. It mattered not that he’d returned to his old, charismatic ways, smiling vibrantly and speaking poetically. The knowledge was there. Still, he spoke of intruding upon a world that was not his to disturb. He was more tranquil after Priscilla’s death, less poisoned by a desire to search and destroy. Octavia doubted it ever truly quelled the fire in his blood. So did Portia, apparently.
He still brings it up sometimes.
Yes, but he’s mostly calmed. Is that not a victory?
I…suppose. Should we distract him, then?
Our company is the greatest distraction we can provide. He seems happy.
To seem and to be are two different concepts, you foolish historian.
I don’t disagree. We’ll strive to make the latter a reality, then.
It took five years for Portia to find that fatal drive again. The pendulum of fate once more swung against her will in the form of a passing glance. It was always jarring to make it at all.
What month were you born?
September?
That explains it.
Octavia, to this day, had never genuinely gotten used to seeing her own face on the other side.
I thought you were past this.
She is her sister. The resemblance is uncanny. It is surely her.
Does it truly matter, Alessandro?
It does.
Are there not other things in life you’ve wanted for? Things you've desired so much more than this? Look at what you’ve accomplished! Look at all you have built with your own hands! You would squander that to play hero for an ideal you’ve stumbled upon in passing?
Portia, please. Once more, I do not ask that you understand. I simply ask that you stand at my back.
I am standing, Alessandro. I want to understand, Alessandro. I want to understand what it is about this…world you speak of that matters so much to you.
Would you assist in this thankless task, then? It is not one I wish for you to undertake, nor one I wish to undertake myself.
I…can’t. I just can’t justify it, Alessandro. I will stand at your back, but I truly cannot wrap my head around you sometimes.
To have you near is all I could want.
And when the time came, she grieved, the clarity she sought from him forever a mystery. Under no circumstances would Octavia feel regret, no matter how many hidden tears her stranger hastily smeared away. The ruined makeup that ran, tinting her fingertips black, was sorrow given form that meant absolutely nothing to the Ambassador. It was a shame Portia hadn’t been there to see it herself. Octavia wouldn’t have minded watching his downfall once more.
And it was only in passing that finally, truly, she stood at his side rather than his back.
We owe him that much.
They were children.
A murder is a murder.
Could you not call it self-defense?
You could say much the same for him. It was not Alessandro who started the fight.
Portia, they are children. Enough has been done. He, too, has spilled blood. A boy was mutilated, for God’s sake. If it’s an eye for an eye you’re after, that justice was served by none other than Alessandro himself.
It was the girl with the violin, correct?
Portia, please.
Am I wrong, Samuel?
Why would it matter? What would even come of me saying ‘yes’? What would you have to gain but distress? Is it revenge you hope for?
Is this not what he would’ve wanted?
What?
He wanted them dead. Their kind, that is.
He wanted them incapable. His actions spoke to that well. If that’s the impression you earned, then you don’t understand as much as you believe you do.
To be dead is to be incapable. They are there, visible, ripe for the taking and easily incapacitated. For all of his griping about searching far, they are right there, Samuel. Is this not the absolute least we can do to honor him?
There is no honor in killing a child!
To kill his killers, then?
Portia!
Samuel!
It started with a little camp she knew all too well. It escalated, a snowball that rolled downhill and grew wildly out of control as it careened into every facet of Octavia’s life. It was predictable, familiar in the worst way. They fell apart. One sought her closure. One didn’t. Octavia knew the catch, the series of slip-ups Portia made along the way. The most fatal folly came in the form of loose lips. Per words Octavia had heard not so long ago, trust was fickle.
I’ve heard of him, yes.
He made quite a splash in the city when it happened. Life without parole.
How does this concern you?
His daughter. She was one of them.
You’re certain?
I’ve checked extensively. The documentation was a match. They didn’t cover their tracks well.
That’s because they’re children, Portia, as I’ve stated many a time.
It doesn’t matter. He’ll be dead in a matter of days.
Do what you will.
You’re not going to scold me?
Is there a point? You wouldn’t listen to me regardless.
You’re not incorrect. Still, you’re also not one to keep your useless opinions to yourself.
I will stand at your back, then, as you had done for him. That is all I can give.
For that, then, I’m grateful. You’ve…changed your mind, then?
I don’t understand you. However, you are you, and you are still dear to me. I…will stand behind that, if nothing else.
Samuel hadn’t lied to her, to her knowledge. As to Portia, even knowing what she knew, Octavia couldn’t quite discern how much of his sentiment was truly a lie. In the span of several months, Samuel had lost both of his closest friends to a world they should never have experienced.
It really was striking, the speed with which Portia mastered the usage of firearms. It was another extension of her brilliance, her capacity for violence once again given center stage. It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks’ worth of training, both within the armory and outside its walls. It was, again, almost respectable. It didn’t change who she was or what she’d done.
It didn’t change the sins she committed, right up until the end.
Know that he would’ve been sorry. I won’t.
Please don’t kill me. I don’t wanna die yet.
You’re a scared little boy whose ego has already betrayed him once before.
I’ve got nothing to worry about.
And right up until the end, too, fighting for her life in a fight that wasn’t hers to pick, it was perhaps the Ambassador’s stranger who understood the least. Samuel had his own investments, and Drey had his own ideals. Of all things, Portia’s greatest skill was squirming her way into a life she so easily could’ve avoided.
Had she simply turned her head and ignored a conservator's magnet, maybe she would’ve found another precious little gemstone in her hands. Instead, she found the righteous wrath of a boy whose own hands could hardly hold the same. For all the appraisal she’d done and all the flavors of finery she’d burnt into her head, she’d surely never forget the taste of cherry oak on her way out.
◆ ◆ ◆
Octavia had managed to stop coming up with a gasp, a jolt, or any indication of the Hell that greeted her once-stolen eyes. There was almost a pride to be had in her resilience, considering how severe her initial reactions had been. In retrospect, relative to the circumstances of this one, she’d expected it to hurt worse. It wasn’t as bad as she’d anticipated--even if it left her irritated and uncomfortable. She simply didn’t know the woman well enough, aside from her tangential associations with the person she’d come to loathe most in the world.
“How was it?”
“It could’ve been worse.”
“What’d you see?”
“Nothing good.”
“Do you…wanna talk about it? Was he there? If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.”
Octavia shook her head. “It’s okay, really. It wasn’t that bad. I’m getting used to seeing him, unfortunately.”
“Eww. Don’t think I’d want to be in those shoes. I do not envy what you do. I respect it.”
At that, she giggled. “You’d make a good Ambassador, I think.”
“Hell no,” Renato scoffed. “Gun to my head--bad choice of words, damn it. Knife to my back, you couldn’t get me to look at that garbage all day. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”
Octavia smirked. “I don’t.”
He shrugged. “Alright, I walked into that one. Hey, uh, do I gotta do two of these? Like, one for each?”
One will suffice.
We are privy to but one vessel.
We ourselves are in tandem, as well.
You have done all that is necessary.
Renato’s eyes flickered upwards at nothing. When they traveled to Octavia instead, she nodded with understanding. He blinked.
“Right. Forgot you could do that. That takes care of one problem, I guess. That means everyone paid their tolls, right? We finally have this hot mess under control?”
Octavia smiled. “We’re…on the right track, I think. I can let them go at a moment’s notice, now, if I need to. Until then, we still have a whole lot more to deal with.”
Renato patted her shoulder gently, his prosthetic snagging against the fabric of her dress somewhat. “We can always put you on a schedule for how many dead people you have to see in a day. Get you a little journal to keep track. Decorate it. Stickers. Make Josiah draw, like, I dunno, little hearts and smiley faces all over it.”
She stifled a laugh. “Please let me be there to see you ask him.”
“And…if you want to talk about whatever it is you see, you know I’m here,” Renato offered, his voice softening.
Octavia raised her own hand to the false one atop her shoulder, laying her fingertips tenderly against his own. “I might take you up on that.”
With timing she’d only mildly expected, the rumbling beneath her feet began to slow. The tell-tale screeching of metal against rails was as harsh as it was welcome, largely secondary to distance and impatience. She breathed a sigh of relief. If nothing else, they hadn’t almost died during the course of this trip. Surely Josiah was satisfied with that.
“We’re here, then?” Octavia asked aloud.
They hadn’t even come to a full stop, the train still lurching steadily forward. It didn’t keep backpacks in rooms and cases off of shoulders. Josiah’s bag, predictably, hadn’t left his side regardless. He was the first to pass her by, very near to outright sprinting as he essentially slapped her shoulder on his way to the exit.
“Oh my God, we’re done!” Octavia heard him cry with borderline glee. “That was the last one!”
“Geez, he really hates traveling, huh?” Harper muttered.
“I think you made it worse, actually. You specifically,” Octavia teased.
Harper shrugged, nonplussed. Royal Orleans shifted on his back in the process, the brass within the case clinking slightly. “He actually figured out how to drive it pretty quick. If he changes his mind about being a doctor, it wouldn’t be a bad line of work for him.”
“Doesn’t his family live here?” Viola tried, falling into step with Octavia.
She nodded. “I think that’s what he said.”
“You gonna get nostalgic on us?” Harper jeered, his eyes cast to a different Maestro entirely.
Renato grinned, stretching. “It’s been a really long time. I mostly just come here for the food.”
“Are you gonna show us around?” Madrigal asked excitedly, trailing behind him just a bit too close. Octavia genuinely wondered if she was going to trip on her way down the steps.
“Remember why we’re here,” Viola scolded softly, not immune to a smile.
Madrigal tilted her head. “I know, I know, but we deserve some fun! Can’t we take a little detour? Pretty please?”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning,” Harper deadpanned.
Her head tilted in Renato’s direction instead. “Is there stuff to do at night?”
He chuckled. “It’s actually a really nice place. I mean, I like it, at least. It’s sizable, though, so I hope we figure out where the hell we’re goin’ pretty quickly.”
“You’re not gonna let us get lost, right?” Harper joked.
“I don’t really know where we're headed. I can get you wherever you need to go if it’s somewhere specific, but we’re looking for…what, again, exactly?”
“A person,” Viola reminded. “Samuel said there’s someone who can take us to wherever it is we’re supposed to be going. He…made it sound like it was a Maestra, too.”
“If it’s a Maestra we’re looking for, then we have you,” Octavia offered.
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Viola flinched. “What?”
“Your gift,” she explained. “You can find Maestros, right? You can sense them and…stuff.”
Viola winced. “I’ve never been here before, though. I don’t even know how far away I can actually do that. I haven’t messed with it much.”
“You were able to find me. I was all the way in Silver Ridge. That was pretty far from Coda, and you’d never been there before.”
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on me,” Viola muttered.
She poked Viola’s forehead playfully. “Listen, if it doesn’t work out, we’ll try something else. It’s a good start, I think. Can we try? Please?”
Viola rubbed her forehead where once had been a poke. She rolled her eyes with a half-hearted smirk. “If we get lost, it’s on you.”
Octavia could, if nothing else, empathize with Josiah’s relief at touching solid ground once more--granted, far more restrained than his own. The view past the train station was surprisingly pleasant relative to their time of arrival, the speckled lights of the city greeting them warmly and guiding their path with open arms. In the dark, whatever color and splendor she’d been led to expect by prior descriptions from Renato was lost on her. In that way, she somewhat lamented their lack of sightseeing time much the same as Madrigal.
It was, in fact, big. It was big enough for Viola to sweat, the weight of expectation surely pressing down upon her inexperienced shoulders. The look on her face said plenty. Still, Octavia wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of searching for their stranger the hard way--Samuel hadn’t so much as given a solid description of them, let alone a full confirmation as to what his exact relationship with them was. She felt bad pushing Viola harder.
Six days had been kinder than eleven. It still wasn’t exactly nearby, a climate resting distantly from Solenford in a part of Mezzoria Octavia hadn’t ventured to yet. Granted, summer was summer anywhere, for the most part. Even so, the last vestiges of the season had paved the path for autumn to sneak its way in. Recently, the air had begun to bite ever so gently at her skin with the softest of chills.
Were she not the Ambassador, her studies would be resuming in Silver Ridge right about now. She’d sent a letter. Octavia prayed for an exemption, although the excuse of “neck-deep in a hellish task bestowed by a magical violin” likely wouldn’t hold up.
It was, in a way, impressive how quickly Harper had managed to get back on his feet. He traversed the street at her side with only the absolute faintest residual limp, the vicious scar on his right leg well-obscured by his clothing. It wasn’t so much that she minded seeing it. Regardless, some twisted part of her brain couldn’t help but associate exposure with vulnerability. Renato insisted that it looked cool. Octavia had made a mental note to kick him at least once over the comment. It was still an item on her to-do list.
Really, both the Maestro and Maestra who sustained heavy physical damage during their second crisis at SIAR made solid recoveries, withstanding their respective surgical procedures well--mostly. Samuel had graced them once more with his assistance, subtle as it was, in the form of providing them with access to much-needed care in Solenford. This time, there was no sacrificed lifespan on which to rely, nor any hasty escape to be made. It took weeks that killed her to wait out--killed all of them to wait out, really.
Ultimately, it was her own fault, and it was the absolute least Octavia could do to suffer through the agonizingly-slow passage of time. There was something humorous in the way Madrigal tolerated needles far better than Harper did. Octavia made doubly sure not to let him live it down.
The trade-off was the deep discomfort the Maestra, instead, had with her own minimal scars--well-healed and little as they were. The departure of her stitches had still left two small yet notable reminders of a battle barely won, although the aesthetic displeasure was not to be dismissed. Octavia couldn’t decide whether it was sweet or insensitive that Renato insisted they matched. If it was enough for Madrigal to smile, she supposed that was that.
Josiah hadn’t taken his deference to a “real doctor” with grace. Regardless, he did what he could, providing continuous care to their healing wounds as necessary well after discharge. Even now, Octavia watched the way he, too, eyed Harper’s gait with satisfaction. In his defense, the boy seemed fine enough, smiling and conversing without distress. He was doing better every day. Octavia never in her life wanted to hear him scream like that again.
“So…how did you do this last time?” Octavia whispered.
Clearly, no amount of closing her eyes was doing Viola any actual good in terms of focusing. She exhaled sharply in annoyance. “I don’t know! It just sort of happened! I’ve never done it consciously before.”
“Do you want to ask Brava?”
Viola gagged. “No, I don’t want to ask him anything ever. He’s gonna laugh at me for not knowing what I’m doing, at this point. I’ll figure it out eventually.”
“What did it feel like the last several times you used your gift?” Josiah tried, apparently calmed from his high of a train-free future.
“It’s…I’m not sure how to put it into words. I was following ‘something’, but I’m not sure how I found ‘something’ in the first place. It just kinda showed up. In Octavia’s case, I was at least hoping to find it. For that kid, I wasn’t looking for him at all. I didn’t even know him.”
“But you knew Harper,” Josiah offered. “You were looking for him at the time, right?”
Viola paused. “I…yeah. I suppose so.”
Josiah crossed his arms in contemplation. “Maybe it’s…a drive to actually find someone, then? Consciously, I mean. If you go in with the expectation of finding something that stands out, maybe it’ll click. Just a thought, at least.”
Viola tilted her head. “I mean…that doesn’t give me much to go off of. Are you telling me I don’t want it badly enough, or something?”
He smirked. “If that’s how you’re gonna take it, maybe.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll try. You realize there’s not a little switch I can flip in my head that turns this thing on and off, right?”
“Just do your best,” Octavia reassured with a smile. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Even in the midst of mild aggravation, Octavia was still pleased to earn a different half-hearted smile in return. “For whatever that’s worth,” Viola muttered.
Octavia watched as the Soulful girl closed her eyes once more, somewhat concerned for her safety as she continued to walk without a line of sight. Viola was quiet, her face scrunched up in what was presumably concentration. Most conversation around her had stilled, largely fixated on wherever her subtle gift would next lead--if it manifested at all.
The street was eerily quiet, although the time of day wasn’t helping the atmosphere in any capacity. With the sole exception of whatever crickets had brought their nighttime songs into the foray of autumn, it left the Maestros in silence as they watched Viola strain for--quite literally--anything.
“I feel something,” she murmured at last.
“What is it?” Octavia asked, somewhat afraid to break her concentration.
Viola shook her head, her bow bouncing along in the process. “Again, it’s just…‘something’. It’s the same feeling again, the one I had before. It’s not weak, but it’s not strong, either. It gets stronger the more we move forward, though. This has to be it, right? I can’t think of what else it’s supposed to feel like.”
Harper grinned. “You’re like a little compass.”
Viola couldn’t stifle a smile, meek as it was. “Let’s hope it stays that way, I guess. I’m scared to lose hold of it.”
“Lead the way, Miss Maestra Detector!” Madrigal said cheerfully, arms aloft in delight.
Viola laughed. “I’ll do my best,” she offered with the slightest bit more confidence. Their roles were reversed, ultimately, and her words got a smile out of Octavia.
“Leading the way” in the depths of the night wasn’t particularly enjoyable, their isolated voices lonely as they echoed up and down the streets of Selbright. They’d ended up clear of the main roads, devoid of the true heart of the city in favor of paths less traveled. By no means was their trail explicitly winding or haphazard. Still, every turn was mildly disorienting.
Some matched poorly with those that had come before, almost too specific in the form of shortcuts a tourist could never have fathomed. Octavia suddenly understood how Viola had managed to survive the dreaded alleyway guarding the orphan camp. Even Renato and Josiah exchanged glances of confusion over several navigational choices, still opting to keep their mouths shut in the end.
There came a point when the density of the abodes lining the roads began to thin, quaint and rustic houses given ample space to thrive and shelter with love. In the dark, once more, their features were mostly indiscernible aside from rough silhouettes. Occasionally, Octavia would be blessed with splashes of color upon front steps and fences by the grace of street lamps. She had absolutely no idea where they were--although, granted, she wouldn’t have known the city regardless. If nothing else, she could at least say she'd had the chance to sightsee in the housing districts.
“Are you tired at all?” Octavia asked gently.
Viola shook her head. “From this? No. In general? Debatable. This doesn’t really take a lot out of me, exactly. It feels natural, almost.”
“Tell us if you need a break, okay? We’re on your schedule, here,” Josiah offered.
She nodded. “I appreciate that. I don’t think I want to hang around here too long, though. It’s pretty dark out. Somewhere cozy would be nice.”
Harper smirked. “We could always go back on the train.”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Josiah hissed.
“But I liked riding the train,” Madrigal whined.
“We’re not going back anytime soon. We’re here, we’re done, that’s it. No more.”
“And if we need to take another one to get wherever we’re supposed to be going?” Harper challenged playfully.
Josiah narrowed his eyes. “Then throw me on the tracks and run me over.”
Octavia laughed. It was mostly collective, a torment even a concentrating Viola could get behind. Josiah sighed deeply, and yet even he wasn't immune to a smirk at his own quip. She thought about making another joke regarding him driving a train again. She was more interested in whatever Renato would say to mess with him, in truth. To Octavia’s great surprise, the latter was seemingly disinterested. Rather, he was hardly so much as paying attention.
Octavia didn’t press him, although she did eye the way his steps quickened subtly. It wasn’t enough that he was outright running, but it was more than enough that he was starting to slowly pass each Maestro by one by one. She, too, was included. Every time she tried to match pace with Renato, he seemed to walk faster. He’d long since stuffed his false hands into his pockets, eyes cast down at the road as he walked. Octavia tilted her head.
“What, uh, what neighborhood are we in, exactly?” she heard him wonder aloud nervously.
Josiah had recovered from his torment, at least. He was immune to Renato’s discomfort, untraceable as it was. “I want to say we’re somewhere in the southern block, but don’t quote me on that. I’ve never actually been here. I just saw a map once.”
“This is your first time in Selbright?” Madrigal asked. “I thought your family lives here.”
He smiled, his own hands taking refuge in his pockets much the same as the boy ahead of him. “Remember, they left Velpyre and I didn’t. This is just as new for me as it is for you. It’s…interesting.”
Madrigal clasped her hands together behind her back, a slight spring touching her step as she walked. “Are you gonna go see your family?”
“Maybe. I’m…gonna have to think about it a bit first. I haven’t seen them in a really, really long time. I’m not sure what to say.”
“They know you’re alive, right?” Harper murmured.
“Do they…even know what happened?” Viola added, throwing a glance over her shoulder.
Josiah chuckled. “They know. I write to them often enough. They’re at least aware I’m not dead. Seeing their faces again is going to be really strange, though.”
“What part of the southern block?”
Renato’s hurried words were as sudden as they were strained, directed at no one in particular. He hadn’t made an effort to so much as look at the one person most likely to have an answer. Josiah shrugged, raising an eyebrow.
“I…don’t know. Like I said, I’ve only seen it on paper. Why?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Just wondering. No sweat.”
Josiah didn’t let up. “I’m…not even 100% certain that’s where we are, you know.”
“No, this definitely looks like the place,” Renato muttered through gritted teeth.
Octavia watched the way he seemed to walk even quicker, his eyes trailing along the lengths of houses on either side of the road one by one. He hadn’t quite moved significantly close to Viola. Still, he’d managed to shift himself at least more adjacent to the front of their little cluster.
“You havin’ any luck, Vi?” Renato tried, his voice tinted with just the slightest urgency.
Viola narrowed her eyes in irritation, tossing him a look of annoyance far less friendly than the one she’d given Josiah. “I’m working on it. Be patient. We’re definitely getting there, okay? I can feel it.”
“There’s no, like, other neighborhoods we can cut through or anything?”
Viola shook her head. “This is the fastest way for me to follow…whatever it is I’m feeling. Is that a problem?”
Renato tensed somewhat. “No, no, that’s fine. If…this is the only way, just keep doing your thing. No pressure.”
The look she fixed him with was perhaps equally as confused as the one Octavia wore. Viola didn’t dignify his odd words with a response, bringing her attention straight forward once more with a roll of her eyes.
“What does it feel like, anyway?” Harper asked.
“It’s…hard to describe, like I said,” Viola began. “I’m…trying to put it into better words, at this point. It’s like an urge I can’t really pin down. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s this…weird sensation inside of me that feels like I’m being drawn somewhere. If I let it take me, it’s like I’m being pulled by a magnet.”
He nodded in understanding, even if she couldn’t see. “Can you still feel it getting stronger or weaker, then?”
“Yeah. It’s definitely getting stronger. I'm still positive that we're heading the right way. How much further is debatable, though.”
“What do you think this person’s gonna be like?” Madrigal questioned softly.
“They’re important to Samuel, we know that much,” Octavia said, adjusting Stradivaria’s case on her shoulders. “A relative or a friend is my best guess.”
She smiled. “I hope they’re nice.”
“Where we go from there is anyone’s guess,” Josiah continued in Octavia’s stead.
Octavia nodded. “I have a vague idea of what might be waiting for us. It’s…gonna be a lot to deal with.”
Harper scoffed playfully. “Everything we do is a lot to deal with.”
“How’s your little magnet thing going?” Renato asked, his tone urgent once more.
“It’s going,” Viola hissed. “What are you in such a rush for?”
He didn’t answer. Viola shook her head in yet more aggravation, her eyes briefly touching upon Octavia’s in a plea for peace and quiet. Usually, Octavia would’ve smirked. At the moment, she was more concerned about the way Renato’s head was low, his shoulders were slouched, and he was fighting for his life to avoid looking up from the pavement.
“Is…everything alright?” Octavia found the courage to ask.
Even with his eyes down and his steps fast, Renato sighed heavily. “Yup. No problem. Let’s just get where we’re goin’ before it gets any colder out here. I’m gonna freeze to death, at this rate.”
“It’s not really that cold out,” Harper said. “It’s nice, actually.”
“Yeah, well, ‘cold’ is subjective,” he muttered hastily. “Leave it to the guy with all the crazy fire stuff going on to--”
“Renato?”
Even as his eyes widened and his face fell, Renato never stopped walking--nor did he raise his head. It was those around him who stilled in full, his name on lips not their own.
“Renato.”
The second instance was sharper, almost demanding. Only then did Renato come to a hesitant halt, raising his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Octavia watched him silently mouth a particular series of words she refused to repeat herself. It took him a moment to straighten up in full, let alone to turn and face the stranger who’d claimed his name aloud.
It was a house Octavia had been too engrossed in their conversation to notice, relatively uniform with the others adjacent up and down either side of the road. So late in the evening, it was only by the grace of the street lamps that she could see anything at all. It was unremarkable, largely, a rustic home with little more of note than granite porch steps and the sleek metals of a passably-ornate fence. More of interest was the dark-haired woman upon the former, sitting quietly as she stared down the Maestro from afar.
The exceedingly heavy sigh that left Renato preceded any words he could offer her. His face was far more neutral than the standard emotional fluctuations of his voice. “You moved.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Nice place you ended up with,” he said calmly. “I like the fence.”
“Why are you here?”
“Passing through, chill out. Not here for you. Good seeing you again. See ya.”
When he made to turn on his heel, the confusion on Octavia’s face echoed across that of her companions in full. They stayed rooted in place, wordlessly watching his movements with great befuddlement. Renato never fully pulled off a complete escape, whether with his gaze or otherwise.
“Avery!” the woman shouted, just barely tilting her head in the direction of the door at her back.
“You do not need to do that!” Renato snapped, stomping angrily towards the porch steps.
“Where have you been?” she asked. Genuine concern tinted her every word, pairing well with wide eyes.
“That was completely unnecessary!” he cried, gesturing wildly in the direction of the door.
It was only once it opened that Renato took two quick steps backwards, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. The man that took the place he’d once stood was taller than him by a small margin, leaving him somewhat looking down on the Strong boy.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, much the same as the woman on the steps. Granted, his accent was far thicker.
Again, Octavia watched the way Renato’s shoulders rose and fell with the weight of a sigh. “I’m passing through. I said this already. I didn’t even know you guys moved. I thought you were on the other side of the…wherever. Genuine coincidence.”
“Where the hell have you been?” he growled.
“Do you guys only know how to ask the same two damn questions?” Renato bit back. “Why does it even matter?”
“Answer me.”
“Gone. Not here. Obviously.”
The man pinched the bridge of his nose in clear aggravation. “How long has it been?”
“Not long enough,” Renato muttered.
“A lot has changed since the last time you were here.”
Renato nodded half-heartedly, his narrow eyes never leaving the man’s own. “Yeah. New house. Saw that already.”
“Cecil was promoted.”
“Didn’t ask.”
“He’s stationed in Ardenfall. They’re doing training there next week.”
“I literally do not give a damn about Cecil.”
“Watch your mouth,” the woman hissed, rising to her feet. Renato laughed once, a singular and empty sound utterly devoid of amusement.
“I don’t care! Am I supposed to care?”
“Show some respect!”
“He’s not even here! I wouldn’t show him a damn thing anyway!”
“Kiera,” the man warned softly, raising one hand to the agitated woman at his side. She swallowed whatever harsh words were to come. He returned his attention to Renato alone, his voice quieter.
“Listen, why don’t you just…come inside, and we’ll talk? We don’t have to talk about Cecil, we don’t have to talk about where you’ve been, we can just…talk. I’ll make coffee, or whatever you want. Do you still like your coffee black?”
Renato fell silent for a moment. He cocked his head with the faintest of smirks. “Do you seriously think that’s gonna work twice? Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?”
“Renato--”
“No. Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can do it right here. Whatever you want to do to me, you can do it right here. I’m not falling for that again.”
“Renato, please. Let’s just…try again. Both of us. All of us.”
“You really do think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
“Stop saying things like that.”
“You ever stopped to think maybe Cecil was nearly killing himself with all of that garbage just to get the hell away from you, too? Wouldn’t blame him!”
“Think very carefully about the next words that leave your mouth!” the man shouted, clenching his fists at his sides.
Renato flinched. Then, he laughed--a dark, genuine laugh, even if only for a fraction of a second. “Damn, we went back to that fast! That’s a new record for you!”
“Renato,” he warned sharply, the boy’s name stolen and dipped in venom.
“You won’t do it. I know you won’t do it. Not when we’re not alone.”
For a moment, both hardly breathed, staring one another down with daggers where their eyes should’ve been. For the severity of their stand-off and the urgency with which Renato had previously seemed to be avoiding confrontation, Octavia was amazed at the way he stood his ground so perfectly.
The man’s eyes flickered over Renato’s shoulder, touching upon her instead. It was Octavia’s turn to flinch. His gaze fell back to the Strong Maestro who faced him without fear.
“You’re putting on a brave act in front of these people, then?”
Renato shrugged. “Nothing to do with it. This is just who I am now.”
“You haven’t changed. You won’t change.”
“Not in the way you want, maybe,” he corrected, crossing his arms as he shifted his weight onto one foot. “There’s a whole lot of other ways I’ve changed, I promise you that much.”
“You don’t want to change for the better. You want to keep screwing around and making a mess out of your life.”
“And I’m damn good at it, too.”
“Then ruin yourself. You’re a lost cause. I’ve done everything I can to give you what you needed to succeed, and you threw it away. Was it worth it, Renato?”
“It was absolutely worth it.”
“What else could it possibly take to get you to pull yourself together? What else could I possibly give you? What more could you want from me?”
“Whatever you try, you’re not gonna get anywhere,” Renato answered. “I’m stronger than you now. By a lot.”
“What…happened to your hands?”
The woman’s voice was soft, in stark contrast to that of the man who berated Renato again and again. Volume was irrelevant. Her words were enough to shake him in a way that harsher words could not. Renato recoiled, taking several steps backwards as he unfolded his arms. With their eyes chasing the cherry oak that clung so naturally to his wrists, he stuffed them into his pockets quickly. He averted his eyes, his voice sharp and poisonous despite his trembling shoulders.
“Why the hell do you care?”
“What did you do?”
“Whatever’s going on with me is my business and my business only,” Renato spat. “Drop it.”
“Watch how you speak to her,” the man snapped.
“Look,” Renato began firmly, “this has been great. Wonderful chat we had, good stuff. I cannot stress enough that I am not here for you--either of you. You’ve got your opinions, and I’ve got mine. Agree to disagree, look the other way, and leave me the hell alone. Is that fair?”
Neither the man nor the woman responded. The man crossed his arms, glaring the same daggers directly into Renato’s back as he turned away at last. “Glad we cleared that up,” the boy called with a lazy wave over his shoulder.
Octavia blinked. The entire exchange had left her with a million questions, and she undoubtedly wasn’t the only one.
“Renato?” she whispered as he neared her.
He grinned faintly for her, false of a smile as it was. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t come back here,” Octavia heard the man call.
Renato groaned in exaggerated exasperation. “Wasn’t planning on it. See ya.”
Whatever came out of the man’s mouth next was indecipherable--to Octavia, at least. It was short. It was curt, jumbled syllables in a tongue she couldn’t place. It was spoken neatly, venomously, its intent still audibly visible despite its linguistic unfamiliarity. Whatever it was, it was enough to bring Renato to a screeching halt, his shoulders stiffening in an instant. His eyes widened, his face contorting with pain as he recoiled. He choked on whatever breath he’d been taking.
“Hey, watch it!” Josiah growled in the direction of the door.
Octavia didn’t get a chance to ask what it meant. Madrigal was on the case immediately.
She was unflinching, fearless as she stomped towards the man who’d sought to verbally wound Renato for the past ten minutes. Whatever was leaving her mouth was elaborate, fast, and laced with ire that Octavia still hadn’t grown used to hearing on Madrigal’s lips. Madrigal pushed past Renato, practically guarding him as she hurled hostile sentence after hostile sentence in a language Octavia didn’t recognize. She gestured vividly with her hands, several choice motions towards the man almost vaguely resembling a threat. With every word, both the man and the woman could only stare at her in further shock. Renato wasn’t much better.
“Damn, Maddie, chill!” he hissed in a frantic whisper.
The man’s own eyes narrowed as Madrigal ranted. He quickly moved to close the small gap between them. “You insolent little girl--”
The sight of Mistral Asunder level with those narrow eyes nearly gave Octavia a heart attack.
“Renato!” she cried instinctively. She was vaguely aware of Viola doing the same.
It was almost a battle as to which one of the Maestros would take the forefront, the Spirited girl quickly shoved behind the protection of the Strong boy instead. With her at his back, that left one slice of cherry oak pointed squarely at the man. Renato’s hand trembled around the stick as he struggled to control his voice. He failed horrifically.
Whatever was leaving his mouth was livid, biting, and just as rapid as Madrigal’s arguing had been. It was, too, just as indecipherable, foreign to Octavia’s ears and every bit as enraged. Renato's eyes were perhaps the only thing sharper than his jagged, unfamiliar words, fire bubbling beneath his pupils.
“Put one finger on her, I dare you,” he spat, his voice low. That much, at least, Octavia could understand.
The man didn’t back down, even with the tip of Mistral Asunder still mere inches from his face. He, too, was yelling in much the same cadence and vocal flavoring, yet more ire Octavia unfortunately wasn't privy to. Renato did the same, his voice rising. The man shouted back. Over one another, again and again, they practically screamed in a foreign tongue for what was long enough to make her heart pound.
Even when they both abruptly fell silent, with Renato claiming the last pointed hostilities for himself, the way his shoulders shook with rage still left Octavia holding her breath. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him, only briefly catching the way Madrigal glared at the man behind the boy’s back.
“Don’t come back here,” the man repeated once more, far more viciously as his voice trembled with cool anger.
Renato was absolutely not immune to the same. “You know damn well I won't.”
His Harmonial Instrument stayed raised in a wordless threat right up until the door had slammed shut in his face, both of his tormentors freeing him from their abrasive sentiments at last. Only then did he deflate, lowering his guard and breathing much the same heavy sigh of relief as Octavia.
When he noticed Octavia eyeing him with great concern, Renato rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, sorry about that. Sorry you had to…see that.”
“Are…you okay?” Harper murmured hesitantly.
Renato shrugged, shunning the vicinity of the house at last with Madrigal close behind. “It’s like I said. I come here for the food.”
“I didn’t know you were bilingual,” Viola observed aloud.
Again, he shrugged with a half-hearted smirk. “I’m a talented guy. It’s in my blood.”
Josiah winced. “I’m sorry about the…you know. That wasn’t cool.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re fluent?”
Josiah shook his head. “Almost conversational. Studied here and there. I can pick stuff out. Made out enough of what you guys were talking about, and I sure as hell know what that meant.”
Renato scoffed. “Don’t worry about it. He always calls me that when he’s pissed off. Just…haven’t heard it in awhile. Still gets under my skin a lot more than I expected.”
“What’d he say?” Octavia asked.
This time, at least, the smirk he gave her was genuine. “I’ll teach you as much as you want, but there’s no damn way I’m teaching you what that word means.”
“And you,” Renato continued, rolling his eyes teasingly in Madrigal’s direction. “Guess that’s one of your eighty-five-whatever languages, then?”
Even in the wake of the heated shouting match they’d left behind, she beamed with pride. “It was one of the first ones I ever learned!”
Renato poked at one of her buns playfully. “Not gonna lie, that was friggin’ awesome. I’m still washing that pretty mouth out with soap later, though. Don’t let me hear half of that mess comin’ out of you again, alright? Not completely sure how I’m gonna sleep tonight.”
Madrigal giggled beneath his teasing. His true grin was brilliant and welcome.
“So, then, that was your…” Viola began, losing her words almost instantly.
Renato averted his eyes. “I’m sorry I was rushing you. Was hoping I could spare the world from a little more drama. You can take your time with that magnet stuff now.”
The gaze Viola gave him was pained, far more so than anything Octavia typically saw her offer to that boy specifically. Even he seemed taken aback, his eyes widening at her expression.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Renato said with a sincere chuckle. “It’s fine, seriously. I’m used to it. I’m happy with what I have, and I’m happy with what I ended up with. That’s all I give a damn about. I mean it.”
She didn’t press him. In turn, he gifted her the same bright, confident smile. Viola struggled to do the same, settling on something fainter and more somber. The effort, at least, was there.
“Not gonna lie, kind of a weight off my shoulders,” Renato admitted, stretching. “Can we get back to whatever we were supposed to be doing, please? Starting to hope whoever this is will be nice enough to let us crash for the night, because I’m just about spent.”
“We’re…happy that you’re with us. That’s all I’ll say about it,” Harper offered with a soft smile of his own.
Renato’s eyes softened. Still, his sentiments were solid. “God, seriously, it wasn’t that bad. Don’t read into it too much, okay? I’ll be even happier once I’m unconscious. Don’t keep me out here waitin’ in the middle of the friggin' night.”
Octavia wished she could have her own turn with comforts, if not simply to tell him his worth. Still, their collective love for him, chaotic as he was, needed no verbal clarification. If the confidence behind his smile was anything to go by, he knew it to be true better than anyone. She was more than satisfied to see that smile still going strong, for all it had taken to claw it back from Hell.
If even Viola was giving him her concern, then surely Renato had gathered far more adoration around him than he could’ve ever wished to inherit. Octavia would make certain it stayed that way.
----------------------------------------
The furthest end of the block still took another ten minutes to traverse. Octavia hesitated to entertain the concept of Selbright's true size, at this point. If the housing districts alone were so sprawling, the thought of the city's heart was daunting in and of itself. She was by no means winded upon arrival. Regardless, there was something mentally draining about following a beacon not her own for so long. Viola, the most likely candidate for exhaustion after wandering so far, was still going strong--an unmatched testament to Soulful focus.
The house they’d ended up in front of was partially obscured by the darkness of night. Again, they’d gotten mildly lucky with a street lamp. Their path up the porch steps was illuminated, familiar and granite much the same as every other house. Of this home, too, there was little to note.
The exterior was plain and humble, sporting passable paint and reasonable hygiene beneath the wear and tear of age. To know that a Maestra possibly rested beyond the unassuming maple barring entry was jarring. Octavia feared deeply for the idea that they’d ended up at entirely the wrong house, preparing to disturb some unfortunate resident of Selbright in the earliest possible hours of the morning.
It was Viola who’d insisted that this was the place. As such, it was they who insisted that she be the one to knock. To Octavia’s surprise, she’d hardly hesitated.
When there was no initial response, Octavia again wondered if they were in the right place at all. Now she was hooked on the concept of possibly messing with somewhere downright empty at the time of arrival. That line of thought was somewhat more embarrassing. The creak of the hinges nearly scared her to death, focused on her insecurities as she was.
“Yes?”
For what time of day six strangers had arrived on her doorstep, the girl who greeted them was startlingly calm. It took her a moment to open the door entirely, glancing at each of the Maestros in turn before stepping onto the threshold in earnest. Still, her slender hand lingered on the doorknob. Viola cleared her throat.
“Uh, we’re looking for someone named Mina,” she tried. Octavia was glad Viola had remembered the name. It surely would’ve slipped her mind, had she been tasked with knocking instead.
The girl eyed Viola up and down. “Are you the Ambassador, then?”
Briefly, Viola's eyes widened. The stammering began soon after, followed by panicked gestures. “O-Oh, no, I’m not the Ambassador! I’m, uh…”
“I’m the Ambassador,” Octavia took over, edging her way closer to the steps. “My name is Octavia.”
The girl stared. “Samuel sent you?”
His name was a start. If nothing else, they were on the right track. She nodded. “Are you Mina?”
It was the girl’s turn to nod. “Yeah. Are all of you guys…”
“Maestros, yes,” Viola finished on her behalf.
The girl tilted her head. “That’s…a lot. He said as much, but still.”
“He told you we were coming?” Octavia asked.
Mina’s words were punctuated by the widening gap in the doorway, one arm extended in a half-hearted welcome. “Yeah. He wrote to me a few weeks ago. Gave me a heads up. Come in. We can talk it over in the morning.”
They obliged. “You’re fine with us staying the night? That’s…nice of you. Thank you.”
Even as each Maestro passed her by--some with significantly more elation at having a place to sleep than others--Octavia’s focus was largely on the girl who offered her gracious hospitality without question. “It’s nothing. No one else lives here but me. I’ve got plenty of room for it.”
She fidgeted slightly, Stradivaria’s case rustling against her braids in the process. “You’re a…Maestra, right?”
Again, Mina nodded. “Someone with you is Soulful, I’m assuming, if you got this far.”
“You know about that?” Octavia asked, her eyes wide.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s just…I haven’t met a lot of Maestros who know a lot about…well, Maestro stuff. Not by default, I mean.”
Mina smirked. “You’re in for a bit of a rude awakening, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t wait to see his face,” she muttered. “He’s gonna be a whole lot more excited to see you than I am.”
“Who?”
Mina paused. Still, her smirk was faint, if not ever-present. “You’ll see in the morning. It’s a full day’s worth of walking. Get as much sleep as you can. I’ll make breakfast, and then we’re heading out. I’ll explain what I can on the way there, but he’s a whole lot better with words than I am.”
Octavia blinked. “I…okay. Thank you for…taking us in, and for helping us with…well, whatever you’re helping us with.”
Mina’s smile softened. Octavia finally embraced her hospitality, scraping her boots against the floor mat. The door clicked shut gently behind them, the darkness of Selbright traded for the warmth of a brighter home.
“Don’t let me forget to write back to my dad, by the way. If I don’t tell him that the Ambassador made it here safe, he's gonna kill me.”