She gave him space. In reality, she was afraid to do anything else.

Octavia was afraid regardless, her assumption of the looming judgment day more than correct. She couldn’t avoid Josiah entirely, not with the way she was roped into final preparations again and again. Granted, it wasn’t by his hand alone--the Ensemble, with her own companions in tow, contributed to ironing out their multi-step plan to recapture the Cursed City and free the forsaken Muse that languished within.

The journey from Selbright to Velrose wouldn't be intolerably long, but still enough that she would be left to steep in her hellish thoughts for days. Octavia had little to do to prepare of her own accord, largely delegated to waiting patiently with the few days of peace she had remaining. She’d forgotten that Velrose only accepted outsiders on Sundays. There was an irony to be found there, somewhere.

Her nightmares were worsening. Some were new, unexpected in their own right. She dreamt of striking down her own mother with her light. Toll nightmares weren't necessarily uncommon, but they often battled with the bells for precedence. That was, of course, assuming visions of a charismatic conservator didn’t edge them out, staining the reds of autumn with far more sinister reds in her sleep.

Octavia couldn’t remember the last time she had a good dream, let alone a good night’s rest. To witness the pains of another all over again in the unconscious world was a twofold toll that she constantly lamented. Even in her dreams, she couldn’t escape a different kind of Hell.

To the credit of the four people most privy to her suffering, they did what they could to distract her in their own unique ways. Octavia respected their efforts, and she indulged in their best attempts to comfort her. In a way, their presence and engagement did ease her pain somewhat. They made her laugh, they made her smile, and they made her feel loved.

She didn’t have the heart to tell them the way that it wouldn’t be enough to erase the dread in full. It didn’t matter how tightly they held her, how many jokes they told her, how many delicious meals they made for her. It was always there, sitting in wait patiently as the day crept ever closer. It was behind closed doors that she thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it yet more. For what that entailed, Octavia hoped they couldn’t hear. She wasn’t confident.

In the last two days leading up to their departure, she hardly saw Josiah at all. He was isolated, either bound almost exclusively to his room or hopelessly adrift somewhere in the midst of Tacell’s grassy seas. The passage of time didn’t particularly fill her with a desire to hunt him down. Octavia wondered if anyone else bothered.

Even now, she struggled to battle the thoughts that told her to run, give up, and surrender her drive to stand as the Ambassador once and for all. It wasn’t as though there was no alternative, especially in Tacell alone. It had been some time since she’d spoken to Faith, given her lack of tolls to offer as bait for the Heartful Maestra’s company. Octavia contemplated whether or not this would be a good time to ask about the garden. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to get through a full sentence without outing the dread that threatened to tear her apart.

The isolation that came with her pain was a pain in and of itself, as a result. Octavia would see them all soon enough, anyway, coagulated on behalf of a mistake made not so long ago. She missed Mina. At least she’d be able to be thankful for that.

There was peace to be found in action.

Granted, it apparently was an action she wasn't supposed to be taking.

It was the fault of her nightmares, really, for reminding her of an alternative to fitful sleep. In the wake of all that was to come, one spontaneous warning that had aggravated her was no longer painful. It was more curious than anything, inexplicable and borderline nonsensical.

She was beginning to memorize the way with substantially more ease. Octavia was starting to get used to the darkness of Tacell beneath the sky of an autumn’s night. It was easier, the second time around, to cope with the weightlessness on her back and shoulders. For the accusations of his sharp suspicions, he’d had yet to say a word to her--hostile or otherwise.

Octavia wondered how much gentle coaxing it would take to get the Muse to offer her visage in full, given the distress that the request had prompted last time. She resolved to strike a balance between respect and encouragement, even as curiosity ate away at her slowly. She hoped she could start by maintaining her neutrality with the boy whose hostility towards her seemed endless, regardless of how many times she attempted to reassure him of her harmless intentions.

Fearing the wrath of a ten-year-old boy was somewhat humiliating, particularly as the Ambassador. If nothing else, he surely brought pride to his legacy. Even with the chill that just the memory of his wrath sent down her spine, Octavia still found a faint smile for herself over the thought.

He really did seem to leave his door unlocked regularly. The third time around, Octavia still had absolutely no idea how to convey that she was present at all. She made the same decision as last time, her surrender instant and visible. The dread of light was a dread she could tolerate.

“Theo?” she called.

Octavia kicked herself immediately. That was a habit she sincerely needed to curb.

The silence and darkness inside of his cottage would never get any easier to tolerate, most likely. Each and every step she took, each and every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet, was still just as unsettling as both of her prior intrusions. Once more, the moon was somewhat useless, and the beams that brushed her boots and skin only aided her pupils in the slightest. It wasn’t as though she had the option to rectify the situation herself, her one means of doing so safely tucked away in her bedroom.

Octavia had a feeling her Heartful counterpart wouldn't be interested in using his hostile light for her benefit, should she ask. She wondered if he knew the stress the atmosphere placed her under every time she ventured into his abode. She wondered if it was intentional.

Octavia found him in a way her heart didn’t especially enjoy, practically exploding out of her chest in fright as the door slammed shut behind her. It wasn’t of her own accord or by her own hands. When her head whipped in the direction of the sudden bang, her suspicions of his purposefully-constructed atmosphere of tension were somewhat validated.

Cornering the Ambassador was a bold move. Octavia again cursed the way by which a single piccolo and the deadly eyes of a child could make her sweat to such a degree. She forgot to wave for a moment, her best attempts at portraying peaceful intentions lost somewhere in a strangled scream of surprise.

She raised her arms higher, doing everything in her power to ooze defenselessness. There definitely had to be a better way to do this, especially if it was going to become routine. Octavia held her breath.

This time around, his inspection wasn’t subtle, nor was he content with simple signs. She struggled to resist the urge to retreat, to claim one step back for every step the boy took forward. Again was his Harmonial Instrument threateningly aloft, tethered to his lips and ready to strike her where she stood at the first sign of resistance.

With soft, measured footsteps, Octavia watched as he circled her once over, scanning every facet of her body up and down with the same razor-edged eyes. She thought once more to insist verbally on her harmless nature, biting her lip to suppress the reflex again. It occurred to her, at least, that there was one party who could hear her pleas.

“Mixoly,” she said, her voice wavering somewhat, “I’m here. I didn’t bring Stradi…I didn’t bring Stratos. I’m alone,” she self-corrected.

Theo came to stand before her once more, his head tilted and his gaze locked with her own. Ever so slowly, he lowered his guard, unblinking as the piccolo descended from his lips.

You have…returned, Ambassador.

Octavia nodded quickly, her arms once more growing tired from her endless gesture of surrender. “I wasn’t going to just leave you here.”

The eavesdropping was an instinct, particularly given her inability to understand the boy who stared her down otherwise. It is alright, she heard the Muse reassure softly. There is no need to fear.

The way Theo averted his eyes and gritted his teeth spoke to aggravation that didn’t particularly make Octavia feel safer. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief, lowering her arms at last. They ached.

“I…I wanted to see you again,” Octavia offered. As to why, she couldn’t quite explain.

Even given the risk, you have chosen to return. You are, perhaps, befitting of the kindness and bravery born of your title.

Octavia flushed beneath her praise. “I-I just…you said you had things to tell me. I…wanted to know what.”

Does he suspect you?

“If you’re talking about Stratos, he hasn’t said a word to me since the first time I ever came here.”

At that time, then, what did he say?

“He just…said to never come back here again.”

That is all?

“Yes.”

Mixoly was quiet for a moment. There was a certain awkwardness that came with staring at Theo in her stead, given the degree to which she seemed to prefer her material vessel. Octavia had found a second motivator to coax the Muse into greeting her face-to-face, apparently.

Of the others, what have they said?

“What…others?”

Your kind and mine alike. What have you heard of this place?

Octavia wrung her hands together uncomfortably. “River said that the other Muses tell everyone to stay away from here. He said he doesn’t know why. He guessed it had something to do with Theo being Heartful. They don’t know what he did wrong. I’m not mad at him for attacking me.”

It is not he of whom you were warned.

She blinked. “What?”

To shun one with such a powerful heart of light, I could perhaps understand the rationale. That is the one and only sin this boy has committed, and not at all of his own accord.

“I don’t understand,” Octavia confessed. “Is there something wrong with being Heartful?”

Theo crossed his arms, grasping the piccolo firmly in one hand. Even if it was a relief that the violence in his eyes didn’t greet Octavia’s own, the quiet hurt that had replaced it didn’t feel much better.

This child could not, under any circumstances, become the Ambassador. They must see to it that the thought does not cross the minds of their own, lest their efforts be wasted. That is the…simplest explanation.

It wasn’t the best time for Faith to flicker through her thoughts. The decision wasn't conscious. “Did he…want to be the Ambassador?”

Theo shook his head. Octavia’s eyes widened, her shock apparently not subtle. Theo’s eyes drifted downwards to his Harmonial Instrument before returning to hers. It made enough sense that Mixoly wouldn’t leave her own partner out of the conversation, silent and unseen as her translations were. What it would be like to hear with her heart alone, Octavia still couldn’t imagine.

I doubt there is little he could desire less.

“Then…why does it matter?” Octavia murmured.

It was with great hesitation that Theo raised the piccolo aloft, gesturing to the glistening instrument for additional emphasis. Octavia watched his motions carefully and wordlessly, confusing as they were.

It is as I have stated. It is not he of whom you were warned.

It clicked. Octavia’s heart skipped a beat. “They…don’t want me to be around you?”

The Muse was silent. Octavia wasn’t content. “Why?”

Do you…enjoy being the Ambassador?

The deflection was frustrating. Octavia said as much. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I shall, in time. This, too, is relevant to such. Do you enjoy your role?

Octavia tangled her fingers together. “I don’t think I enjoy it, necessarily, but it…needs to be done. Somebody has to do it. I like to imagine I’m decent at it by now.”

Why?

Octavia paused. “Why…what?”

Why must it be done?

“So that…all of the Muses can go home,” she said half-heartedly. It almost came out as a question. “So they can return to Above again.”

Why must it be you?

“It doesn’t have to be. It could be any of the Heartful. I just…volunteered.”

Why would you do so?

She kept the full truth close--at least for now. “I want to finish what the last Ambassador started.”

You feel obligated, then?

Octavia froze. She didn’t like the wording of Mixoly’s inquiry. “I-I…wanted to do this. I chose to.”

And you are certain of such?

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” she answered, her voice sharper than intended.

You took on the task willingly, then.

“Yes, like I said.”

You knew what it entailed in full.

“I…yes. In terms of what I needed to do, yes.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

That wasn’t entirely a lie. The strands of the spider web that she'd tripped over later were irrelevant to the concept of the Witnessing, at least prior to beginning the arduous task itself. It was still something that took her a moment to consider.

Who is it who gave you the option?

“Stratos.”

Naturally.

Mixoly’s words weren’t quite venomous, lacking in the vitriol that Octavia had somewhat expected. The second time around, they were more so loaded and mysterious than they were abrasive. She tilted her head, the anger she believed she’d find instead replaced with befuddlement.

“Do you have a problem with Stratos?”

I am impartial, individually, although I see how it may appear that way.

“I…see,” Octavia said softly.

Your task, then, Mixoly continued, the topic not crushed beneath the weight of yet another. His words. They were the first you had heard of such a duty?

“Yes.”

Do you understand what it means to be the Ambassador?

It was a loaded question, one that Octavia hesitated to answer. If she was wrong, at this point, she wasn’t sure what she'd do with herself. “The Ambassador is a…bridge between worlds. They’re a bridge between our own world and yours--Above. They perform the Witnessing. They guide your way home. They can hear your voices.”

And when your task is through?

Octavia hadn’t given it much thought. The logical answer seemed the most plausible. “I’ll…stop being the Ambassador. The Dissonance will be gone. Hopefully, the world will be back to normal. That’s the goal, at least.”

But what of you?

She smiled gently. “I’ll go home. I have lots of new friends to spend time with. I know there’s still a lot I have to do before then, but I’m looking forward to it.”

Her smile was drowned out by Mixoly’s words, indifferent to her muted happiness. And of the others? Of my brethren?

“You’ll all be home. I like to imagine you’ll all be happy. I don’t know a lot about what Above is like, but if it’s big enough for ninety-six of you, then I at least hope you all get along,” Octavia tried.

Ninety-six.

It was more of a statement than a question. Octavia wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m…I think I’m making good progress. It’s not very fast, but I’ve already guided about--”

Ninety-six?

The second time, it was definitely a question. Octavia only stared at the little instrument. “Yes, ninety-six. Like I said, I’m--”

Who told you there were ninety-six?

For a moment, Octavia wasn’t sure how to respond. Technically, there were two answers to this question. One was much simpler than the other, her mentor far more familiar and far more accessible by comparison. “Stratos.”

Mixoly was quiet. Octavia wasn't ignorant to the way Theo’s fingers curled inwards somewhat, clasping the piccolo just the slightest bit tighter.

There are ninety-seven.

Octavia blinked. They were empty words, suspended in the air meaninglessly and unable to settle onto her skin in full. It took time, several loaded seconds before Mixoly’s words had the chance to send chills down her spine and trip up her heart.

“What?”

There are not ninety-six. There are ninety-seven. I am not surprised you were told otherwise, in truth.

Again, she blinked, significantly more fervently and plagued with far more confusion. “Why wouldn’t they…say that?”

I am certain they would far prefer their ranks to number ninety-six.

Briefly, Octavia searched for any semblance of shock or surprise on Theo’s face. She found nothing even somewhat close, his eyes neutral and his posture indifferent. His attention was offered far more to his Harmonial Instrument than to the Ambassador, regardless. If Octavia had to guess, it seemed as though the revelation was in no way news to him.

“W-Why are you telling me all of this?” Octavia asked nervously. “Why are you asking me all of this?”

I seek your aid, just as I hope to offer mine in return, Ambassador.

“What do I need help for?”

I have once said that you are in danger. That has not changed. That will not change. So long as you carry this burden, it shall be so.

Octavia winced. “I know it’s dangerous. I knew that when I signed up to be the Ambassador. I’m well aware of that, I promise!”

You do not understand my words.

“Mixoly, I appreciate that you’re worried about me, but this really is something I want to do. It’s okay if the…things I have to do are--”

You truly, truly do not understand my words.

Octavia gritted her teeth. “Then help me understand. What do you want from me?”

You must choose what to believe. I cannot make you. I cannot force you, and I will not force you. If you wish to accept what is upon the surface, there is little I can do. Should you summon the drive to delve beyond what you have been given, I will await you in the depths of what cannot be spoken.

“You’re not--”

I will say what they will not, the Muse spoke softly. I will do what they will not. Your trust is yours alone to give.

Octavia fell silent. It wasn’t that she hadn’t formulated a single question since Ethel’s departure, but they’d been minute and far between. They were inconsequential, largely, and nothing that kept her awake at night. Still, with one number alone, Mixoly had slashed a hole in her thoughts that had begun to fester in a way she couldn’t stifle.

Ambassador, what next will you do?

Considering her entire reason for voyaging to Theo’s home in the first place was for the sake of avoiding that thought, she wasn’t especially comfortable with it arising once more. At the very least, Mixoly’s voice, timid as it was, was pleasant and soft enough that it deterred the bells for now. “I-I…we’re going to guide the Muse inside of Seraphim’s Call. And…presumably, the one inside of Valkyrie’s Call, after that.”

I see. I commend your devotion to their well-being. I wish you luck.

There was no way the Muse could’ve known of the Hell that awaited her in Velrose or Velpyre--two nightmares of her own making, unique in flavor and tethered to that which rested both above and below her. Octavia did what she could to accept the blessing with grace. “Thank you.”

When next we meet, you may…offer me your choice. I will respect your decision to bestow or withhold your trust.

Theo’s eyes on her were peaceful, if not judgmental. It was a different kind of pressure, ever-present and yet not crushing enough to shatter her soul. Octavia still gave her attention to the little piccolo alone. “Mixoly--”

I ask, Ambassador, that you…hold my true name close to your heart. It is for our safety in tandem. No one must know, and of this, I implore you once more to hold your tongue. If you must refer to me, in any context, my false name will suffice. I do pray that such should not come to be.

Octavia averted her gaze. “Your other name is so…harsh. Can I call you something nicer?”

Mixoly paused. Such as?

“It’s Miracle Agony, right?” Octavia began quietly. “Can I…call you Miracle? Just that.”

I am no miracle.

“It’s softer. And…just you being here is a miracle. You’re all little miracles.”

I am one who brings only suffering to miracles. My presence is far removed from a miracle. My presence is a curse.

“I know none of you want to be here, but I like having you here. Meeting all of you has been a miracle. I…I want to get to know you better,” Octavia insisted.

You may come to regret that decision.

“I won’t.”

Mixoly paused. Call me what you will, Ambassador.

It was a tiny victory, one that Theo didn’t offer his hostilities towards. He was still, cradling that little miracle in his embrace delicately. When he met her eyes again, she half-expected him to change his mind, to pin her with that burning aggression as usual. It was his hands, carefully adjusted to accommodate the piccolo now resting atop his forearms, that spoke on his behalf. His signs were slower, calmer. Octavia gave them her full attention, unable to help the way her eyes flickered to the Harmonial Instrument the moment his hands stilled once more. A verbal plea was unnecessary, apparently.

‘Don’t tell anyone about her.’

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “Tell them…what? Have they never met your partner?”

Theo hesitated. He tried again, a similar series of signs that brought his fingers together and apart the slightest bit slower. ‘Don’t tell anyone that you’re coming here,’ Mixoly translated.

She nodded gently. “I won’t.”

Once more did he hesitate before signing further. ‘If you ever bring the violin again, I will hurt you.’

It should’ve been a stronger threat. It should’ve shaken her more. The hint of sorrow in his eyes that fizzled just beyond the wrathful fire wasn’t quite invisible. The way he’d opted to intimidate her with words of harm rather than death wasn't lost on her. There was no voice in which she could find a waver, any hint of desperation or something more. Something was different. She wasn’t afraid.

It wasn’t even necessarily for Mixoly’s sake that she would keep Stradivaria away from this place, for whatever reason they’d requested in tandem. Even with the aggression that still crossed his face, the gentle eyes Theo offered to his faceless partner again and again finally spoke to the Heartful legacy she knew him to have. The light that had blighted Octavia, perhaps, could at least warm another instead.

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

Octavia technically didn’t need the passport--either of them. They’d worked out the finer details of the voyage already, the sheer amount of paper-bound permission they’d need otherwise an annoyingly-high hurdle. One passport, in all its leathery, rosy beauty, she could still trace every facet of with one trembling fingertip. Again and again did she observe the tactile sensation of the inlaid emblem dipping beneath her skin, the budding blossom greeting her silently.

To this day, she wasn’t sure why she’d ever had the audacity to keep it. For all the city had stolen from her, physically and emotionally, it was a memento of the worst mistake she’d ever made. She hadn’t held it in her own two hands in what felt like ages. Even now, its violet twin rested silently in her backpack. Octavia had even less of a use for that one. It wasn’t as though there was anyone left to check it anymore.

“You kept it, huh?”

Renato’s voice behind her almost made her drop the passport entirely. If it had slipped through the slats of the platform, she probably would’ve killed him--as miserable of a memento as it was. It was somewhat of a humiliating position to be caught in.

Octavia sighed. “Yeah.”

He didn’t joke, nor did he smile, nor did he make any attempts to get her to laugh. He was content to meet her on the bench, close enough that their shoulders lightly touched. “Staring at it isn’t stressing you out?”

“I don’t think I can get much more stressed,” she confessed.

“I’m not gonna bother with askin’ if you’re okay. I already know the answer.”

Octavia appreciated his honesty, despite the lump she slowly felt rising in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

“I should be over this by now.”

It was the weakest smile she’d ever seen cross his lips, more of a gentle upturning of one corner than a true expression of anything positive. “Tell me who you sound like right now.”

She wished she could do the same, to offer any shred of emotion that wouldn’t result in her breaking down in full right there in the open. Counting the Maestros that were boarding was far easier, a distraction that would give her at least several seconds of reprieve from the dread that clogged her soul. Octavia didn’t recognize many of them. A few she knew in passing from Tacell, although she’d be hard-pressed to remember their names. She couldn’t find Mina. She saw exactly half of the Ensemble.

Not a single person who climbed the steps carried one-tenth of the fear and pain in their eyes that their Ambassador harbored. It hurt. It burned. As to what they would think if they knew of her terror, she was afraid simply to guess.

“This is your SIAR.”

His words pulled her out of her new distraction. “What?”

Renato kicked his feet lazily back and forth beneath the bench. “This place is for you what SIAR was for me, I’m guessing. It’s gonna suck. I’m definitely not denying that it’s gonna suck. Even now, thinking about going back to SIAR again still makes me feel sick. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get rid of that entirely.”

Octavia clutched the little passport tightly. “Is it…still as bad?”

He shook his head. “Not as bad. It doesn’t rip me apart as much as it used to. Actually going back was Hell. After that, it…didn’t hurt the same way as before. It’s a little bit better.”

Octavia was quiet. She didn’t flinch or resist when she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders, cherry oak fingers settling delicately upon her. She didn’t care who saw. She didn’t have enough emotion to cobble together any form of self-consciousness.

“Maybe this’ll do the same thing for you,” Renato offered softly. “Maybe going back will…make things easier. It doesn’t have to be right away. Just remember that we’re going back there for a good reason. We’re going back there because you’re a good person. I figure I don’t need to tell you you’re not on your own at this point. I mean, hell, look at everyone who ended up coming with us.”

She’d looked over and over again. It wasn’t as much of a comfort as it should’ve been. If anything, it was a gateway into guilt. Octavia hoped she wasn’t bruising the leather with her fingernails.

“And you’ve got us,” he added, patting her shoulder. “You’ve always got us, if nothing else. We’re not leaving you anytime soon, no matter how bad you wanna get rid of us. You’re not…gettin’ rid of your soldier that easy.”

Octavia wished she had the heart to crack a smile. It was buried somewhere she couldn’t salvage. “I thought you didn’t want me to call you that.”

“Changed my mind. Decided it sounds cool. It’s fine if you do it. Only kind of soldier I wanna be.”

“What do you mean?”

Renato sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with notable discomfort. “I’ve got this...jerk of a brother. Can’t stand him. He worked his ass off to be the kind of soldier my folks wanted him to, and I swear it made him even more of a bastard along the way. I sure as hell wasn’t letting them do the same thing to me. If I’m gonna fight for anyone, it’s gonna be for you. That’s the kind of soldier I wanna be.”

Octavia blinked her way through the tears she could feel bubbling up. If she spoke now, she worried her voice would crack.

Renato stroking her hair gently was her breaking point. “And…sometimes I think it would’ve been way nicer to have a sister than a brother. Can’t say I’d ever manage to get her braids right, though. I dunno if she’d mind. Maybe the pancakes could make up for it.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Octavia finally sobbed. “I don’t deserve any of you. I don’t deserve any of this. I can’t--”

He held her close, pulling her into his arms in full as she buried her face in his shoulder. Octavia lamented the way her tears were surely staining his vest. The pine scent of his cologne was comforting, something she hadn’t had to herself in quite a while--somewhat excessive as it was. The urge to break down completely was overpowering. She nearly did, the little passport sandwiched between them as she wept.

“How many damn times do I have to tell you people that I can’t handle pretty girls crying?” she heard Renato scold playfully. “Don’t do that to me, braids.”

Octavia sniffled, squeezing one palm through their embrace to wipe her eyes. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Don’t read into it,” he chided.

“What are we now, exactly?” she joked weakly.

Octavia felt him chuckle, and it eased her heart somewhat. “Don’t play this game with me, Tavi, I swear to God.”

She almost managed a laugh of her own. She almost managed a smile to accompany it. She at least managed the warmth that came with reciprocation, returning his embrace just as tightly. Renato poked at one of her braids.

“You ready?”

“Not really, no,” she admitted.

In pulling away from him, Octavia wasn’t left with much of a choice. She caught a glimpse of passing seafoam, briefly, as Tacell’s leader climbed the steps of the train one by one. It left only four people in his wake, patiently awaiting her presence beside the same stairs as she began to feel the rumbling beneath the platform. She no longer had a choice, as much as she wished otherwise.

Even now, she was reminded of the way she’d held the rose-splashed passport with such bright eyes and hope as they’d departed from Coda the first time. All too long ago, she'd been eager to delve deeper into the Maestro world, chasing a future that surely led to somewhere happier than this.

In one hand, Octavia clung with all of her heart to the memento of the blossom, unnecessary and overpowering all the same. In the other, she wrapped her trembling fingers tightly around Renato’s own. The smile he offered her was kind and genuine.

“We’ll get through this,” he said softly. “All of us. I promise.”

And to his credit, it wasn’t just his Strong words that pledged his protection to her heart. It was a Spirited wave, a Willful smile, a Soulful gaze that offered reassurance in their own special ways. It was the way they tried to distract, distract, distract, to chip away at the endless dread and fear that she knew would crash over her like a tidal wave several days from now. Octavia didn’t mind distractions. She didn’t mind company. She felt aimless, floaty, the same underwater helplessness she’d learned to accept in the depths of a toll quite some time ago.

“Try to get some rest.”

Lightning struck deep, deep into the depths of the ocean she’d plunged into. Octavia couldn’t dive down far enough to avoid it, nor could she walk fast enough down the aisle to escape his gaze. It was unreadable, Essenced eyes that ensnared her against her will, shocking her heart for a fleeting moment. They were words she couldn’t attribute to kindness or hostility, much as she was unable to figure Josiah out lately. Her dread, too, was electric.

“You’re gonna need it.”