"You're serious? I missed the second one, too? You could've woken me up! It would've been fine!" Harper cried. Octavia winced.

"I swear, I didn't even know it was going to happen! It kinda just…did!" she explained desperately.

"You better actually tell me about the next one," he muttered, only half-serious as he gently poked her forehead. She smirked.

"Oh, it was awesome. Wish you were there. Real sparkly, little light show and everything. Most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. Absolutely unbelievable. You really missed out," Renato tormented, arms crossed and enjoying every moment of it.

Harper glared daggers into the boy. "You have no idea how much I hate you."

They were only semi-relevant. The way Viola had side-eyed Josiah since they'd come back inside had Octavia equally defensive and uncomfortable. Josiah wasn't ignorant to the attention, avoiding eye contact with the Maestra wherever possible. It was too much, and the tension in the salon was starting to get to Octavia. She wanted to bring it up. It wasn't her place. Ultimately, he was the only one who could stand up for himself.

It didn't keep her from pleading with Viola visually, shaking her head with sharp eyes every time she could capture Viola's own for longer than a second. She didn't particularly enjoy being aggressive towards Viola, even given the context. Still, the way Josiah shifted awkwardly in his seat was even more distressing. Some part of her felt protective today.

"That's…two of them, then," Viola said, her voice more monotone than Octavia would've liked. She really, really wished the girl would stop staring at Josiah as she spoke. "Ninety-four to go. Progress, I suppose."

"Why'd you leave Stradivaria in the foyer, anyway?" Harper asked. With the case at his feet, he gripped the neck of the violin loosely, raising it aloft in one hand.

Octavia nearly lunged for the instrument, practically snatching the violin and bow from his grasp. "I-I forgot."

He tilted his head. "Be careful about that."

Of all people, she didn't need him to be the one to give the reminder. He'd been equally as guilty at that time. Still, she nodded, gently settling both halves of Stradivaria into her lap.

"Well, this has certainly been an exciting day," Renato joked, sprawling out just a bit too comfortably on the sofa. With his arms stretched wide, he hooked the left one up and over the headrest nearest to Madrigal. "We gonna eat and start spilling our darkest secrets to each other again? Kinda liked that."

"Then you cook this time," Viola hissed.

Harper smirked. "You got something to offer? I thought we got everything off our chests. It better be good. You better make it up to me."

"Damn, are you the grudge-holding type?" Renato muttered with a shudder. "That's new."

Octavia winced. It wasn't, apparently, if recent events had taught her anything.

"I have…something to talk about," Madrigal murmured, raising her hand quietly. Her voice was so soft that her words were nearly lost.

Renato side-eyed her with mild confusion. "We're listenin'," he offered.

Madrigal paused for a moment, her hand descending into her lap. She fidgeted somewhat, casting her eyes at the carpet rather than those around her. "I…I had a really bad day today."

Nearly in perfect unison, Octavia and Josiah scoffed. Renato's poorly-concealed smirk didn't help. That was an understatement. All three had collectively agreed to keep the tale of Lyra's wrath away from Viola and Harper, for how much stress the two Maestros had already accumulated in the past several days. Apparently, it was going to come up regardless. Octavia stifled a subsequent sigh.

"What's wrong?" Harper asked gently, ignorant to the truth of the matter.

Madrigal sighed. "I got…news from Minuevera yesterday. My mother sent a pigeon."

"She sent a what?" Josiah shot back.

"I know, just go with it," Octavia muttered to him under her breath.

"Something happened to one of my brothers. In Whitebrook," she continued sadly.

Octavia's eyes widened. The name sounded familiar. "What happened?"

Madrigal squeezed her eyes shut, clasped hands following suit. "He's…he grows fruits and vegetables like we do, and he sells them at his stand in town. A few days ago, someone broke into his house in the middle of the night and ruined everything he owned. T-They destroyed all of his crops, they broke all of his things, and they made his whole home unlivable. He can't go back now. No one knows who did it, a-and he didn't even have anyone who was mad at him. I don't understand."

Renato flinched. "You're serious? They just went after this guy for no reason?"

"Was he okay?" Viola asked with fervent worry.

Madrigal raised her head, her eyes shimmering with tears lying in wait. "That's the weirdest part! Someone sent him a letter hours before that, literally hours, telling him it was gonna happen! They told him he was gonna get hurt if he stayed, so he went to stay with a friend. Whoever it was, they were right! I just…I don't get it!"

"Did it have a name on it or anything? The letter, I mean?" Harper interrupted.

Madrigal shook her head. "It wasn't even in an envelope! It was just a piece of paper!"

The sight of Madrigal in distress yet again left Octavia's heart aching. "I'm…so sorry that--"

"Stop."

Josiah's singular demand, low and firm, was enough to bring the salon to a halt. Head in his hands and a piercing gaze lodged in the carpet, he soaked in the resulting silence. He exhaled heavily.

"An attack on a homeless camp," he began, "a man's life sentence suddenly being changed to the death penalty, and now someone goes after your family."

When he paused, she pressed. "Josiah?" Octavia tried.

He looked up at her, and it was her fault for earning his sharp eyes. "What the hell is going on?"

There were no words to answer him. Even now, Octavia, too, had no response. She clung to his words, bitter and hastily-assembled as they were. She wasn't the only one.

"Once is happenstance, twice is circumstance, and three times is something seriously wrong," he went on. "I thought these were just…freak incidents, but it's only been a few weeks. We can't get anywhere closer to figuring any of this out because things just keep friggin' happening, one on top of another. We've still got absolutely no clue what prompted any of this, or who even did any of this."

"You think all of this is…related?" Harper asked quietly.

Josiah gritted his teeth. "I can't prove it. Something is truly, genuinely not right."

"But they didn't even do anything," Viola argued. "Madrigal said her brother doesn't have any problems with anyone. My father is in prison, and the only people I can think of who'd take issue with him are…maybe the families of his victims. Still, they've had years to do that. And in Harper's case…well, I don't know."

Harper took over. The dark flash in his eyes at a choice portion of Viola's words wasn't particularly subtle to Octavia. "I have problems with certain people. Big problems. Even so, I don't know who put them up to it. I'm still baffled at where the hell two teenage girls get that much raw gasoline, frankly."

"Maybe someone's mad at us, then?" Renato suggested.

Madrigal winced. "But we haven't done anything wrong, either!"

Viola was indulging her bad nail-biting habit again for the first time in a while. "What's changed recently that would prompt someone to go after us? This isn't even us, though, it's just…people affiliated with us!"

Josiah closed his eyes. "Octavia becoming the Ambassador, for one."

The implication was deeply disturbing, and Octavia's heart skipped a beat in the worst way. "Y-You think someone's angry about that?"

"Who the hell even knows about that, though?" Renato asked. "That's not exactly common knowledge."

"Just throwing things out there," Josiah clarified, his eyes still shut. He rested his forehead against his hands as he ruminated, leaning so far forward in his seat that Octavia feared he might fall.

Harper tensed. "Is there even anyone besides us who knows that Octavia's the Ambassador?"

"Or knows what the Ambassador is, first of all?" Viola interrupted.

"I mean, there's eighty-nine--eighty-eight more Maestros out there aside from the five in this room," Josiah rationalized, his voice strained with the effort of contemplation. "That's eighty-eight people who could've potentially figured out what's going on."

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The math on his correction didn't add up. Octavia didn't question it.

"And a motive, then?"

He shook his lowered head viciously, his bangs brushing against his closed eyelids. "I don't know yet. Maybe to…keep the Muses here? Keep their Maestro abilities? I don't know!"

"No offense to Octavia," Renato said, "but then…why go after everyone else if they know she's the Ambassador?"

Octavia's stomach twisted into a knot. The simple idea of them suffering over her title was beginning to make her feel ill. Focusing was a struggle.

"I can't even argue she was involved with all three incidents, because she wasn't!" Josiah growled. With his fingers gripping his hair, Octavia worried he'd start pulling it out soon enough. "She had nothing to do with Madrigal's brother! She wasn't even there!"

"So, what if they're not related incidents, then?" Harper tried.

"I can't see them as anything else. This is way too specific, and the timeframe is way too close! This is ridiculous!" he groaned.

"Is there anything, anything else we have to go off?" Harper asked, his own voice touched by growing irritation. "Me, Viola, Madrigal, we've already got all that, but...anything else that doesn't add up?"

"I might have something."

Viola's words were surprisingly calm. The collective attention she drew as a result was well-deserved, particularly given the careful movements she made to reach down towards her left. When pinched fingers returned, they carried with them dual envelopes. Both were as confusing as they were uniform, barren and differentiated only by the slightest warring whites. One was cream. The other, somewhat beige. Otherwise, sealed. Equilateral. Unblemished by ink trails of any shade or flavor.

There actually was, if Octavia squinted, text tethered to the back of either one. It took until Viola shifted her palm to unveil them in unison, although there was apparently no sender to which they could return. It was one more similarity, battled by the contrast that came with the ink. The cream bore blue. The beige, black. She wasn't sure if it mattered. Of far, far more interest was the name atop the address for Vacanti Manor. It didn't match the residents.

"While you were…doing whatever it was you were doing earlier," Viola spoke softly, "I…got these. They were in the mailbox. I don't know if they were there overnight. I don't know what they are. It's not my place to open them."

Octavia supposed she should've appreciated the sentiment. After all, it wasn't polite to open someone else's mail.

Her fingers shook in the process of claiming the mysterious squares of her own accord. She split them evenly, taking one into either hand as she steeped in her own disorientation. No amount of turning them over time and time again was erasing her name. Perfect penmanship bore her identity twice over, with not one inky blemish left behind. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two, scanning for anything beyond useless handwriting. It was the most she could find. It was the most she wanted to.

Octavia raised her eyes to her silent audience. The panic she gave them with her gaze alone earned her only apprehension in return. She knew what they were waiting for. It didn't make it any easier.

Unclogging the words lodged in her throat took immense effort. She turned her head to Viola, fishing for what little support she could find. Even that, too, would only assuage so much of her distress.

"Left…or right?" Octavia breathed.

Viola flinched. "I-I--"

"Pick one for me," she pleaded far too quickly.

Viola gulped. "Left."

That was enough. Octavia's eyes drifted to her left hand, her full attention following suit shortly after. Gorgeous royal blues of ink long since dried would've been almost pleasant, for how every letter sweeped and curved. In any other context, she would've enjoyed it. Even now, she was still convinced she was overlooking a return address.

Ideally, this was an unfortunate prank. Still, the number of people who knew her full name in Coda were strongly few in number. Her best guess came in the form of those who'd overheard her desperate testimony at a certain trial not so long ago. Were that the case, it would've been equally perplexing. Her fingers trembled as she pinched the delicate paper, tearing in the neatest line she could manage. It sufficed.

The contents were exposed, gracing the open air. If she waited too long, they'd surely be saturated in her radiant discomfort. She simply stared at the somewhat-serrated opening she'd crafted for several seconds, utterly still. It took far more willpower than she'd anticipated to delve beyond the paper pocket, and she nearly fumbled the entire envelope in the process.

Trembling, shifting fingertips brushed against more than one item, possibly. They were smooth, flimsy enough that she feared damaging them with her nails. Unseen as they were, separating them was difficult. Clasping one edge and setting the material free was challenging for a different reason altogether.

Octavia did end up dropping the envelope, actually. It took long enough. Just as it fluttered pitifully to the carpet, every butterfly in her stomach fluttered in the worst way. Frankly, soft whites outside did a great disservice to gorgeous reds within.

She'd long thought it to be lost. She still regretted to this day that she'd only ever requested one from the photographer. The memento had traded hands of her own volition, and it was never to return. Of the universe of four pressed to vibrant color within, she'd imbued it with all the love she could send for distant travels. Burning it into her mind was enough. There was someone who needed it more, alone as she'd be.

Even now, the most striking reds of crumbling autumn were immortalized in a still image, a smile paired with scattering freckles that never ceased to be beautiful. The faltering leaves in the background had matched that day. It was the sweetest irony imaginable. Priscilla was lovely. That would never change, and the family meant to trail at her side through a single picture hopefully brought her comfort.

It was here, now. It shouldn't have been here. It shouldn't have been anywhere.

Octavia was conscious of the way her breath was rattling, her own heartbeat impossibly loud. She couldn't will herself to move in any capacity for a solid thirty seconds, her neck stiff from shock rather than earlier physical trauma. It was with immense effort that she again found Viola's eyes, equally wide and equally terrified. Context was irrelevant, and what expression she found on the face of the Ambassador surely spoke for itself. There came a point where Viola's gaze wandered to an envelope recently forsaken, languishing helplessly on the floor. Octavia's own followed. She regretted it instantly.

She'd been correct in her assumption of multiple contents, and yet more so at the assumption of identical items. The coloration was equally well-preserved, and it was almost impressive. Octavia had never seen this one in her life, familiar silhouette or not. Even from behind, even with a passing smile thrown over her shoulder, even shying away from the lens, Priscilla was splendid at every angle. That was eternal. That was unsurprising, by comparison to what shock continued to roll through Octavia's blood. The sun tangled into her locks, and the illusion of a woman blessed by angelic flames wasn't unwelcome. There were no mountains in Silver Ridge.

The pregnant silence that followed was agonizing, as was the concept of shattering it. For a moment, no one tried. Of those who hadn't been there from the start, Octavia had made doubly sure to fill in the blanks. They knew. They knew the context, too. It was obvious enough anyway, and she found confirmation on every face. It took far, far more than a moment for even a single word to sting the air.

"Are you…serious?" Renato murmured.

If she breathed too loudly, Octavia feared she'd lose her hearing for life. Her eyes drifted to the remaining envelope, settled atop Stradivaria in her lap. There was curiosity, granted. Mostly, she wanted to run. From what, she had absolutely no idea.

"What does that even…mean?" Harper asked nervously.

"Is it a threat?" Josiah tried. Even his own steady words were laced with hesitation, somewhat.

"This," Octavia said, her voice wobbling, "is not supposed to be here."

No one questioned her. The photograph rested upon her thigh, and the sealed envelope came into her hands. She somewhat feared she'd smudge the swirling handwriting simply by clinging so tightly to the paper, and yet she couldn't help it. Willing her fingertips to move at all was a battle she lost almost instantly. Octavia didn't want to know. She needed to know. She needed to be anywhere but here.

"It's our families."

Her eyes snapped to Josiah. She wasn't the only one.

The boy continued to cradle his head in his hands, salvaging a low-spoken calm that had fled him minutes before. "It's something to do with our families. All of us. Harper's camp, Viola's father, Madrigal's brother, and…Octavia's sister."

"Why?" Madrigal whimpered.

He shook his head. "I don't know. That's as far as I've gotten."

"Then what about the two of us?" Renato tried.

"Again, I don't know. The absolute only thing I can think of for myself is that my family left Velpyre. Maybe whoever's doing this…doesn't know that."

"You think they know about Velpyre at all?" Viola asked.

"Completely throwing things out there, like I said. Otherwise, I have no idea. For all I know, we're next, then. Don't our families live in the same place?"

Renato narrowed his eyes. "Selbright, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then yeah, they do."

"I can…write to my parents and warn them that something's up. Will your family be okay?"

"Don't care."

When Josiah raised an eyebrow, Renato shrugged. "I mean, they can take care of themselves. They'll be fine."

Josiah didn't pry, visible discomfort or not. "Then…at least we're making progress, I think. This still sucks."

"It still doesn't explain why," Harper murmured, crossing his arms. "That's the most important part, if it really is our families."

They were background noise, whether voluntarily or otherwise. The second envelope was just as devoid of resistance as the first, and it stole Octavia's attention in full. Stilling her shaky fingers was a struggle, and yet she did her best. Whatever was inside, when she found the courage to plunge within, was rugged. Creases bit her skin, and paper surely replaced photographs. She pinched and pulled, and she was correct.

It was thrice folded, ivory, and perfectly opaque. She handled it poorly, and it unfurled somewhat. Whatever was freed, on initial inspection, was blank. When she unfolded it in full, she was rewarded with talented lettering, crisp ink in stark black long since dried. Her attention was claimed in so few syllables, and the remaining paper was practically useless. It was almost a waste. It hardly mattered how much care she gave them, at first, for how little sense they made. With wide and fearful eyes, Octavia scanned them once. Two times. Three times.

Witness the sins and you'll find the truth.

Four times. Five times. Six times.

It clicked.

Everything clicked.

Eight words crashed into her heart with such force that she literally leapt to her feet, Stradivaria locked in a death grip. She risked breaking the violin in two, her knuckles dyed white as she strangled the neck of the instrument. Octavia was gasping for a breath she hadn't realized she'd lost. She was vaguely aware of envelopes and photographs drifting to the carpet. She was vaguely aware of five sets of eyes thrown in her direction. It didn't matter, and the world faded. It nearly spun. What was left was all-consuming.

"Whoa, Octavia?" Harper asked.

Madrigal blinked several times over. "Are you okay?"

"I know what's going on," Octavia breathed.

She could already hear them questioning. She could already hear the heated whys and hows, drowning somewhere in her distant thoughts. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She tucked Stradivaria's bow behind the violin, gripping the instrument upright with both hands. She stared. Stradivaria stared back. Even now, Octavia couldn't breathe.

Do I get to choose?

As to what? Stratos answered calmly.

You know what. Do I get to choose which one I see first?

You are the Ambassador. If you know what is to be seen, then it is your right to decide.

How?

Feel the name in your heart.

Octavia couldn't believe she was doing this. She was fairly certain she was going to faint.

Do you need to be here? Physically?

Your circumstances are unique. I do not.

She didn't want to do this.

Promise me it'll be the one I choose.

It shall.

She didn't want to do this.

Swear it!

I do.

Her palms were clammy. Her vision was blurring. Her entire body was shaking so fiercely that she feared collapsing. She felt lightheaded. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to do this. More than anything in the world, she didn't want to do this.

Say it. Say it!

Octavia Ellis, your toll has been paid twice over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the ones who paid the toll.

She so, so, so desperately did not want to do this. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run.

Octavia practically slammed her forehead against the scroll of the violin, and the world went black.

She didn't have a choice. She had to know. She had to be sure.

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