“Josiah!” Octavia screamed. “Josiah! Josiah!”

  She was frozen, utterly rooted in place. Even now, her trembling hands were still well aloft, readied for an instrument that had long since ceased to exist. She couldn’t bring herself to do more than stare at his body, motionless to a degree that tore her heart from her chest and smashed it to pieces. Octavia frantically scanned every inch of him with her eyes, desperate for some sign of life--twitching fingers, shallow breaths, the muted rise and fall of his chest. She shouldn’t have been looking there. She knew, with utmost certainty, that she shouldn’t have been looking there. If he was alive, she had no idea how.

  For what tattered, flaking flaps of flannel still futilely veiled his hideous burns, Octavia could only imagine them to be far worse if she were to peel the feeble cloth back in full. They were utterly charred, and he was practically the same. What skin hadn’t submitted to what effectively amounted to blackened incineration instead left him coated with splotches of vibrant red. Faith’s violence had dug deep, and every portion of scorched muscle Octavia could see only shredded her soul further.

  She should’ve been faster. It shouldn’t have taken as long as it did. For how much the same annihilation of every layer had splashed to his neck and shoulders, somewhat, they were colors Octavia had never known skin could even become. It was to say nothing of the shimmering, oozing as they were. She couldn’t breathe. She could hardly look away. She’d stung others with her light before, fleeting as the action had been. This was on a level she couldn’t wrap her head around.

  Were it not for the hands that lunged to close around her own neck, perhaps she would’ve fallen to her knees and wailed. Perhaps she would’ve called his name again and again, pleading for his eyes to open through the agony that surely accompanied such gruesome wounds. Perhaps she would’ve hunted with everything she had for a pulse, honoring him however possible and stealing all she knew of his methodologies. Octavia wondered if he would’ve been proud of that. She wondered if he would’ve made fun of her for struggling to get his practices just right, given how naturally they’d always come to him.

  “Ambassa--”

  Faith never got the title out of her mouth. She never got one finger to the Ambassador in question. Octavia wasn’t sure at what point Stradivaria had fallen uselessly to the earth. She hardly needed him. It was her own hands, instead, that did far more damage than her light could ever dream of dealing right now.

  It only took one blow to Faith’s face to send her reeling, for as much force as Octavia had used. It wasn’t the only one she was content with, and every brutal hit that followed went to places she didn’t regret in the slightest. With trembling fists and screams she knew she wasn’t suppressing, Octavia blasted Faith again and again with uncontrollable fury that erupted from her heart.

  She could barely see straight, remorseless as she went for everything from Faith’s mouth to her eyes. Every punch was a success, every blow savage and quick. She was no Harper. She didn’t need to be. This was plenty. She was aware that Faith was crying out in pain, helplessly absorbing each unforgiving hit to her most vulnerable areas. At some point, it was Octavia who lunged, flinging her full body weight onto the disoriented former Maestra as they collapsed into the lush grass together.

  She was far from finished. Where Faith could’ve flailed and made at least a passing effort to fight back, she cowered. No amount of desperate attempts to shield her face did anything in light of Octavia’s ire, still screaming so harshly that her throat was surely raw. No amount of attempting to turn her head or curl her body inwards was sparing her from the same, and Octavia threw her rage into her fists. She hoped it hurt. If not, she would give everything she had to make sure it did.

  “My name is not ‘Ambassador!’” she screeched, coming down hard against Faith’s left cheek. “My name is not ‘Ambassador!’ My name is not ‘Ambassador!’ I’m Octavia! My name is Octavia! My friggin’ name is Octavia!”

  Faith had no room to plead or beg for mercy, not for how many wounds Octavia gifted to her with each passing second. Things were turning black. Things were turning blue. Things were turning red, oozing, weeping, cracking. Octavia wasn’t sure for how long she laid into the Heartful girl, adrenaline scalding her from the inside out. She could’ve gone forever. She wanted to. Her blood was lead, her heart was steel, her head was spinning. As chilling as the thought was, she considered giving Stratos a third toll. It wouldn’t have been hard. It was so, so tempting.

  “Octavia, stop!” she heard. The tight grip that fell upon her shoulder, jerking sharply backwards, wasn’t nearly enough. She persisted, blow after blow and cry after cry.

  “Stop!” she heard again, somewhat more pleadingly. Hands crawling beneath her underarms were stronger by comparison, pulling upwards and outwards in a manner she couldn’t struggle against as easily. She tried her best. She couldn’t quite reach Faith’s face, settling for her shins instead. It wasn’t as though the Heartful girl was going anywhere.

  The third one was impossible to escape, for how the grasp that enveloped her torso outright lifted her off the ground. Her arms were pinned, briefly, and no amount of flailing was doing a thing to set her free. Kicking, too, was futile.

  “I’ll kill you!” Octavia screamed, praying she could sharpen her eyes enough to slash Faith’s heart wide open. It was the best she was going to get. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”

  “Octavia, calm down,” Renato pleaded, somewhat softer than those who’d unsuccessfully tried to restrain her. It did nothing to help. She was in flames, and everything spun. Even so, she didn’t bother to turn her anger on him. She knew he wouldn’t let her go, even if she begged.

  Faith, by comparison, was offered far less comfort. The support she found was minimal, largely rooted in shock more than genuine care. Francisco kneeling at her side, one hand gripping the girl’s shoulder far tighter than was necessary, spoke to much less trust than Octavia had expected. Faith was silent, unmoving as her pained eyes followed an enraged Octavia alone. Given the look of both disdain and confusion that Francisco fixed the former Maestra with, there was no love of which to speak. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, captive to the same horrific sight.

  “Is he dead?”

  “I-I think he’s breathing, but I’m not sure! He’s in seriously bad shape!”

  “Renato, help me!”

  The singular glance Renato traded with Octavia was a silent plea for her continued calm. It was all she resolved to accept, too, given his rationale. Her boots touched the grass, and his strength was of use somewhere far more important to her heart. For how badly she wanted to continue her onslaught even now, there were much higher priorities. Octavia watched breathlessly as Renato scooped Josiah up and into his arms, the boy’s body far too limp for comfort. She couldn’t stand the way his hands fell uselessly to his sides, nor the way his eyelids didn’t so much as flutter beneath the jarring movement.

  “Take him back!” Viola ordered.

  Harper’s fearful eyes were just as wide as Octavia’s own. “What are we gonna--”

  “We’ll figure something out, but we need to go now!” Viola answered hurriedly.

  “Octavia,” Briar offered, extending one peaceful hand, “we can--”

  “Stay the hell away from us!” she screamed. “Don’t come near him!”

  He recoiled. Mint did the same, as did Francisco. The latter, equally stunned, did his best regardless. “Octavia, please, let us help!”

  “Leave us alone!”

  Octavia hadn’t expected to find genuine hurt in their eyes, collectively. They were equally guilty, in a way. They were complicit. It was a word she’d gotten quite a bit of usage out of lately. Even if she didn’t quite wish death upon them, it burned just to look them in the eyes.

  And for how River’s hands, utterly bruised, crushed, and frostbitten as they were, instinctively twitched to settle onto keys he no longer could touch, her heart broke in an entirely different way.

  His eyes flickered down to his empty palms, then back up to the boy cradled almost lifelessly in Renato’s arms. The most broken seafoam she’d ever been cursed to witness filled with horror and sorrow instantly, watering as his breaths quickened. Octavia could audibly hear him. She was cursed with the sobs that River tried and failed to swallow, the cries he futilely attempted to bite back.

  He was the leader of Tacell, composed and fearless. Octavia had never seen him panic. She’d never seen the way he practically hyperventilated, trembling uncontrollably as he lost his breath. His destroyed hands, for how desperately he eyed them even now, trembled just as much. His tears flowed as relentlessly as his namesake.

  She knew why. It was all she could do to pray he’d be grateful someday.

  They remembered how he’d done it, for the most part.

  Like this?

  Tighter!

  Hold him there, then!

  It was almost laughable, the irony by which they really did struggle to emulate his skills.

  Is it this one?

  I think so, it looks the same!

  That’s definitely the one, I’m not forgetting it anytime soon.

  He’d cared for them often enough that they’d at least grasped the basics. That, too, was ironic--had they been more cautious and less accident-prone, they probably would've had less to work with.

  He’s not waking up.

  He’s still breathing, right?

  He’s still got a pulse. I’m pretty sure he’s breathing.

  It’s…shallow.

  It’s something.

  Is…that enough?

  Ultimately, it was the most they could do. Their next option was prayer.

  For as much as Octavia told herself she wouldn’t cry, she was doing an extremely poor job at it. Already, she’d had to excuse herself on multiple occasions to hurriedly dab at her eyes with her sleeves. It wasn’t particularly that she believed anyone would shame her, let alone tell her to stop. There was a pang of guilt that had exploded into something more the moment she’d laid eyes on his wounds in full.

  It wasn’t the first time Josiah had been hurt on her behalf, let alone endangered at all. For all of her bluster regarding protecting him with her life, failure was poisonous. From the inside out, venom filled her bloodstream. If he didn’t die, Octavia surely would.

  For the first time in weeks, the thought of confiding in Stratos flickered through her mind. It was dashed just as quickly, given his indirect role in the situation to begin with. It was his unforgivable butterfly effect, elaborate in every way, that had tainted her legacy to this severity. Octavia wished she could be proud. Instead, she was miserable. Success was irrelevant in the face of Josiah’s suffering--any of them, for that matter. She wanted to be done. She needed to be done. The idea that yet more could threaten them still, even this far along, was a pain unlike anything her shattered heart could still hope to withstand.

  “Are you…okay?”

  She wasn’t able to hide for long. In her defense, the hallway wasn’t the greatest place to evade them.

  No amount of smearing her tears against her palms was going to conceal her sorrow. Turned away as she was, she knew it would be clear in her voice. “I’m fine,” she lied anyway.

  The gentle touch she felt atop her shoulder was hardly a comfort. “He’s stable. He’s still unconscious, but he’s definitely alive. I don’t…know how long it’ll take him to wake up.”

  “If he wakes up,” Octavia murmured.

  “He will.”

  “You don’t know that,” she insisted, her voice cracking as she turned to face Viola in full. Her best efforts to stem her tears were in vain, for how quickly they’d returned. She didn’t bother trying to stop them anymore.

  “I do,” Viola insisted softly. “He’s stubborn. He will.”

  “I told him I’d protect him,” Octavia breathed. Restraining the sobs that slowly bubbled up into her throat was becoming absurdly difficult.

  “He wanted to protect you, too.”

  “He shouldn’t have to!” she cried.

  The other hand that came down onto her left shoulder didn’t offer all the comfort she would’ve hoped for. “You would’ve done the same for him. He knows that. We all know you would’ve done the same for us, if it came down to it.”

  Stifling her sobs was impossible. Octavia gave up trying. Viola cupping one of her cheeks tenderly didn’t help stop her tears in any capacity.

  “He knew how important this was. He knew what this meant. Octavia, all five of them are free, and it’s because of all of us together. We couldn’t have done it without him. He did what he had to do to save them, too. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have faced Faith the way he did. He could’ve run, he could’ve waited, but he didn’t. Josiah…knew what he was doing. He’s smart like that.”

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

  For every hiccup, there was an apology Octavia couldn’t give him. She spilled them onto Viola instead. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I dragged--”

  One finger pressed to her lips was every bit as firm as it was delicate. “Don’t do that,” Viola chided. “Stop…doing that. I’ll say it as many times as I have to until it sinks in--even if it takes me the rest of my life, Octavia. We want to be here. We want to do this. If we didn’t, we would’ve left a long, long time ago. We want to see this through to the end. Don’t…take the world on your shoulders. You’re not alone. You never will be.”

  Octavia didn’t have the words to argue. Instead, she surrendered to Viola’s embrace, and she gave everything she had back. She absorbed the warmth of a soul of ice as much as was possible, even with her heart broken in every conceivable way. It was all she could do not to break down against Viola’s shoulder. She didn’t especially think Viola would mind if she did.

  “Is there…anything else we can do?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “This sucks.”

  “I know.”

  “I feel…useless.”

  “Me, too.”

  She at least made the effort to quit hiding. She hoped they wouldn’t comment on how red her cheeks were, tear-streaked and paired with eyes that still continued to water. Octavia couldn’t help it. For the pained looks that crossed their faces as she met their gazes, she doubted her sorrow was subtle. She was self-conscious, somewhat. She regretted interrupting their conversation, morbid as it was, and equally regretted pressing them to restart it.

  “When’s the last time you checked on him?” Octavia asked.

  “Maybe thirty minutes ago,” Harper said softly. “He still hasn’t moved at all. Every time I go up there, I’m afraid he’s gonna be…”

  He trailed off. Octavia didn’t need to hear him finish. She felt the same way, even if she hadn’t once gone to see Josiah since their rush to save his life. Even now, she wasn’t certain that she could withstand the sight of him, peacefully resting or otherwise.

  Her eyes glossed over the salon for a moment. “Where’s Madrigal?”

  Renato sighed. “She didn’t take it well. She…ran up to her room as soon as we got back. Wouldn’t let me check on her. She’s been crying her eyes out.”

  Octavia’s stomach kept finding room for new knots to form. It was almost impressive. “What do we do now?”

  Harper shrugged, a slow and sad motion that hurt to watch. “We wait, I guess. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do.”

  “It’s not like we can take him anywhere,” Renato added. “Selbright’s a decent walk from here. I don’t mind getting him that far, but I’m seriously worried about moving him anywhere right now. He’s all sorts of messed up. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, we can’t get him to a freakin’ doctor, and...I’m gonna be real with you, Octavia, I have no idea how he’s still alive.”

  “Renato!” Viola hissed.

  “I’m serious!” he hissed right back.

  “It’s okay,” Octavia murmured. “It’s…gonna be a long night. Should we take turns staying up with him?”

  “I’ll go first,” Harper offered, raising one hand weakly. “I’m not sleeping any time soon. Not after seeing that.”

  She didn’t blame him one bit. “I don’t think I can sleep either, after today. Just…in general.”

  “Is this about River?” Viola asked quietly.

  His name alone was nearly enough to curse her with a fresh round of tears. She nodded in silence.

  “You did…what you had to do,” Harper reassured. “It was what needed to be done. It was your job. I think he’ll understand that one day.”

  “I don’t think he will,” Octavia admitted. “I really don’t.”

  Her silence spurred the same for them. She felt bad for prompting it, let alone for changing the topic. Still, she couldn’t get his broken spirit out of her head. She couldn’t get his shattered seafoam out of her eyes, for how the sight had been burned into them forever. She’d never unhear his desperate pleas. It wasn’t something Octavia expected them to understand. The only people who would were the ones she’d already wronged in the first place, their own partners now returned to Above once more.

  The footsteps that touched the stairs one by one, slow and delicate as they were, almost made her jump. She’d seen Madrigal depressed before, even as early as this morning. It was a sorrow Octavia feared the Spirited girl had been carrying all day, frankly, given reprieve only in the heat of battle. She opened her mouth to apologize, inquire as to her mental status, greet her, or some combination of the three. She’d already had her turn to cry her heart out. She couldn't fault Madrigal in the slightest.

  Octavia raised her eyes. “Madri--”

  He was standing.

  He was breathing, more importantly, and walking, at that.

  He was silent, his eyes half-lidded and his face plagued with what Octavia could only interpret as complete and total exhaustion. He didn’t stagger, although he clung with an unwavering grip to the handrail with every downward step. The one palm that didn’t was pressed to his heavily-bandaged chest, and Octavia was impressed that their amateur handiwork had held up as well as it did. She wondered if he was in pain. She couldn’t imagine otherwise, watching with bated breath as she waited for him to cry out at some point. He never did, calm and peaceful as he descended agonizingly slowly. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t rush him.

  Josiah was alive. That was all that mattered. His name rode upon her sobs.

  Octavia wasn’t the only one to call for him, nor was she the only one resistant to remaining still. Renato and Harper had leapt to their feet in full. The latter outright sprinted to the base of the stairs with arms wide, should Josiah stumble. It was all Octavia could do not to shower him with apologies and pleas for forgiveness, despite Viola’s insistence that she bite her tongue. Somewhere in that, she hoped to hold him close and never let go.

  For all it had taken to preserve his life in a world that sought to steal it again and again, he was as fragile as glass. If Octavia were to embrace him right now, Josiah would never leave her arms again. It was the only thing holding her back.

  “Josiah, a-are you…alright?” Viola tried tentatively. Given the way she winced shortly afterwards, Octavia could tell she’d regretted the obvious question.

  Harper, at least, worded his concern differently. “Here, do you need help? Are you okay to walk?” he offered, extending one hand.

  Instead, Josiah shook his head. “I’m okay.”

  “Does it hurt?” Renato asked with far less hesitation.

  Octavia had initially thought it to be just as obvious of a question, given the severity of his wounds. When Josiah shook his head again, she was absolutely baffled. With one hand still pressed against his bandages, she would’ve assumed otherwise. “Not…really. It’s pretty sore, and it kind of hurts when I breathe too deeply, but it’s not that bad.”

  When he met Octavia’s eyes, spilling with bitter tears in earnest, his own softened rapidly. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m so glad that you’re okay,” she choked out in between sobs.

  He tilted his head somewhat. “Was it…that bad?”

  “It was bad, dude,” Renato clarified with a wince. “Like, really bad. I’m gonna be honest, it was gross.”

  “Stop it!” Viola snapped.

  “I’m right!” he snapped right back.

  Josiah smirked. Octavia had never been so happy to see that face in her life. “Now I’m kind of curious. Did you guys do the bandages? I’m impressed.”

  Harper smiled. “We learned from the best.”

  “And don’t take them off and start messin’ with it,” Renato muttered.

  “It’s a good chance to study third-degree burns up close, you know,” he joked darkly.

  Renato shuddered. “God, you’re into some weird stuff, aren’t you? Stay away from me, freak.”

  “What do you…remember?” Viola asked, changing the subject.

  Josiah’s face fell. “I remember Faith. I remember Octavia performing the Witnessing. I remember holding her off, and I don’t…remember anything else after that. Did I miss anything?”

  She averted her eyes. “Not…really.”

  Octavia couldn’t help but notice the way Viola was omitting the immediate aftermath, by which recalling Faith’s face was still enough to make her blood boil. She didn’t think Josiah would particularly have blamed her if she admitted to it.

  “Still, you bounced back pretty fast,” Harper added. “I kinda thought it’d take a lot longer for you to…wake up, let alone actually move around.”

  “He’s stubborn like that,” Viola jeered, rolling her eyes playfully.

  “Do you want us to get you anything?” Octavia offered.

  Josiah only smiled. “I’m fine, really. I feel pretty good, honestly. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of surprised, too.”

  She did what she could to smile back, wobbly and unstable as it was. “I’m…so happy you’re alright,” she admitted yet again.

  “And I’m glad you’re safe,” he said gently in return.

  She indulged in the warmth he brought to her heart for as long as he would give it, battling the tears that threatened her over and over. She couldn’t help it. For as much as she wanted to apologize one thousand times over, she wanted to thank him one million times more. Octavia settled for saying whatever she could with her smile alone, as shining as she could will it to be.

  As a result, she almost didn’t hear the second round of footsteps at all, touching delicately upon the steps as they were. They were lighter. Octavia liked to imagine the sight of Josiah alive and well would ease the girl's spirit. She prayed that tears not her own had been stemmed, lest the sight of her crying break Octavia’s heart all over again. It was a trial to tear her eyes from Josiah. She did her best anyway.

  “Madrigal, he’s alright! He’s--”

  For how Josiah had descended the stairs slowly and hesitantly, Madrigal didn’t do so at all. For how he’d clung to the handrail carefully, she clung to a harp instead. For how his bandages had spared him of pain, suppressed his bleeding, and salvaged his safety, it was Madrigal who bled instead. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Octavia couldn’t process, initially, the logic behind the scarlet that dripped freely down every string of Lyra’s Repose, nor the oozing gashes that painted her fingertips. There were no tears. There was almost no emotion, save for what was offered silently alone.

  Of all people, it was Octavia to whom Madrigal’s eyes fell. The Ambassador bore witness to her spirit in full as the girl, unblinking, wiped the blood trickling down her lips with the back of her hand. It smeared. She didn’t flinch.

  It took an eternity. It might’ve taken longer. The puzzle burned each time Octavia tried to rest her hand atop its pieces, and she feared trying any further. She knew she wasn’t the only one. Still, for the fire that tinted Madrigal’s eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Whether it was out of respect or something more, she didn’t know. She couldn’t cry, and not simply because she had no tears left. Her eyes traveled. She regretted it, for the pain she found on their faces instead.

  Slowly, with the most painstakingly disbelieving motion Octavia had ever seen, Renato shook his head.

  Madrigal caught his eyes, wordless even now. He did the same, faster and more desperately. Still, she didn’t speak.

  It was Josiah, by comparison, whose eyes widened with horror perhaps more than the Strong Maestro’s own. He didn’t need words. His laborious breaths spoke to enough.

  “You…didn’t,” he asserted quietly.

  It was only now that Octavia witnessed the shimmer in Madrigal’s eyes, locked onto the glittering burn in Josiah’s own. He, too, wasn't immune to the tears pricking the edges of his harsh gaze.

  “You didn’t!” he cried, his voice wobbling.

  And when she nodded in the slightest, her buns bouncing innocently along with her, his tears broke free. At the base of the stairs, clutching his chest with both hands, he challenged her with his eyes.

  “Why?” Josiah pleaded.

  “I wanted to.”

  Madrigal's voice hardly wavered, just a hint of distress surely tainted by the boy's own. She was fierce, a resolute angel that Octavia could hardly look away from as she loomed over them all.

  “Maddie,” Renato murmured, his own voice cracking in turn. He, just the same, had no breath to spare, his shoulders heaving and his tears long since freed.

  “Why the hell would you do that?” Josiah shouted.

  “Because I wanted to,” Madrigal answered once more, her voice firm. Only now did the slightest wobble snag on every syllable.

  “Why would you waste that on me?”

  “I didn’t waste anything!” she shouted back.

  Josiah fell silent for a moment, gritting his teeth through his tears. “How much?”

  She, too, was silent.

  “Madrigal, how much?” he screamed.

  The Spirited girl took a deep breath. For how the entire room held theirs, and for how Octavia’s heart threatened to explode out of her chest, she was somewhat glad that Madrigal had the luxury. It didn’t make her feel any better. She prayed. She prayed with everything she had and to every god she could think of.

  “Two years.”

  Josiah nearly fell to his knees. He really did stagger, almost tripping over the bottom step as he clung desperately to the handrail once more. For how he clutched at his chest with every heaving breath, Octavia knew him to be in pain. His face contorted with what was surely more than just physical distress alone, and his sobs reflected the same.

  Renato was speechless. It almost burned more, watching the way he eyed Madrigal with utter heartbreak. Where Josiah was outwardly emotional, his devastation was quiet. It wasn’t subtle. Octavia didn’t need to look further than his glassy eyes to see him shatter to pieces inside, his entire body trembling and tears pouring down his face. Even now, he was still shaking his head in disbelief, his curls catching the stray droplets of sorrow set free from his skin.

  “Lyra is special.”

  Madrigal’s calm words brought every set of eyes, tearful and broken or otherwise, back to her unwavering spirit once more. Only now did she take one soft step at a time, an angel of mercy descending upon them without fear. Even bleeding, even besieged by their desperate berating, she was beautiful.

  “I think…it was supposed to be more,” she explained quietly. “Lyra is different. Lyra can do things no one else can do.”

  “That doesn’t make it better!” Josiah yelled, still doubled over and clinging to his bandages. “That’s still two years!”

  “Josiah.”

  Viola’s voice carried a fear that made Octavia feel sick. “If it…took two years for Renato, does that mean you would’ve…”

  His eyes widened. So did Octavia’s, for the lead that filled her veins. She wouldn’t cry again. She refused to cry again. She owed Madrigal all the attention she could honor such a sacrifice with. Part of her wished she could be angry. She couldn’t bring herself to be.

  “T-That…you can’t…” Josiah stammered. Given the way he lost his words once more, Octavia couldn’t fault him. All he could do was meet Madrigal’s eyes with confused desperation. For what, she wasn’t sure.

  “It was worth it,” Madrigal said, planting her feet firmly atop the bottom step. “I’d…rather have two less years than a life without my friend.”

  For a moment, straightening up, he could only stare her down. It wasn't without sorrow, and his hurt was poisonous. At last, he stung her with his pain, and her eyes watered in earnest. Josiah sobbed as he threw his arms around her, bandages or not. It was Madrigal’s blood that smeared along his skin as he did so, Lyra’s Repose pressed firmly against his back. She, too, wept, albeit silently. In truth, not a dry eye remained in the room. It was impossible to fight.

  And when she lifted her head from his shoulder, still locked forever in his embrace, it was a different boy entirely to whom she raised her eyes. Her voice came second, and only then did it finally crack.

  “I’ll never regret it,” she herself sobbed. “Even until the day I die, I’ll never, ever regret it. I don’t…want two years you’re not a part of. I don’t want a life you’re not a part of.”

  For all she’d done to save him, Octavia couldn’t help but wonder if he was still alive inside.

  Madrigal escaped Josiah’s grasp to the best of her ability, tapping her fingertips gently against his bandages. Her still-oozing blood stained the white gauze in the slightest, and the irony wasn't lost on Octavia. In a way, the role reversal was agonizing.

  “I’d give it back if I could,” Renato wept, his voice cracking. “I’d do anything to give it back.”

  Madrigal didn’t hesitate to approach him instead, her footsteps as light as her sorrowful voice. “I don’t want it back. I just want you. That’s all I need.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “I’d do it again. I wouldn’t hesitate. Even if I didn’t have Lyra, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I don’t want to be here without you. It was worth it. You’re worth it.”

  Renato trembled with every forceful sob. “I love you.”

  And Madrigal, for how hard she’d fought to resist, couldn’t help but do the same. “I love you, too.”

  If it were her, Octavia wasn’t sure if she’d hesitate. She liked to imagine otherwise. She liked to imagine she’d have the heart and the drive to give herself up for the sake of those she loved. For how Madrigal was content to repay her four lost years with only love to fill the gaps, her spirit shimmered in a way Octavia could never hope to emulate.

  The precious thunderstorm she’d so carefully protected, on Octavia’s behalf and otherwise, blessed her with grateful tears and a thousand unspoken words of gratitude. Josiah watched her forever, drinking in her endless spirit with everything in his heart. Octavia did the same with tears blighting her soul. Madrigal was no River. She cherished every second, and she made the most of a life filled with joy and happiness in the company of others. As such, Octavia could never compare them.

  And the strength of sound Madrigal had offered up her entire being for repaid her with all the love in the world. It was a life well salvaged, for the happiness Renato had gifted her with every gentle touch and every endearing call of her name. It was a reprieve in the wake of what she’d surrendered as he embraced her tightly, pulling her close and relishing her spirit with his lips softly against hers. It was what they deserved.