Even the highlights were a nightmare.

"My mother and father got along poorly, even before I was born. They liked each other well enough when they got married, but they started to drift apart at some point. They fought over everything from the direction of the art trading business to the way one another dressed. They fought more than they spoke, at some point. When they fought, they fought. My mother threw things at him. She berated him constantly, and she called him horrible things. I…don't think either of them ever actually hit each other. I don't know what they saw in one another the first time around."

She paused, tensing. "When I was born, they changed for a while. My father adored me, and I loved him to pieces. We were inseparable. Most memories I have as a child are with him at my side. I spent time with my mother, too, but not as much. She didn't dote on me and spoil me even slightly as much as he did, but she was still good to me. I think she loved me, too. Around me, they behaved. When they thought I was out of sight and earshot, they went back to what they usually did. They fought more and more as I got older--multiple times a day. I've never seen two people with so much disdain for each other."

Viola considered opening her eyes and gauging their reactions. She ultimately decided against it. If she did, she risked losing the drive to continue altogether. "I…didn't know this next part until I got a lot older. My grandmother had to tell me. When I was about seven years old, my mother finally filed for divorce. She stole money from our family account to bribe the judge regarding…me. She tried to get full custody of me, to keep my father from having the rights to so much as visit me, and she made up all these awful lies about him. I think she wanted to use me to hurt him one more time. That's…that was the breaking point, I'm pretty sure."

It took everything in her power to keep her voice steady. "The night he found out was the night it happened. You…know the rest. My grandmother found him just outside of the city, in one of the outer residential districts near the woods. She got him back to normal. She didn't turn him in, but there was enough eyewitness testimony that the authorities were able to catch him shortly after that. By that point, he barely remembered anything. I didn't even know until the next day. I was safe and asleep in my bed the entire time while my father was out killing people. They found two bodies outright. He confessed to killing a third person. They took his admission as truth. They tried him, found him guilty on three counts of murder, all by the same method. Gave him a life sentence. Two days later, my mother left all of her things behind, gave some choice words to my grandmother, and walked out of my life forever. I never saw her again."

Viola opened her eyes at last, content to drink in the deeply uncomfortable silence for a moment. "And that's…that."

There was little meaningful response she could earn. Madrigal at least tried. "Thank you for sharing that with us," she said gently.

Octavia hesitated to speak. She found her words eventually. "I thought you told me he didn't remember anything. How did he remember he killed anyone to begin with?"

Viola sighed. "Supposedly, in the trial, he said his memory was extremely hazy. Even so, he still had bits and pieces. He remembered enough to know the gist of what he did."

"And these were just random people?" Josiah asked.

It was Viola's turn to hesitate. "Up until very recently, I would've said yes. That being said, I've kind of wondered about something lately. You're…rational. Tell me what you think about this idea."

At her subtle praise, he raised an eyebrow. Still, his silence acted as permission.

"There's been a kind of…trend I've seen with a few of the Dissonant people we've dealt with. They go after specific people sometimes--people they were already on poor terms with when they were lucid. I've been starting to wonder if their actions aren't as indiscriminate as I thought they were."

Briefly, Josiah's eyes widened. When his expression returned to something more composed, it contrasted starkly with the horror of Octavia's own beside him. Viola was aware that her statement was loaded. Even so, it was hardly worth that much of a reaction.

"I can see where you're coming from. I think I know what you're talking about, from what I've seen, too. And even recently, right?" he said.

It was Octavia who answered him, initially tripping over her words. "A-At the camp, when she was Dissonant, Ivy still only ever went after Harper, not me."

Viola nodded. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm…not sure if it was random anymore. Octavia, the women you saw in my tolls, what did you say they were like again?"

Octavia blinked. "What do you mean?"

"What did they look like?" she specified. "How did they act?"

Octavia hesitated. "One had blonde hair, and her skin was kind of pale. She had a--"

"She sounds like my mother."

It was Octavia's turn for wide eyes. "You mean…"

"What about the other one?"

"Uh, brown hair, tan, a lot of makeup."

"What else?"

Octavia squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "Argumentative. And a…really heavy drinker."

Viola sighed. "That sounds like my mother, too."

Renato shook his head in disbelief. "Hold up, you think your dad was intentionally going after women who reminded him of your mom? That's…seriously messed up."

Harsh wording aside, he was entirely correct. "Dissonance in general is seriously messed up," Viola replied.

"So what did my parents do wrong, then?"

Harper's words were neutral, emotionless, and as unsettling as the look on his face that she made the horrible mistake of seeking. At her side, he'd since curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around his knees as he sat perched atop his chair. He spared her from eye contact, at the very least. Viola didn't need it to see how empty his eyes were in the first place. Her blood froze over.

She'd completely forgotten he was there. She'd completely forgotten he'd been forced to listen to this conversation, along with all that came with it. Assumption or not, frozen veins or otherwise, she couldn't avoid giving an answer.

"I'm…not completely confident," Viola began, "but if I had to guess, I think it might be because he found a family full of love. Real love."

Harper didn't respond. It was for the best, maybe. She feared the many, many different possible words that could've left his lips right then and there.

"I…think the reason he didn't confess to killing your father is because he didn't even know he did it. From what Octavia told me, he just…left him."

Harper nodded weakly. "Right."

Viola kicked herself for even including that part.

"We don't need to communicate anything that could indicate actual intent," Josiah clarified. "Otherwise, we're putting our insanity plea in jeopardy, even if we know the truth behind it. We put in the sentence appeal, wait for the retrial confirmation, bring Octavia as our witness, and try to see if we can retroactively change his plea to insanity. If they give us a hard time about Octavia, we'll say she only recently came forward with her story, or something like that. Cross that bridge when we get there."

"All of this seems a lot easier said than done," Renato grumbled.

Josiah sighed. "Obviously. But it's a framework we can start with. We've got to try."

"Just to clarify, we can't break this guy out of prison? Like, cut out the tough stuff and just get him out of there now?" Renato offered. "Dead serious."

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Viola rolled her eyes. "No."

Renato shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"If it's all of us together, we can do it," Madrigal said. Again, her gentle touch made its way to Viola's shoulder. This time, the latter was far less resistant to the feeling. "We'll always be there to help, no matter what."

Her smile, kind as it was, paled in comparison to Octavia's. The silent "I told you so" on her lips, plucked straight from Madrigal's words, was as sassy as it was genuine. Viola simultaneously hated the sentiment and loathed the way it warmed her heart. She couldn't decide whether to slap the Maestra or hug her tightly enough to break every bone in her body. She was angry. She was relieved. At the very least, she had something slightly more to go off of than she did several minutes ago.

The loud squeak of chair legs torturing the floor made Viola jump. At her side, Harper had risen to his feet, his quiet movements in stark contrast to the volume of his ascent.

"I'm sitting this one out," he said, his voice monotone. "Good luck."

When he made to turn his back to the table, Josiah didn't give him the chance. "Where are you going?"

"Away from here."

His blunt words were unlike him. Viola winced. Octavia stole her concern.

"Is…everything alright?" she asked hesitantly.

Josiah was more direct. "You're not gonna help?"

Harper exhaled with far too much force. "You guys seem to have this all figured out. You don't need me."

"But we always need an extra helping hand," Madrigal murmured sadly.

Even with how slowly Harper's eyes drifted towards Viola's own, the weight they carried was still crushing enough to make her dizzy. If just being within sight of his lie-detecting gaze was disorienting, then this expression might've been lethal if she locked eyes with him for long enough.

"Viola," he began, his voice low and rough, "you know you're important to me. You know how much you mean to me, and how much I treasure you as a friend. You know I would do almost anything for you. If you don't know that, now you do."

It was only upon inhaling again that his breath rattled notably. "I will not, under any circumstance, help the man who stole my family from me. I know you understand."

His words were a near-instant trigger for tears, caged behind her eyes only by sheer willpower. Her voice barely held steady in tandem. "But--"

"I respect that he's your father," Harper continued. "I know he didn't do it on purpose. I know he doesn't remember. It doesn't change the fact that it happened. I can't look at his face and be impartial to that. If you push me, if you force my hand on this, I am prepared to get on my hands and knees, right now, and beg you to leave me out of this. I wish you the best. I'm not doing this."

Her sorrow, set free, meant little. She didn't dare attempt to persuade him. Harper, who would always rush to her with arms outstretched and a gentle touch ready to battle the tears on her cheeks, didn't so much as budge. Instead, his only movement came in the form of departure. He, at the very least, had eaten. Heartbroken as she was, a tiny part of her hoped he physically felt better soon.

From the others, there was no scolding Harper. There was no berating, nor harassment. His logic was clear. Were it any of them, Viola doubted the choice would've been different. In the sickest way imaginable, he'd earned the right to decline.

Any of the words of comfort that followed meant nothing, no matter from whom they came. Even Octavia's gentle sentiments were muffled. Viola could do little but stare at Harper's empty seat, his refusal looping in her head infinitely. So many times since they'd met had she been reminded that the sins of her father were his alone. Even so, she had never in her life felt more guilty for crimes that weren't her own than tonight.

The caveats of the retrial nearly made her vomit on the confirmation letter.

Equally as unprecedented as the sudden change of sentence were the restrictions of the retrial itself, granted within a day of submission. The wait of one full day had been excruciatingly tense, by which Viola had done all she could to distract herself in every conceivable manner. What had been granted to her as a prize for her patience was another letter. At the very least, she intercepted it herself this time.

The approval speed of the sentence appeal, let alone the retrial that followed, was incredibly abnormal. She blamed it on the speed of the sentence change, in turn. Far more distressing was the execution date, still unhindered and firmly scheduled for three days away. No stay was granted, and the retrial was tomorrow--two meager days prior to the death of Vincent Vacanti. It should've taken weeks. Instead, her entire scramble to save a man's life left ninety-six hours of panic and zero explanation.

More waiting was one crisis, and that came bundled with agony. Ninety-six hours stole her chances at proper preparation, and she earned a second crisis as compensation. Lawyers were out of the question. A professional case was beyond her reach to build. Whatever attorney Coda would provide for her father by default would hardly matter. For all intents and purposes, they were completely on their own.

Ultimately, as with so much else, everything fell to Octavia once more. Part of her was remorseful for yet another burden she'd placed upon the Maestra, particularly one so far removed from the responsibilities of the Ambassador. It was her one wish that Octavia wouldn't be crushed by the weight of a human life upon her shoulders--again.

She entertained the idea of visiting her father. She threw out the concept immediately. She entertained the idea of apologizing to Harper. She threw out that concept as well, albeit with a bit more hesitation. She entertained the idea of speaking with her grandmother again. The fear of being told to step back and let fate have its way, as she'd been told many times over of so much else, was a deterrent. She entertained the idea of going insane. That one was easy. She was already halfway there.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

The apology Josiah offered to her initially didn't register. It took her an additional moment to drag her eyes away from the inky, repeating lines of the confirmation letter. She raised her head, her fingers clasping the flimsy paper slightly tighter than she'd intended to.

"I…it's okay."

The distance between them in the foyer was notable by several feet, either Maestro perfectly still and stagnant in an uncomfortable staring match. Even so, the noxious silence that kept settling between them wasn't entirely unwelcome. Viola had almost forgotten the entirety of yesterday. The letter in her hands had ruined her, by comparison.

"It's not. I shouldn't have taken all of that out on you. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at some...circumstances. I don't do well with being lied to."

Viola blinked. "Who's lying to you?"

Josiah opened his mouth, closing it just as quickly. "I'm not gonna get into it right now. This isn't the time or the place. Just know that whatever I had going on yesterday, it wasn't aimed at you. I'm sorry if it seemed like it was."

Viola shook her head. "I didn't think it was, honestly. I don't know what's wrong, and I'm not gonna pry, but I'm sorry for whatever you're going through."

Josiah nodded once. "Thanks. You doing alright?"

She scoffed. "Not really, no."

He averted his eyes. "Alright, stupid question. I kind of deserved that one. If you need to talk, I'm here. I'm not exactly the greatest person for it, but I'll do my best."

"I feel like everyone's being a bit too nice to me lately. What's the occasion?"

He smirked. "Did you want us to be mean to you?"

Viola rolled her eyes. "I've already got one chronic pain in the ass. Don't need four more. Even he's on a nice streak."

Josiah shrugged. "He's not actually that bad of a guy. I want to strangle him at least 50% of the time, but he's got a pretty good heart. Solid listener. Questionable morals, though."

Viola gagged. "The stories I could tell you."

He chuckled. "You don't actually hate him. You paid for his hands."

Viola shook her head. "I didn't, actually. I just…went to pick up the order. I'm pretty sure my grandmother ordered them. Never asked her. All I did was follow the address on the letter."

Josiah raised an eyebrow. "That was nice of her."

"Well, she knows that we're all close. It wouldn't surprise me. You're all…really, really good to me."

He smiled softly. "We're like a messed-up little family. Trust me, I've got a lot to appreciate, too. And we'll figure out this mess together, okay?"

Viola's face fell. She threw her eyes to the floor, tangling her fingers together. "I don't know what I'm gonna do if this doesn't work. If Octavia's testimony isn't enough, is he…actually gonna die?"

Josiah paused. He approached, laying one hand carefully and calmly upon her shoulder. It was enough for her to meet his eyes. The gaze he fixed her with was equal parts serious and gentle.

"I have a backup plan. This'll work out, one way or another."

Viola tilted her head. "What is it?"

"If I tell you, it won't work."

She blinked.

"I know that sounds crazy, but you have to trust me. Please."

Viola exhaled heavily. "Fine. Just don't do anything that'll get anyone hurt, please."

"Besides," Josiah continued, "after all this is over, we're still gonna have to figure out exactly why this happened in the first place. You might wanna start thinking about that now, even."

Viola tensed. She hadn't headed down that mental avenue yet. Logically, it would be a better use of her energy than worrying. Truthfully, she wasn't completely certain that she had the psychological clarity to do so, at the moment. She entertained the idea of recruiting him for a brainstorming session. She eventually dismissed the concept. He'd done enough.

Instead, Viola repaid his kindness with a smile. "Thank you. For all of your help."

Josiah nodded. "Hang in there. We'll get through it."

It wasn't "getting through" her emotions that was going to be the hardest part--although that was going to be miserable in and of itself. The worst part was going to be getting through the next eighteen hours. The worst part was going to be getting through the voyage to the front steps of the courthouse. The worst part was going to be seeing Vincent Vacanti's face for the first time in eight years.

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