Octavia usually didn't mind going to new places. If it was within the boundaries of Coda, it was all the more exciting. There was always something fascinating about uncovering exactly how large the city truly was. It was almost fun to see how many landmarks lay beyond the eyes of the average tourist. The courthouse would've been fine in passing. As an attendee, it was horrifying.

Knowing what awaited inside was the worst part. At a crisp eight o'clock in the morning, the sun overhead had just begun a modest, ambling ascent. Pink clouds drifted lazily above, and she was floating just as high. Coming back down was difficult. The stature of the courthouse, coupled with its many steps towards judgment, was just as imposing as the backdrop upon which it had been placed.

There was a silence that spoke in contrast to the Hell beyond its doors, organized and uniform as it would be. The judge, jury, and all others involved had surely beaten her there. She'd never actually attended a trial, let alone set foot in a courtroom. Silver Ridge was peaceful enough. Silver Ridge was hardly populated. She couldn't even remember if Silver Ridge had a courthouse in the first place.

Each step upwards, even in tandem with the others at her back, was terrifying. Anxiety pooled in her wake. She couldn't help it. Stradivaria's case jostling against her shoulders was her one saving grace.

Viola had added a new rule in light of recent events, of which Octavia was partially responsible for sparking the idea. In an ironic contrast to advice she'd once been given before a certain auction, they were now not to part from their instruments at all. Every case would be bound to every back, and every partner would be within arm's reach at all times. Octavia didn't resist the idea in the slightest, lest agony blight her in the ruins of a burnt home once more. She was still kicking herself over it days later.

She appreciated Renato, Josiah, Madrigal, and Viola accompanying her to her own possible death sentence in the form of the witness stand. She would still very much have adored Harper's support, were it possible. It was the first time in a long time that the boy had been wholly absent from her side for longer than several hours. She wouldn't dare start a problem by proclaiming that she missed him. It didn't stop her from thinking it all the same.

Halfway up the steps, her heart was beating quickly enough to leave her lightheaded. It had nothing to do with exertion. "What am I supposed to say when they call me up there? How do I admit to knowing all this stuff?" she asked, panic seeping into every word.

"First of all, you need to relax," Josiah said. "It'll be okay. You've got this, even if you don't feel like you do. Second, you're a witness who never had the opportunity to come forward during the initial sentencing. That's all you have to say. From there, the story you provide will speak for itself."

Octavia did what she could to take deep breaths. "What else?"

Josiah raised one hand aloft, counting on his fingers. "Don't indicate any kind of intent on her father's part. Don't mention Harper's father at all. Don't even bother bringing up the Dissonance. That's basically it."

Octavia nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay."

"Are they gonna let all of us in there?" Madrigal asked.

Viola nodded in turn. "It's a public trial. They're not advertised, necessarily, but in Coda, you can literally just…walk in. You just need to be quiet."

Renato winced. "Eww, so random people can watch you get sentenced for personal stuff like it's entertainment? That's creepy."

"They don't do that in Selbright?"

"Hell, no. You try to sneak into someone else's trial, you're gonna end up in one yourself later--provided the defendant doesn't kick your ass first. Rightfully."

"It doesn't matter," Josiah interrupted. "None of us are going inside."

The resounding exclamation of surprise that followed was collective and startling, particularly given that they'd already reached the entrance. Even here, cresting the top of the stairs, the exterior was deserted. Had Octavia been alone, her lack of understanding of both legal proceedings and navigational skills would've led her to wonder if she was in the correct place. Above all else, entering alone was a horrific concept.

"What do you mean? We're all allowed to go in. That's…how this works," Viola insisted.

"I told you about my backup plan. This is part of it," Josiah said calmly.

At the mention of his scheme, puzzled eyes instead pooled with apprehension. "Are you sure about this?"

"Let me restate that," he began. "None of you are going in. Octavia and I are."

Renato groaned. "Man, where the hell are you even going with this?"

"Do you trust me?" he asked Viola alone, his gaze equally soft and firm.

Octavia watched the way Viola pursed her lips, hands curling into fists at her sides. Still, she met his eyes with false confidence.

She nodded. "You better know what you're doing."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

He turned to Octavia instead, that same gaze of gentle firmness settling onto her. "We can't wait much longer. I won't leave you. Ready?"

Absolutely not.

"Y-Yeah."

At the very least, he shouldered the pressure of opening the doors.

Octavia made the fatal mistake of looking over her shoulder at the three exiled supporters in her wake. She was more engrossed in their confused and distressed expressions than the rush of cool, interior air that had blasted her in full. Madrigal waved half-heartedly. She waved back. Renato gave her a lazy two-finger salute. She returned the same.

Viola only stared, eyes full of fear and hands clutching the hem of her dress. The smile Octavia cobbled together was compromised at best and false at worst. Even so, she poured into it what little confidence she knew she should save for what awaited. It was worth it anyway.

The doors creaked shut noisily at last, sealing her off from the outside world. Already, she craved the sun. This was going to be miserable.

It took effort to will herself to turn around, soaking in the grand splendor of the front lobby. Simple as it was, the sheer scale of it was just as intimidating as the outside. Crowned more or less only by a singular desk and yet another set of alabaster doors, the plain environment still found a way to pressure her. Marble was abundant and sprawling underfoot, and she was plagued with the illusion of a variable marble blanket draped over the room in earnest. It offered a dizzying sight that contributed to her lightheadedness just as much as the task at hand. Dying was much easier than even considering doing this. In the worst-case scenario, after all was said and done, she wouldn't be the one to die.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she murmured.

"You've got this," Josiah offered. "Just breathe."

"Tried breathing. Not helping."

When he gently took her hand into his own, the surprise of his touch was substantial enough to blunt her nausea and fear. Her eyes flickered to his, and his smile was its own surprise.

"We'll go together. If this is set up the way I've been led to believe it'll be, you'll still be able to see me at all times. If you get scared, just don't take your eyes off me. I'll be here for you."

She wished she had the confidence to return a smile, let alone any inkling of gratitude. She settled for the weakest nod she'd ever produced. If nothing else, her heart was grateful.

"You don't think it's gonna look…I don't know, like something's up if we're staring at each other the whole time?" she asked, content to follow his lead onward.

He shrugged. "If anyone asks, just pretend I'm your boyfriend."

Octavia laughed a genuine laugh. She didn't know she could make one in the first place. "Eww. No."

Josiah smirked as he pulled her along. "Pretending, idiot. You'd make a terrible actor."

What little peace and relief she found in the form of a solid giggle was threatened by halted steps before the guardian alabaster before them. Squeezing his hand was a reflex, her fingers trembling from the concept of entry at all. He could read her mind, maybe, for how one of his palms came to rest flat against the leftmost door.

"If it's any consolation, I've never been to one of these, either. Like I said, we didn't exactly have them down there. We'll play it by ear."

She gulped. "We do that a lot."

His chuckle surprised her somewhat. "This'll work out. I'll make sure it works out."

Octavia raised an eyebrow, her attention briefly torn from the door. "Wait, what exactly do you have in mind?"

Josiah inhaled slowly, declining to acknowledge her directly. "We'll cross that bridge if we need to. For now, just stick to what we discussed. Ready?"

No.

"No."

It slipped out this time.

He laughed. "That's the spirit."

It took significant effort for him to push with one hand, and Octavia lamented the way she selfishly clung to the other. It was the most anxious she'd been in weeks, even given that she'd died eight times recently. She'd never admit it aloud. When the double doors gave way to her fate, whatever nerves ate away at her instead fought to devour from within.

No longer were they alone, although she wouldn't quite have rushed to call the room "populated". The cast of actors in a play to weigh the value of a man's life weren't as numerous as she'd been led to expect. Even so, they were more than enough to drag her back to the Hell of relentless nausea under prying eyes. The creak of the doors wasn't exactly subtle.

Most had already taken up their respective positions, and she initially feared she was late. She could vaguely assume their particular roles relative to both manners of dress and placements--secondary to what she'd seen once in a book, at least. It would be her sole frame of reference for the next several hours. Given what she was expected to do, that was absolutely not a good thing.

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The semicircular seating on the furthest side of the courtroom numbered ten individual places, each slowly growing occupied by strangers in monotone attire. The remainder of the chamber was largely cleaved in two down the carpeted center, halved on either side of the divisive maroon aisle. The hardwood oak comprising every remaining bench welcomed a stray, speckled assortment of yet more strangers. They, too, were clad in their own respectively-dull clothing. Some hugged the left side. Others, the right. They didn't mingle, converse, or hardly exchange more than a passing glance.

For a publicly visible trial, then, the abundance of empty seating was a shock. Vincent Vacanti wore a poisonous name, surely, for the blood that stained his hands. The horrors of his deeds surely warranted a crowd, if not at least splattered interest. The opportunity was prime. Instead, including Josiah and herself, the occupants of the courtroom numbered, at most, twenty-five.

"Do you think no one knew this was going on today?" Octavia whispered.

Josiah shrugged half-heartedly, still drinking in the settling scene of his own accord. "This all happened so quickly that I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't become public knowledge. I think Viola said her family was obligated to find out, but that's it."

She, too, did what she could to study the foreign atmosphere. If she were to face her own death sentence in here, she'd cling to all she could garner first. The semicircle of proceedings did, in fact, harbor a stand--a literal stand, nearly identical to the mental image she'd conjured. The angle was excruciatingly unfortunate, the pedestal facing rightwards as it was. It left a sea of hardwood seating and foreign faces in sight, should she take her place behind it. It would leave her showered with gaze upon unfamiliar gaze, just the same. A toll would've been a phenomenal alternative right now.

"I-Is that where I have to testify?" she stuttered.

Josiah squeezed her hand gently twice over. Feeble or not, she appreciated the effort of reassurance. "Do you know what a cross-examination is?"

Octavia shook her head. She wasn't certain she enjoyed the word alone.

"This is a weird situation, so I don't know if it'll actually happen, but there's a chance both sides might press you on whatever you give them. No matter what, you have to be confident in what you say."

She was dizzy. The pressure was unbearable. She had no idea what she was doing.

"I have no idea what I'm doing."

Involuntary.

Josiah sighed. "If you really get stuck, I have a backup plan for that, too. Just remember, I'm not the one who's seen the things you have. There's certain things I can't help with, even if I wanted to."

Her curiosity was at war with her nerves. She had little time to entertain either one, for how her attention was kidnapped by yet more shuffles and murmurs. Those who still stood instead settled into their respective places, whether that equated to speculatory benches or the proceedings circle she dreaded. Still on her feet, she was out of place in more ways than one. She was collecting different flavors of panic, at this point.

"Where exactly are we supposed to--"

"Let's just…go to the left for now. We'll figure out if we're wrong pretty quickly, I think," Josiah offered, dragging her along accordingly.

Octavia was content to surrender to his guidance, nearly stumbling in the process of settling at his side on the bench. Even now, she couldn't bring herself to free his hand. He didn't make her. If he weren't here, she'd already have fallen to pieces.

In the midst of draping silence, Octavia's final survey of the room brought her eyes to a vacant seat. It was higher, imposing, opposite to the pedestal she feared. It came to accommodate a stranger in turn, oozing confidence with every step. Blackened robes just barely spared plush maroon at her feet, the blows of spearing heels softened in turn. She took her rightful place, fiery locks bouncing with every controlled movement. The contrast of tethered, flaming red upon flowing, darkened night was striking. She was gorgeous.

Oh, God, she almost looked like Priscilla.

Why did she have to look like Priscilla?

"Not so tight," Josiah hissed in pain, wriggling his fingers in Octavia's own. She quickly unfurled an iron grip she didn't realize she'd cursed him with.

"Sorry," Octavia muttered. This whole situation grew more miserable every second.

She was so thoroughly distracted by the woman's exceedingly-familiar looks that she outright didn't register the first ten seconds of speech stinging the air. It took conscious effort to refocus. For how little she truly understood of the environment, it might not have mattered to begin with.

"Trial is now in session for the resentencing of the defendant on three charges of murder in the first degree," she spoke, her voice projecting about the courtroom spectacularly. If nothing else, Octavia was impressed.

"Will the prosecution please provide their opening statement?" she continued.

Josiah winced. "Damn, they're not messing around."

"What do you mean?" Octavia whispered.

"They're getting straight to the point. Not sure what the rush is."

One splash of gray in the form of another stranger rose to his feet from the distant right, and it took ample squinting to make him out in full. He was less intimidating, granted, and it was an immense relief that no further actors resembled Priscilla. If his carrying words were anything to go by, he, too, harbored years of experience in the field.

"Your honor," he began, "having served eight years of his life sentence, the defendant is no stranger to the criminal justice system. It is true that his reign of terror can no longer proceed behind bars, and he can never again inflict harm upon another. Even so, it is after careful reconsideration of the circumstances that the city of Coda finds his punishment too lenient relative to the barbarity of his sins. This is a man who acted with ill will and premeditation, a man who stole away three innocent women from their loved ones and their ambitions."

Octavia scoffed under her breath. She'd already counted at least four incorrect statements in the span of several sentences. If only he knew.

"There can be no justice for these families while he still yet draws breath and lives another day. Your honor, what this man deserves is what should have been handed down upon him to begin with. The city of Coda argues that Vincent Vacanti should be put to death to atone for his heinous crimes. No further argument."

The mention of his name aloud was enough to leave her burning. For how she'd eternally caught it in hushed whispers and treaded razor-thin lines to acknowledge him, this was wrong. He was a solemn secret not meant for the open air, and yet his truth was set free without care. It was sacrilegious. For others to know his crimes was jarring. For others to know of him at all was jarring. It was only by the grace of the sickest privileges that she could guard what secrets remained, and--for once--she was grateful for the gruesome burden she carried. She'd have to share it soon enough.

"Harsh," Josiah muttered.

"Defense."

One powerful word from the woman's mouth was enough to banish the man Octavia assumed to be the prosecutor--provided she was understanding this correctly. They were puzzle pieces she hardly wished to assemble, slowly falling into place on a board she hated maintaining. The judge handled the room with grace, trading one bland stranger for another entirely. He, too, was unremarkable and well-projecting, differentiated by his positioning alone. From the left, he rose to his feet.

"Your honor, there is little denial as to the nature of the defendant's actions. He has accepted and acknowledged them, including recognizing their heinous nature. It serves as a testament to his character that, despite his inability to meaningfully recall the events of that fateful night, he has served his sentence thus far with no resistance. Within the prison walls, the defendant is a model prisoner himself, with no infractions or incidents to speak of. He carries no prior criminal history, and his actions that evening do not speak to his character. 'Mistake' is too loose a term to describe what the defendant did to those women that night. Even so, to bestow the death penalty unto a man who does not so much as remember his own choices is a cruel perversion of justice. The defense argues that Mr. Vacanti should maintain his current sentence of life imprisonment to atone for his deeds. No further argument."

"So they at least know he doesn't remember," Octavia whispered.

Josiah nodded. "Yeah. That'll help."

"Prosecution," the judge began anew. "Do you have any witnesses?"

The prosecutor was once more on his feet, rising from the right with a nod. "Yes, your honor. The prosecution calls Vincent Vacanti to the stand."

Oh, God.

The miniscule wave of whispers that drifted past paled in comparison to the blood rushing through Octavia's ears. If she would see him, then he would perhaps see her in turn. At least one of those was unavoidable. She wasn't sure which of them she feared more.

"Geez," Josiah groaned, recoiling with disgust. "They can do that? And this is all happening way too fast. I've never seen one of these before, but I'm fairly certain this isn't how it's supposed to go."

Octavia barely even registered his words. She was too busy drinking in Vincent Vacanti's visage as he rose into the light. He'd been distant, and yet there all the same, shielded by an angle that had spared her heart. Eight years had been kind to him, even by his back alone. Caged behind cold walls, his composure had endured--slandered or otherwise. Gone were the lovely hues of royal blues that had adorned his body, elegant fabrics replaced with restrictive attire. Still, its dull shades paled in comparison to rich, jet-black locks that she'd witnessed so many times in so many tolls.

He moved slowly, and her eyes found his wrists bound by glistening metal. Harmless and untainted by agony, his treatment spoke to the opposite. Flanked on his left by a man she presumed to be law enforcement--if his outfit was anything to go by--he was never alone on his shuffling voyage to the stand she dreaded.

When he turned at that vulnerable angle to face the room at large, Octavia caught the way his eyes lingered upon every gaze in turn. Her opportunity to match his own was fleeting, miniscule, and--for him--ultimately meaningless. For her, it was everything. Deep, brilliant cerulean met her with gentle sorrow, and Octavia could hardly breathe. That was enough. He was the absolute splitting image of Viola.

"Mr. Vacanti, do you agree to tell the truth upon this stand and to this courtroom, under penalty of perjury?" the judge asked.

He nodded, the long waves of his hair rustling in just the slightest. They, too, were scathingly familiar. His voice was raspy, soft, and delicate--nothing Octavia would associate with a killer. "I do."

There was zero hesitation. The prosecutor didn't spare one moment, just as he didn't dare spare Vincent. Any closer and he would've stolen that hollow sorrow from the rest of the room, the broken man's view narrowed to him alone. "Mr. Vacanti, you stand here today to answer once again for the terrible sins you have committed. To take a life is to--"

"Can I say something?"

Vincent's interruption was as sudden as it was gentle, his words powerful and soft all at once. Where Octavia expected ire on the part of the prosecutor, she instead found surprise. The leeway that followed was equally shocking.

"Go ahead," the man granted.

"Thank you," Vincent murmured. His shoulders rose and fell once with the labor of a deep breath.

"I don't deny any of the things I did. Whether or not I remember them is irrelevant. I know what happened. I know what these hands of mine have done. For that, I know I can never truly be forgiven. I will accept whatever punishment comes to me. I have no regrets in saying so."

His statement draped the courtroom in silence. Octavia squeezed Josiah's hand once more, her heart threatening to burst.

"Well, let me correct myself. Of the regrets that I have, there is nothing that can be done. I will take them to my grave without struggle," he continued. "Do as you will. I am indifferent as to where this verdict takes me."

Collective murmuring, once dulled, again besieged the room. Josiah gritted his teeth. "Idiot," he hissed among scattered whispers.

"Can you blame him?" Octavia murmured sadly.

Josiah closed his eyes, forcing several deep breaths of his own. "No," he said at last, "but it just made your job a lot harder."

The craftsmanship of the hardwood benches was lovely. Octavia appreciated it. It was a shame that the butterflies in her stomach were going to stain it with her breakfast.

"T-The prosecution rests," the prosecutor stammered.

Even the judge wasn't immune to raising an eyebrow. "Defense, do you wish to proceed with your cross-examination of Mr. Vacanti?"

When Vincent challenged the defense with empty eyes alone, the man shook his head. "No, your honor."

She nodded. "Prosecution, do you have any other witnesses?"

"We do not, your honor."

"As to the defense?"

The man shook his head. "We do n--"

"Now!" Josiah whispered harshly.

A tight, sharp squeeze of Octavia's hand was the only thing that returned her to reality. She wasn't sure exactly where she summoned the strength to speak. Shouting was even more of a surprise.

"I volunteer as a witness!" she yelled, leaping to her feet. Her volume, truthfully, was enough to startle even herself. With one hand cast high and the other still firmly secure in Josiah's, both were trembling in equal measure. Adrenaline wasn't helping.

Whispers and murmurs were no longer whispers and murmurs. An uncontrolled commotion had taken its place, in turn. Octavia had seen that kind of gavel, specifically, depicted on paper once. Today, she figured out how it worked.

"Order!" the judge called, her eyes narrow and vicious.

She didn't get what she wanted for at least another ten seconds. That much was enough for Octavia to second-guess why she was here at all.

"And…who are you, exactly?" the judge asked, her cold tone enough to hurt.

Octavia gulped. She'd rehearsed this part exactly once. She prayed she could remember the wording.

"I was…there. That night, as a child, I was there. Eight years ago, I never got the chance to speak up. I've been waiting. Please, let me tell you what I saw, with my own eyes."

It sounded good in her head. She crossed her metaphorical fingers.

The judge blinked. She turned her head sharply towards the man eyeing Octavia, tethered flames jerking in the wake of her motions. "Defense?"

For a moment, the defense didn't answer. "What…is your name?" he finally spoke.

She hoped her voice was louder than the ringing in her ears.

"Octavia," she answered, her words dangerously unstable. "Ellis. Octavia Ellis."

The man nodded. "The defense calls Octavia Ellis to the stand."

There was no going back.

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