The moment the girl's lips touched the reed, Octavia nearly fell from the balcony.

Part of it was simply the shock of such a display in such a place, mismatched in every way. An equal part, in contrast, was the way by which her song was far from what Octavia had begun to grow accustomed to. The shrill, swift melody spoke not to light, nor ice, nor wind, nor fire. Every note carried a spark, and every spark carried a crackle.

Her song stung the air, humming steadily even from such a distance. The brilliant little flashes that popped and fizzled along the floor left the stage sprinkled with crumbling jolts, skittering along the hardwood in vibrant golds that burned Octavia's eyes. She tried and failed to avoid looking directly at the tiny, scattering bolts trailing from the bell, kissing the stage and dying shortly after their radiant birth. The sound of the little thunderstorm mixed beautifully with the harmony offered by such an innocent clarinet, and it was not Octavia alone who was starstruck. The girl had more than a captive audience.

Perhaps more so than the lightning born before Octavia's eyes, that was the greatest and more dire problem of all.

Every thought in Octavia's head was just as electric, shocking her with such ferocity she feared she might faint. There was a Maestra, in plain sight, actively performing to a crowd perhaps numbering in the hundreds. For all of her fears that came with Stradivaria buried in the depths of her forbidden backpack, it was someone else entirely who'd exposed dozens upon dozens of people to a world they surely did not belong in. She could only imagine the current look on Viola's face.

Her wide eyes traveled to Drey slowly. He was more than mesmerized by the electrical spectacle, much the same as those around him. She didn't blame the man. It was still enough to send her heart pounding.

It felt like far, far too long before the reckless Maestra was satisfied. Her tapering melody left admittedly-lovely spindles of plasma crawling and fizzling along the stage. The stray sparks that rained haphazardly from the bell sank downwards with soft crackles of their own, swept up by nothing and stolen just as soon as they'd come. She was unfazed beneath the hundreds of eyes tethered to her every movement, bowing quickly as she lowered the instrument.

The applause that followed was explosive, nearly deafening in Octavia's vicinity. Hardly a seat was left occupied below, for how many patrons had leapt to their feet with vibrant cheers. Drey was not immune to the same by any means, his eyes practically sparkling with delight. "Splendid! Well done!" he cried.

The man on stage, hesitant to approach the instrument at all, couldn't be faulted for his apprehension one bit. It didn't matter. It was the girl, instead, who took his place, her voice startlingly clear. The moment the raucous applause dimmed to something tolerable, she found her words.

"This instrument is special," she spoke calmly. "I'm selling it for no less than 32,000,000 Gold."

The room exploded with something more than applause. The numbers that flew were high and frantic, far outpacing every price Octavia had heard throughout the night. She wasn't sure exactly what part of her had believed the Maestra's stipulation to be too lofty. For what populace packed the auction house and what wealth tainted their fingers, she kicked herself over her doubts. Given what they'd seen, she absolutely couldn't fault their interest. It was still utterly and absolutely horrifying, and no amount of intervention on her part was going to mend the situation. The man who'd reclaimed his rightful place on stage struggled to keep up with the rising bids, climbing ever higher with each passing second.

"32,000,000! D-Do I hear 32--34,000,000? 34,000,000, for the--what? 35,000,000? Incredible!" he cried, stumbling over his words.

There was a terror that came with knowing the little instrument would soon slip into ignorant hands. It was a crisis she couldn't mend, and it still burned to consider. At the absolute least, if she could speak with its Maestra, the evening would've been worth it. Perhaps it would give her the chance to shake some sense into the girl. She clearly needed it in abundance.

"193,000,000 Gold!"

Drey's voice at her side was equal parts powerful and intimidating. With his sign spearing high into the air, his confident voice reached every last corner of the auction hall. Octavia lost her breath.

The silence that befell the room was in agonizing contrast to the roar of bidding that had besieged it moments ago. Even the host was stunned into speechlessness, gazing blankly at the balcony for more than a moment. "Come again?"

"193,000,000 Gold," Drey repeated, unyielding, "and a word with the little lady."

Simply hearing the number leave his lips was enough to make Octavia dizzy. It was to say nothing of the context. The Maestra below flinched, her eyes wide and her own disbelieving gaze cast high to the balcony in turn. Her hands gripped the little clarinet ever tighter as she stared, unmoving.

"I...193,000,000 Gold. Are there…any other offers?" the man below asked hesitantly, his voice wavering somewhat.

When not one response arose from the murmuring crowd, the bang of the gavel left the room bursting with commotion instead. "S-Sold, sold to the man up in the balcony, once again!" he cried. "I do believe that could be a record, ladies and gentlemen! What a night to remember! Truly a hard act to follow. Nonetheless, there is still plenty more to come before the night is through. Please...give us a moment to prepare the next item. It will surely be worth the wait!"

The Maestra was swept from the stage delicately, the mysterious rosewood still clutched tightly in her shaking hands. Octavia lamented losing sight of her at all, lest she somehow find her way out of the auction hall before they had the chance to meet--if she could get that far. On a closer level, she was somewhat afraid to turn her head. Whatever she'd find on Drey's face would probably be cause for concern. She no longer had qualms about the price of the piano. He was insane.

"You're insane," she muttered.

Octavia clapped one hand over her mouth the moment it slipped out.

To her immense relief, he took no offense. Instead, he laughed with such fervor that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "Oh, I cannot say otherwise! And yet, how could I not be? It is an absolutely splendid instrument, would you not agree?"

Damage control was still an option. "I-It might be a trick of some kind. Maybe an act to rile up the audience, you know? What if you just spent all that money on a normal clarinet?"

Drey's hand settled onto her shoulder gently. "Then it will have been well worth it, my friend. A fine price for such an incredible show."

He was most definitely insane.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man on stage began once more, "we now present to you another item of great interest and intrigue--not quite like the others in our collection tonight, and yet a prize nonetheless!"

It wasn't an instrument, nor was it artwork. She wouldn't have been particularly surprised to see something at least adjacent, given the handful of tapestries and literal rugs she'd seen sold on occasion tonight. Octavia assumed it was the pillow, at first, silky and delicate. She could hardly see the booklets atop it without straining her eyes, neatly-bound and rosy-pink as they were. There were books at some point, if memory served. They weren't that small, nor handled with such a gentle touch. Octavia raised an eyebrow. So did Drey.

"It seems the night may have yet more surprises in store," he whispered.

"Tonight, you'll find ten opportunities for ten outsiders, a chance never before offered to most!" the man continued. "We present passports to the Blessed City, inaccessible through legitimate means. It is only through scouring the blackest markets that you'll find passage beyond these halls. Now, with complete legitimacy, entry into the city of Velrose could be yours!"

"Velrose?" Octavia asked, raising her eyes to Drey. He hummed in approval.

"It is not quite as inaccessible as he claims, provided your rationale and credentials are true. I have voyaged to Velrose many a time, and I would not be surprised if others in this establishment have done the same. You heard his words. The black market is not to be underestimated. Of course, speaking in terms of legality, he has a point."

She peered over the rim of the railing once more. Sure enough, no amount of preaching was enough to generate the same interest in the wake of the Maestra's electrifying display. The soft murmurs of the crowd versus the uproar of conversation before were a solid indicator of at least that much. Granted, a Harmonial Instrument really was an excruciatingly hard act to follow.

"Drey," Octavia asked quietly, "what does Velrose have to do with music? This is still a music-related auction, right?"

"You've never heard of Velrose, I take it?" he asked softly, his words paired with a smile.

Octavia shook her head. "I've never even seen it on a map before."

Drey tilted his head endearingly. "It would mark no map, for certain. Velrose is a city shrouded in mystery. Their populace is intolerant of outsiders, although most believe them to simply be bound by the virtues of religion. As to music, the pride and joy of the Blessed City is the grand bell tower at its very center. The song of the bell is said to bring peace and bliss beyond mortal compare. That is, at least, what its residents seem to believe."

She dissected his words with care. "What's their religion, exactly?"

"In all honesty, I cannot say," he admitted. "They will not share it with the world. It is perhaps one of the greater mysteries of the Blessed City. I would like to uncover the truth for myself, someday."

Octavia's eyes fell to the stage once more. There were at least a handful of things not clicking in his explanation. The religious fixation seemed off-putting. If the auction house had managed to acquire ten entire passports to a place supposedly so secretive, it couldn't be quite as elusive as it was made to seem. Still, to be off every map entirely was odd. Even now, the crowd was largely disinterested. She eyed the rosy little passports carefully, gleaning what she could from so far a distance as they rested quietly.

It was a reach. To be fair, so was the entire event. She'd already missed out on the clarinet.

"Interested in Velrose, are you?" Drey murmured. Octavia could've sworn there was the slightest touch of a tease in his tone, and she flushed.

"I-I mean, I'm a bit…curious, yes," she confessed.

He beamed. "I can respect your desire to crack the mystery of the city. Hopefully, you can get further than I did."

She'd been correct about the general disinterest. There was still acknowledgement, somewhat, in the form of occasional hands cast high and lazy numbers climbing in half-hearted increments. It was a far cry from the chaotic atmosphere that had followed the Harmonial Instrument's debut. 2,500,000 was still no low number, and those that rose ever higher did at least some justice to the leather-bound booklets waiting patiently onstage.

"8,000,000 Gold!"

He had way too much money.

Once more had Drey thrust his bidding sign well over his head, the number erupting from his lips more than double what had already been offered. Yet again, he drew murmurs from a crowd that clung to his actions and astonishing wealth. Octavia's eyes widened. This was getting out of hand.

It was no shock that Drey had zero challengers for a second time over. Even the host below was not without surprise of his own. If they were worth less, he was doing an exceedingly poor job concealing the fact. "8,000,000 Gold! Sold, sold, to the man on the balcony yet again! A fine purchase, sir! And that, ladies and gentleman, is only the first set, with four more to follow! Give us a moment to--"

"Drey?" she asked, confused.

Drey lowered his arm, offering her a brilliant smile. "A token of my thanks for your aid to my affairs tonight."

Her heart leapt. "Wait, really? For me?"

"But of course," he offered gently. "I really suppose I should find Portia, by now. As they plan to offer up such a consecutive quantity, I would guess these to be the final items of the evening. If you are satisfied, this may be the time to indulge in what few beverages may still remain. I will bring to you your prize once the bidding is through."

Octavia blinked, her words briefly stolen by disbelief. "Y-Yes, thank you! Thank you so much!"

He left her with a wave, sinking into the thinning crowd. The thinning itself was of note, given the way by which she had more room to move than usual. If his words had been anything to go by, she could blame the passports. Octavia tossed her eyes back to the stage. Yet another pair of tender, rosy booklets lay silently atop the same ornate pillow, identical in every way to those they had succeeded. She leaned closer over the railing, her gaze flickering several times over between the crowd and stage at large.

She had two passports, graciously given. She had four Maestros to account for. For all of her earlier bluster, this was going to be terrifying. It was the last chance for anything meaningful that she was going to get tonight, fourfold as it was. Octavia gripped the handle of her sign tightly, inhaling as deeply as she could.

"2,500,000 Gold!" she heard first. "Starting the bidding at 2,500,000 Gold!"

"2,750,000," came a voice below.

The following call was adjacent, by comparison. "3,000,000!"

And from below, the stranger was still stubborn. "3,250,000!"

Octavia ran through her mental math as quickly as possible. Provided the freshly-sold painting applied on top of what Viola already possessed, it left her with approximately 4,810,000. She didn't dare base her understanding of the process off Drey, unfathomably affluent and possibly deranged as he was. She'd never done this in her life. Still, if she interpreted the atmosphere loosely, it was simply a series of bluffing and calling at its core. No one knew of her limit. She could play along. At the very least, she could try.

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"3,500,000!" she shouted, recoiling beneath her own volume.

She wasn't the only one. At least a handful of those around her were equally startled. The quantity of eyes that fell to her from both near and below were horrifying, expectant and inquisitive in equal measure. She shuddered beneath their abundant gazes, struggling to keep her sign aloft with trembling fingers.

She blended in, apparently. The man on stage motioned to her accordingly with a smile. "3,500,000! 3,500,000 from the little lady with the braids! Do I hear--"

"4,000,000," she heard of the stubborn stranger below once more.

Octavia's heart raced relentlessly beneath the twofold pressure of the moment and the eyes upon her. "4,250,000!" she cried.

"4,500,000!" she heard in return.

It was with gritted teeth and a sinking heart that Octavia was forced to retreat. If she hoped to bluff her way through this entire situation, she was pushing it by now. She quickly found that her work would've been cut out for her regardless, given the final price of 5,750,000 Gold. Replanning was leaving her with a headache instead of passports. She had three more chances. She wasn't sure if she could handle so many prying eyes on her once more, and she gripped the railing far too tightly.

"Relax," she heard smoothly from behind. "You're gonna break the damn thing."

Someone was intruding too near to her personal space, and she flinched. When she turned her head sharply, he was close enough to startle her. Given their proximity, her face likely would've crashed into the brim of his hat, were he slightly shorter. Renato laughed at her mild distress. She bristled somewhat.

"I thought you were hanging out with Madrigal," Octavia asked, still battling her pounding heart.

"He is," Madrigal offered happily, squeezing in opposite Octavia. At the very least, the Maestra didn't startle her quite as severely by comparison. "We heard you bidding. You were really cool!"

"Didn't know you could yell like that," Renato added, grinning in approval. "What kind of crap are we bidding on, anyway?"

She wasn't sure where he got "we" from, and she didn't plan to ask. Already, her eyes were fixated on yet more little rosy rectangles, tiny specks taking the stage from far below her balcony view. He was an afterthought, and her head was already spinning. "They're passports. I just need to win one of these auctions. I have three more chances, including this one. They're selling the same thing a few times."

His face fell as he leaned over the railing beside her. "How much you got?"

"4,810,000 Gold," she answered.

He whistled dramatically. "Where the hell did you get all that?"

"It's not even enough," she muttered. "These people have way too much money, and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to compete."

"Don't stress," he offered. "There's a trick to this whole thing. You said you have three more shots at this, right? You've got time."

Octavia blinked. "Time for…what?"

Renato tossed his arm around her shoulder casually. It was, to her extreme surprise, not as irritating as she thought it'd be. "Listen. You've gotta get inside their heads here for a second, Tavi. That one guy earlier probably scared the hell out of everyone with how much he spent on those little things. I mean, it was almost twice the amount of what that last round went for. In the second round, anyone who wanted to go up against him probably got it out of their system. That was the first real round, if you want my opinion."

She didn't particularly want his opinion, actually. If it came bundled with nicknames, it was worse. He wore an excessive amount of cologne, apparently, and that absolutely did not help. Still, somehow, his voice was calming. At the very least, she didn't have to ask him to keep talking. He wouldn't shut up.

"But God, they're like, what, this big? They're tiny. Why the hell do they cost so much? It's a friggin' passport. Isn't it just paper in there? I don't get why paper costs that much. It's paper. I don't care what they put on it or what they put it in. There is paper in there, right? That's how those work?"

She'd be lucky if she could hear the bidding process at all, honestly.

"Anyway, like I was saying, now we're on the second 'real' round. Which, I mean, that's technically the third round, I guess. I don't know. From what I've seen at these kinds of events, it gets kinda stale when you keep selling the same thing again and again. Everyone's already waiting for the night to be over at this point, probably. They just wanna get their stuff and leave. By the last two rounds, people'll already be heading home, if they're not already."

Octavia nodded, dividing her attention between the boy and the man on stage as much as she could. "And that means...what, exactly?"

Renato tapped her little sign with one fingertip. "Don't bid this time. Wait and see how much this one goes for. Watch who bids, watch people's reactions, see how many people bid, and see who's interested. By round four, people should be starting to…you know, not care. If anyone spaces out in round four, they can make it up as a last-minute bet in round five, so round four is where you've gotta hit 'em where it hurts."

She was fairly certain he was outright making things up for the sake of saying words. Processing his explanation was a nightmare. Still, she did as she was told, watching quietly as numbers and voices flew loudly in tandem across the room. Having company reduced her stress, somewhat, and she appreciated the companionship--Madrigal's, at least.

Each bid climbed ever higher, their increments equal to that of the prior round. The little passports in tandem succumbed to a crisp 4,900,000 with a bang, by which the gavel made her jump. She hadn't realized exactly how sharply she'd been focusing.

Renato patted her shoulder. "You were real smart not to show your whole hand on that second round, but this is where you gotta go all out. Try to keep it straight and simple, or people might figure out you've got a limit when you start using weird numbers."

"So, don't go beyond 4,800,000," she interpreted breathlessly, gripping the sign's hilt with nearly enough force to crack it in two.

Renato nodded. "You've got this. Go slow, come in late, build it up, and cross your fingers tight."

Madrigal smiled, squeezing Octavia's free hand. This was the most prepared she was going to get. It was better than fumbling through it on her own.

"2,500,000!" she heard at last. "Do I hear 2,500,000?"

"2,750,000!" came a voice from below.

She tensed. He had a point. Every bid that arose was definitely slower versus the last two chances to claim the rosy booklets. In truth, she was floored Renato had been onto something at all. She had little time to dwell on it. Already, her hand was on its way up, and she readied the loud call of 3,000,000 on her lips.

"4,000,000," someone instead cried from the balcony.

Octavia's heart skipped a beat. Madrigal winced, and so did she. Renato swore sharply under his breath.

"4,250,000!" Octavia shouted instead, throwing her arm high with enough force to strain her shoulder. She nearly hit Renato in the face in the process. Madrigal squeezed her other hand tightly.

"4,500,000," the man from before answered, unfazed. Renato's grip around her dissipated rapidly, and she staggered slightly beneath her newfound freedom.

"Stick to the plan. Stall it out," he whispered. When her eyes fell to him, she caught only his back as he slipped out of sight. With only Madrigal's silent grasp to fall back on, she did as she was told to the best of her anxious ability.

"4,600,000," she more or less stammered, trying and immediately failing to stem the waver in her voice.

"4,700,000," her distant opponent answered once more.

She hesitated, running through the math in her head once more. Madrigal tugging on her sleeve quickly was her sole indicator that she'd nearly missed the final call. Her stomach lurched.

"4,800,000!" she cried, her desperate grip tight enough to practically imprint the handle into her palm. She called twice over for good measure. If she failed this round--provided Renato's convoluted logic was to be believed--the next round would likely be financially out of reach. He hadn't been wrong so far. She was sweating, her anxiety split neatly between the eyes of those around her and the concept of failure. This was the closest they'd gotten to anything productive thus far. Ultimately, she was the one who'd asked to bid.

The moment her unseen opponent began to speak once more, her heart threatened to explode. What she had left would pale in comparison to the standard increments he offered up again and again. He never made it that far, and not one overpowering number left his mouth. Rather than his counter, Octavia's bid was met only with a different kind of bang. The sharp, unmistakable shattering of innocent glass rang clear, audible well across the room. Octavia found her verbal assailant, at least, if his shout of surprise was anything to go by.

The bursting light above his head exploded without warning or explanation, showering the soft velvet below with crystal rain and flickering sparks. It was the second crackle of electricity she'd heard in the auction house tonight, although far more natural by comparison. Madrigal shrieked. Octavia recoiled violently. Their reaction was not localized, for how so many panicked and curious eyes alike fell to the sudden spectacle. Even those nearest to the stage had arisen, somewhat, straining to catch a glimpse high above of the mild chaos. Octavia hoped he wasn't hurt, abundantly blessed by sprinkling glass as he was. At least visibly, he was simply left mostly shaken. She wasn't much better.

Really, she herself was so shaken that she outright missed the bang of the gavel entirely.

"4,800,000!" she heard from the stage. "Sold for 4,800,000 to the young lady with the braids! I, uh, ask that everyone remain seated for our final round of passports, as I understand there might be a bit of a situation upstairs. Nevertheless, let us wrap up the evening! For one last time, we present--"

What wide-eyed joy she found was short-lived, given the physical interruption it came with. The arm suddenly draped around her shoulders with force made her jump. It accompanied ridiculously-abundant cologne, which at least alleviated her fears of a stranger's touch. Every word that left his mouth was ragged and breathless as he panted slightly. "Good job…Tavi. Knew you…had it in you."

Octavia frowned. "Where were you?"

Renato winked at her playfully, still gasping for air somewhat. "Just…took out a bit of gambling insurance."

She blinked. "Please don't tell me--"

"It worked, didn't it?" he teased. "Listen, I was careful. No one saw. I train hard, you know."

She was well aware of that much, unfortunately. Octavia struggled to escape his half-embrace, her hands settling onto her hips. "You could've gotten someone hurt."

"Yes," he said with a highly unnecessary bow, "but now, a certain someone is a few weird little passports richer. Thank you, thank you."

Madrigal applauded. Octavia groaned.

"You're sure no one saw you?"

Renato winced. "So, uh, I like to imagine they didn't. I mean, I'm careful, I think. I've got my ways. I'm gonna be real with you, I didn't actually check. They've got their eyes on more important stuff, right? It's not like I--"

"Renato."

Renato raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, honestly, I should probably get the hell out of here--like, now. I've got a lot of questions, but I'm guessing this isn't the greatest time. Give Vi my regards, would you? I'm sure I'll see you again soon, Tavi."

"Stop calling me that," she deadpanned.

He had more than enough time to peck Madrigal's cheek on the way out, grinning the same grin as always all the while. "You stay beautiful for me, Maddie. See ya!"

It wasn't as though her words would've reached him, given the speed with which he outright sprinted through the front doors with a startling bang. At the very least, she was relieved to hear it born of natural wood this time. As to where exactly he thought to escape to in the depths of the night, she couldn't fathom--nor did she want to know.

She was more preoccupied with Madrigal, her cheeks blossoming into a brilliant scarlet. Her hands settled over the glowing warmth slowly, her mouth nearly agape as words failed her. She'd earned a nickname for her troubles tonight, apparently, although one cherry-flavored souvenir seemed of far more interest than the other.

"I think I love him," she whispered breathlessly.

"Sold to the man in the green suit! Ladies and gentleman, that just about brings our evening to a close!" Octavia heard from the stage, somewhere in the midst of Madrigal's melting. "As always, gathering of payments and distribution of goods will be taking place shortly. If you've purchased any lovely pieces tonight in need of transportation, please let one of our fine staff members know so that we may aid you in making accommodations. We thank you for being here with us in Coda for another fabulous evening. As always, we hope to see you again soon."

With the conclusive words came surging and shuffling, by which the balcony was no longer stagnant. The floor below was largely the same, and she was once again thankful for the tiny amount of extra space the backpack allotted her. Octavia wrapped her arms tightly around a still-disoriented Madrigal, more than ignorant to the push and pull of the rippling crowd. If the girl were to be swept away, she had a feeling nothing would get her attention at this point.

"Octavia!" a soft voice called from the stairs. "That was amazing!"

Octavia had enough room in her arms for one more, if it meant not losing Viola in the same mess of strangers. With arms outstretched, she embraced the Maestra all the same, leaving a dazed Madrigal sandwiched at their center. It wasn't as though the latter seemed to care, hardly blinking as she was. "I kinda screwed it up a bit," Octavia muttered regardless.

Viola smiled. "You did great. Were those the Velrose passports?"

She nodded. "I'm not sure if they're a lead or not, but I have a feeling about them. Do you happen to know anything about Velrose?"

Viola shook her head. "Never heard of it, honestly. How many did you get? Just those two?"

Octavia shook her head. "Four, actually."

Viola raised an eyebrow. "But I thought you only won one bid."

Octavia crawled out of the embrace to the best of her ability. It left Madrigal still rigid between them--speechless, motionless, and still every bit as gloriously scarlet.

"Also, what happened to her?"

"Listen, I met a guy up here on the balcony," she interrupted. "He runs a restoration business in a city up north, I forgot the name of--oh, wait, hang on."

She sifted through her pockets for a moment. Much to her relief, the flimsy little card hadn't escaped her. She passed it to Viola accordingly, earning a raised eyebrow in return after several seconds.

"Solenford," Viola read aloud. "That's...really, really far from here. That's almost on the other end of the continent. What's he doing here?"

"He said he was looking for stuff for his business," Octavia clarified. "We got into a talk about a worn-down piano they were selling, and apparently I talked him into buying it. He told me I helped him with his business or something, so he won me two of those passports to pay me back."

Viola nodded. "So we have four passports, then? I guess he has money to throw around, then."

Octavia winced. "Okay, so, uh, that wasn't even slightly the worst thing he spent money on."

Viola's face fell. "That was him?"

"Yeah, we should...probably talk about that."

Viola sighed heavily. "That was bad. That was really, really bad. Every person in this room just got exposed to Maestros for the first time, and now that man is going to have a Harmonial Instrument."

"Wouldn't it just be enough to talk to the Maestra?" Octavia offered.

Viola shook her head. "That's not the point. It's already weird enough that a Maestra is willingly parting with her Harmonial Instrument, but the implications of one being in the hands of a non-Maestro is dangerous. That's not something that should be shared with the world."

It made sense. Still, Octavia pushed. "Okay, but Harmonial Instruments are only bonded to their Maestro, right? So…even if they did have one, there's really not a whole lot they could do with it. They wouldn't get any fancy lightning or anything."

Viola sighed once more. "No, you're right. It's just...I don't know, that's a piece of the Maestro world. Whether or not they could actually use the instrument is irrelevant. Eventually, someone would put two and two together."

Octavia cringed. She'd forgotten the other issue. "Oh, God, I think it actually gets worse than that. He asked to talk to her afterwards, too."

Viola's expression came to match perfectly. "Okay, that's really, really, really bad."

"If she's willing to sell her Harmonial Instrument, who knows what she's willing to talk about with random people?" Octavia murmured, somewhat cognizant of her audible panic.

"She's going to get hurt," Viola muttered, biting her nails.

"Did you happen to see her when you were downstairs? After she left the stage?"

Viola shook her head. "No, I never saw her after that. If this guy wants to talk to her before she hands her instrument over, though, she'll have to come out to the main floor."

"That's our chance," Octavia stated. Viola nodded in agreement.

"Excuse me, miss."

So engrossed in their lightning-flavored crisis had she been that she hadn't noticed the little pair of rosy booklets at her side, clasped patiently in waiting hands. On closer inspection, they were spectacularly bound and splendidly textured from a much nearer distance. "Taking payment for the…Vacanti account, was it?"

The man's eyes fell to Viola instantly. The notepad and pencil that settled into her hand were met with hastily-scribbled numbers and an equally-quick signature. She hardly blinked. It really did seem almost routine, given how the girl had denied her lack of prior participation. "Yes. No issues here."

He smiled, the paper pad carefully exchanged for equally-small passports. Octavia claimed one with only slight hesitation from his outstretched hand. "Two passports into the Blessed City. I bid you both safe travels."

She returned his smile half-heartedly, departing as he already was. Octavia ran her thumb along the length of the leather, the surprisingly-comfortable texture rising to meet her fingertips. She rotated it slowly and experimentally. The rose stamped softly into the center was beautiful, elegantly swirling and gently dented. She trailed it with her fingernails, savoring the slight dip beneath her skin as she traced the sweeping pattern. Splashed with the softest pink as it was, it matched its namesake perfectly. It was lovely. She had something stringless and bowless to put in the backpack now, at least.

Viola was not immune to the same experimental inspection, albeit to a lesser degree. "I…kind of expected them to be a bit bigger."

"Octavia!"

She wasn't limited to two passports for long. Yet more little pink booklets were high aloft, bundled with her name in a rich voice she was coming to appreciate. Even from across the room, he was hard to miss. She wasn't distant from him for long. Ultimately, her smile was the only beacon the man seemed to need.

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