Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Octavo woke up early today. Today is the reaping, and it will always put a sense of dread in him. He’s been waking up in cold sweats for the past week. Two people will leave today. Two kids, for that matter.

He could hear it so clearly, Harmonie pulling that slip, and in her shrill, annoying accent

“Our male tribute, Octavo Lantos!”

And he’d wake up. Every time he’d wake up, and he’d get food, he’d take care of his family. It’d be okay.

But today it might not be. So today, he’ll get up early.

Get as many hours with his family in as he can.

He heats up water on the woodstove, and uses just enough to wash his face and hair.

Look presentable, He was told. You’re lucky you don’t have to live in the seam. Act like it.

So act like it he would. He put on his best dress shirt, and his one good pair of pants.

And he’d wait. He sat there, in their living room, waiting.

His mother would come downstairs shortly.

He just had to make it two more years. He could be safe. He was almost safe.

“Morning.” He says as his mom sits down.

“Good morning, Octavo. You’re up early.”

Of course he was. He had to get up early. He also had to go get food today. Sure, he could be spending his time in victor’s village, but he wasn’t spending his time rotting away with his grandfather. Not today and not ever. He’s not leaving his mom alone. Nor his little brother.

Oh, Arno. He had just turned twelve. One slip. His chances were so low. So, so low. He wouldn’t worry about it. His brother would be fine.

“Should we get bread?” He asks. Of course, they had some food, but he meant fresh bread. Should he get fresh bread?

“If that’s what you want, Octavo.” If that’s what you wish your last meal to be, so be it.

So he heads down the street. The snow is filled with coal dust, and he just tries to not stain his pants.

“Hey, Octavo.” He’s greeted as he steps inside. 

“Good morning, Eli.” He says quietly.

“You want bread?” He asks. “Lucky for you, I actually just finished making some.” 

“Oh, uh, here,” Octavo starts to reach into his pocket, and Eli just laughs.

“It’s on the house today. May the odds be ever in your favour.” He’s got the capitol accent down pat. 

“You know, if you weren’t standing right in front of me, I’d almost think you were Harmonie.”

“Ha! Get outta here,” Eli laughs. “Seriously, though. Good luck today.” 

“Thanks.” Octavo forces a smile, and leaves as fast as he came.

Is it wrong that he feels guilty? Taking charity from Eli of all people.

He can’t imagine what it must’ve been like. Losing your brother like that. He almost made it home. He had almost made it home .

But everyone knew those two were doomed from the start.

Melody and Dorian. They’d been sweethearts since they were kids, or at least that’s what his mom told him. 

But Melody put her name on those slips too many times. Tesserae. 

Apparently, Aria hasn’t smiled since Melody went into the games. Or so he’s heard.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit bitter about it. The story always bothered him, and he barely knew Cadence. They had her very young. And then died very young. 

And Dorian knew he wouldn’t make it out of those games alive. He knew, and he could’ve stayed - for Cadence, at the very least, but he didn’t. He volunteered–as if he’d come back–for Melody. 

He never knew them, they died when he was just a kid, so it’s rude to be so judgemental, but why didn’t he stay? 

Love was a dumb thing.

He has a moment of silence anyways. 

For District 12’s Romeo and Juliet. A tragedy, really. 

And he never offered condolences. What was he to say? He didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know if he could say what he truly felt without getting himself killed. Octavo was angry, and it wasn’t even his family. How does he explain that he’s sorry, and Eli should be angry–and obviously, Eli knows this–but Octavo couldn’t begin to imagine how he must feel. Some condolences from Octavo wouldn’t bring his brother back.

He can’t imagine that. His brother. Gone off to the games. And what’s he to do? He has to work. Someone has to work. Eli is a self-proclaimed bomb expert, and he’s in a world full of things made to burn.

How the man hasn’t snapped? Octavo isn’t sure.

Someone has to take care of Cadence, right?

And yet Eli was still kind to him. When Octavo would come in once a week, get fresh bread, and leave. Never asked about how Eli was doing, let alone if he was doing okay raising Cadence.

But people didn’t ask Octavo how he was either. Maybe that’s just how it goes in 12. Because every time the answer is ‘Fine’ which is just a lie, or you get a ‘It’s going’ followed by a forced laugh that just kind of makes you feel bad for asking.

Octavo just goes home. He goes straight home, and if somebody’s out, he doesn’t look at them. He keeps his eyes on the ground and his hands on his bread.

It’s quiet in 12. 

Two kids will leave today. Realistically, neither will return.

But right now, Octavo is home.

“Octavo!” his brother cheers.

“Hey, Arno,” Octavo sighs. “You’re up early.”

“Well, it’s an important day today.” His cheery attitude falters for a moment. “May the odds be ever in your favour?”

“Ha. May the odds be ever in your favour, Mr. Lantos.” Octavo mimics. He’s joking. By all means, the odds are in Arno’s favour. He’s young. And it’s just one little slip with his name.

His mom doesn’t smile. He knows, he understands why, but it still upsets him.  

Try for Arno, please? 

“We have to be there for noon.” His mom says plainly.

Octavo nods. “I know.” He’s done this 4 times now, and it never gets less scary. 

“And dress up your brother after we eat, he has to look nice, too.”

“I know.” He repeats, and he places his bread on the table. And then he leaves again.

Next, he’ll get a few eggs. He’s quick on his feet, and he makes small talk where he must, but he doesn’t waste time getting home. Up the street, down the street.

“I’m back,” he says. He grabs a pan, and a knife for his bread. He places the pan on the woodstove, and grabs a bit of butter.

“Scrambled or fried?” He asks.

“Octavo, it’s fine, I’ll cook.” His mom pushes him to the side.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, sit down. I don’t want you getting your clothes dirty, anyways.”

“Alright, alright.” Octavo sits down with his brother.

“Are you anxious?” Arno asks. Octavo can’t help but laugh.

“As I’ll ever be.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, though. You’re young. It’s just one slip. One in a million, kid.”

“Well, no, technically it’s about 1 in…” He starts counting for a moment. “1,665, right? Around there?” He says.

Octavo doesn’t like those odds. Not at all.

“...I guess, yeah.” Octavo gulps.

It’s quiet. It’s so unbelievably quiet. Octavo eats quietly, and his mom doesn’t say anything. Just stares at Arno. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Octavo catches his mom’s eyes for a moment, and he doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure if there’s anything to say.

The odds are never in their favour. He knows that. He’s known it since he could remember the games. 

The odds are not in his brother’s favour, nor his. But he will do his best to make sure his brother doesn’t know that.

His brother will not step foot in an area. Ever. 

His brother will not be broadcasted for entertainment. 

He will make sure of it.

He swallows the last of his breakfast, and the fire crackles. The sun is finally starting to rise.

“Sorry you had to get up so early, Arno.” He says, and his voice cracks. He clears his throat.

“It’s fine.” He just laughs. It’s such a terrible, awful day, and he laughs and he acts like this is normal. 

“D’you wanna go back to bed for a bit?”

Arno pauses. “I can sleep later.” He says. “I’m fine, Octavo.”

Octavo shakes his head. “No, you should..”

“I don’t need a naptime, Octavo.” He says plainly. 

Octavo doesn’t argue. “Okay.” 

And it’s silent, for a while. Nobody says anything. 

“So how’s Heph doing?” Octavo asks. “He’s been alright…?”

“Business is running as usual,” His mother says. “Twelve’s never going to stop buying liquor.”

“Well, at least he can support himself, right?” Octavo forces a laugh into his voice.

He shouldn't have brought it up. Twelve had a liquor problem and everyone knew it. Look at their victors. Consistently drunk Octavian and oh-so-weak Aria.

Although it’d be rude to call her that. At least Aria was there for her family. 

He cannot say the same for Octavian.

He knew those games were cruel…but…well, most people from twelve didn’t live to tell the tale.

He stands up again. “I should go. I’m just going to..make my rounds, I guess.”

“No. You’re going to stay here and you’re going to make sure your brother is presentable.”

“Right. How could I forget?” His voice has a bit too much venom in it, and his mother scowls.

“I’m serious. You’re staying home, and then you’re filling the buckets.”

Does he really have to do chores today? 

He supposes he does.

“Alright, Arnie, let’s see what shirts you’ve got. You feeling more black or white today?” He stands up, and runs upstairs to his room. Arno will be wearing one of his old shirts, but they’ll make it work. 

Arno doesn’t really say anything, but follows him anyway.

He sits down on Octavo’s bed, and he stares at the floor.

“Hey, Arno, what’s wrong?”

“I’m scared.” He says. 

Me too, little man. Me too, Octavo thinks, but he doesn’t say that. 

“I know. But it's going to be okay, right? You’re gonna be fine.” Octavo takes a knee in front of his brother, and moves the hair from his face. “You know you’re gonna be fine, right? Nobody’s letting a 12 year old go into the games.”

“But they will. You know they will.”

“They might, but I won’t, okay?”

“What do you mean you won’t?”

“It’s just not gonna happen, alright? One in 1,665.”

“That’s…a very low percentage.” Arno adds. “It’s..not that bad, right?”

“It could be worse.” Octavo tries not to let his voice shake. “But let’s get you dressed up, okay? The capitol doesn’t like to see us in our day-to-day outfits.”

“They want to dress us up like toys.” he says offhandedly, and Octavo tenses up. “Like we’re not people.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Octavo shuts the blinds. As if it’ll help.

“Why not? It’s not like I’m wrong.”

“You can’t talk about the capitol that way,” Octavo tries to change the subject. “At least we don’t have school today, right?”

“..don’t try to talk circles around me.” His tone is abnormally serious.

Octavo gulps, and he can feel his palms start to sweat. His brother cannot be talking like that. Not here, not ever, the Capitol has eyes all around.

“No, Arno, you just- You know the peacekeepers would give you a beating just for talking the way you do.” Octavo says. “I’m not saying I disagree.” A pause. “I’m saying you can’t talk like that.”

“Better than leaving a paper trail. You can’t let them track you.”

Octavo raises an eyebrow. “This is true. But they’ve got eyes everywhere, and you’re not a rebel, are you?” he says it jokingly, but his eyes say something else entirely. 

A rebel is a dangerous thing to be, especially so young. Part of him wants Arno to say yes, say there’s a chance to get out, and he knows something that Octavo doesn’t. But every other part of him screams no.

A rebel is not the job of a child.

Octavo grabs a dress shirt. “Let’s get you ready, shall we? We’ve been wasting plenty of time already.” He pauses. “Do you want to have a bath first?”

“I’m fine. Do I look greasy?” He asks.

Octavo looks at his brother’s hair. Well, it could use a wash, but they’d have to wait for the water to heat up, and then they have to wait for it to cool down a bit, and then they have to bathe him quickly, and water is usually spilt and it’s just a pain to do. And maybe the capitol will have some grace on a 12 year old. 

“You look fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Arno shrugs. “Okay. Can I have the black shirt? Please?”

“Sure. We’re going to match. You’ve got red buttons.” He motions to his own shirt, which is red with black buttons.

“Isn’t that just lovely.” Arno sneers sarcastically. Octavo ruffles his hair.

“Shut up! We look more put together.” He rolls his eyes. “Tuck your shirt in.” He says as Arno finishes buttoning his shirt. “It’s far too big on you.” Octavo laughs. Arno is adorable, though.

There’s talking outside. Peacekeepers are already in the square, and a few people sit there already.

“Hm. I suppose we’re getting close to that time.” Octavo grabs a comb, and brushes Arno’s hair. He fixes the boy’s shirt collar, and buttons his sleeves properly.

“There we go. Aren’t you handsome?” He smiles, before fixing his own hair.

“Octavo! Arno! Let’s go!” His mom shouts.

Octavo gives his brother his best confident smile.

“You ready?” He asks.

“Not in any sense of the word, no. But let’s do this anyway.” He shrugs.

Octavo heads down the stairs, and to the square, and he stands with his male peers. One of them will leave today.

Selfishly, Octavo prays to god that it is anyone but him. Two families will go home without their kids today. No work will be done. In a few days, the games will be broadcasted in the hob, and the old woman who’s name is escaping him will hand out ‘potions’ and Heph will be selling liquor at a discount price, because how can you charge people full price for an escape?

Grief is awful. And he watches it every year. He watches the moment people realize their kid isn’t coming back, and they’ll get a body to bury if they’re lucky. 

Octavo looks around. His brother is up ahead. So young. Far too young, any of them, but here they are. Hopefully, none of them are ever reaped. Hopefully no one’s reaped this year, maybe Districts one, or two wanted to give more tributes than needed–they usually won, anyways–and maybe twelve wouldn’t need to be reaped this year.

But that’s just a silly thought. That is but a dream.

He stands there for what feels like hours

Their victors are introduced again, and Octavo looks down.

Octavian staggers around the stage, grabs Harmonie, before falling flat on his face. He groans something about being doomed, and Octavo cringes.

That’s his genetics. Great. That’s one of twelve’s coaches. No wonder they haven’t won a game since.

Aria is quiet, and Harmonie whispers something to her, and she smiles. It seems so natural.  Too natural. Practiced. It is most definitely forced.

He doesn’t know who to look at. His shit-faced grandfather or into the dead eyes of Aria.

Harmonie starts up a spiel, there’s a video to remember why they have the hunger games, and Hyrule’s anthem plays. Octavo will stand tall, respect his country, die for his country.

Or at least that’s what he’ll tell people.

There’s a loud, booming reminder.

You are never stronger than fate itself.

“No peacekeepers, no peace.” Octavo mutters under his breath. It’s short and sarcastic, and one of his classmates gives him a raised eyebrow for it. 

He just smiles, and the boy smiles back.

“Fate sees all,” the boy mouths back.

“The ‘free’ land of hyrule.” He says.

The boy laughs, and Harmonie seems to stare directly at him. Octavo gulps, and the boy stops laughing. Harmonie clears her throat.

“Good. Now, for this year’s tributes,” She says with a smile. “Ladies first.”

Octavo can breathe for a moment. His family cannot be reaped here. Whatever name she says will not affect him. Is it wrong that he finds some peace in that?

She opens the slip–god, can she make this any slower–and leans into the mic as she reads out loud;

“Our female tribute,” She says, slowly, and she’s just dragging it out at this point. “Is…”

He can feel the crowd tense. Holding their breath. Sighs of relief will follow. So will grief.

“Cadence Berceuse.” She finally says.

Octavo looks through the crowd until he sees her, all dolled up for the capitol, which is weird, and not right at all.

He knows right about now, the cameras are zooming in on Aria. Her smile drops but she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t panic.

He’s pushed to the side as Eli fights to get to the front of the crowd.

“No, no no no, no, YOU CAN’T TAKE HER!” He screams. He’s never seen Eli like this. Calm, collected baker. Teary eyed and panicking. He tries to push through the peacekeepers, but it’s no use. He reaches for something, and Octavo panics. 

Those are wires, and there’s a pin, and it’s most certainly some type of bomb, and Octavo doesn’t have time to think about it. He’s going to get himself–and Cadence, at that–killed.

He runs and tackles Eli to the ground. Yes, he’s going to wreck his good clothes. Yes, his mom is going to chew him out for it when he goes home, and yes, he’s going to look like some kind of capitol bootlicker. But at least Eli won’t be dead.

“What are you doing?!” Eli shouts “Get off of me!”

“Don’t set that off. Do you want to kill Cadence now or would you like to give her a chance to survive?” Octavo matches his tone quickly. “They’ll just cut the cameras.” he mutters, and he hopes it’s enough to at least make Eli hesitate on pulling that pin. 

Don’t blow this for us, Eli. He thinks, and almost smiles at his own humour.

Eli huffs, and holds up his hands. “...Fine. For your sake, kid.”

“I’m sorry.” Octavo says. “I’m sorry.” He repeats. Was this the right choice? Maybe someone would’ve saw. Maybe it could’ve started something. Octavo can’t let his fear stop change. 

“It’s…fine.” Eli stands up, and watches as Cadence takes the stage. The crowd is so quiet. 

Everyone understands what this means for Eli.

Aria won’t look at Cadence directly, and he can see the camera crew trying to focus on her. Don’t give them a reaction. It was the one thing he was taught. Don’t give them a show.

Octavo walks back to where he was standing. He’s dirty and his hair is all messed up now. But twelve looks like less of a train wreck because of it. 

Octavo attempts to dust off his shirt. Eli comes back to stand next to him. Eli takes his hat off, and holds it to his chest. 

And he whistles. It’s the only noise that sounds in the crowd.

Harmonie shuts him down, but Cadence’s eyes light up with a sparkle of recognition.

“Now moving onto our male tribute,” She takes a name from a different bowl. Now this is when Octavo tenses.

1 in 1665. Or in Octavo’s case, he’s at about 8 in 1665. He does not like those odds.

Harmonie takes a breath.

“Arno Lantos.”

Chapter Text

Octavo freezes. No. That can’t be right.

He looks straight ahead, and Arno’s classmates move. But Arno doesn’t. 

“Arno Lantos?” Harmonie repeats into the mic. She seems to notice Arno. He does stand out, doesn’t he. “Yeah, come on, let’s go.” 

Octavo can’t move. His breath hitches, and he expects to wake up right about now.

But he doesn’t. And they’re trying to force Arno to the stage.

“Octavo!” he wails, and struggles against peacekeepers. They simply pick him up. 

Eli looks at Octavo, and shoves him forward. Once his feet start moving they don’t stop.

“Arno!” He shouts, and he’s held back by other peacekeepers.  They’re separating them on purpose, and he knows it’s for a scene, to highlight his desperation–it’s working, he’ll give them that–but it’s cruel. It’s so very cruel.

His brother is getting teary eyed, and his mom just seems…so quiet. Accepting. So what? She’s giving up? That’s his brother . 

He said his brother wouldn’t end up in the games. He swore on it. This cannot happen.

“I volunteer!” He screams, pushing a peacekeeper to the side. He raises his hands, and stands on his tiptoes. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Everyone pauses. Harmonie smiles, and continues in her falsely sweet voice.

“I hear we have a volunteer?” She laughs, and peacekeepers unhand Arno. Octavo takes him in his arms quickly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Octavo whispers. “You’re safe. You’re going to go home, okay?”

“Please come home,” Arno mumbles, and as much as the kid sounds like the weight of the world has been lifted off of him, he sounds as if there’s a new weight being placed as Octavo holds him. “Please.”

“I’ll come home.” He says, and although he’s not sure he’s not lying, he’ll promise anyway. “I swear.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Octavo smiles, wrapping his pinky around his brother’s before he’s forced up onto the stage himself.

“What’s your name, then?” Harmonie asks, and leans the mic towards him, but won’t let him touch it.

“Octavo Lantos.” he leans forward a bit to speak into the mic.

“Octavo Lantos!” She repeats. “Aww, well I’ll bet that was your little brother, huh?” she smiles.

Octavo nods. “Yes.” He tries not to let his voice shake.

“Well, aren’t you a sweetheart?” She snickers. It’s demeaning, honestly, and Octavo doesn’t like her very much.

He looks at the crowd. His home. He knows all of them. He looks at his mom, who’s holding his brother like she may disappear if she lets go. He looks at Eli. Oh, Eli, you bomb-slinging bastard. He makes a motion to his pocket, and Octavo shakes his head. It’s not worth it. Not right now, anyway.

Octavo looks at his other tribute. Cadence Berceuse. He’d consider them a little more than acquainted but not exactly friends.

Even if one of them makes it home, one of them has to die, and he’s pretty sure Cadence isn’t above killing him. She looks about ready to kill right now. 

He doesn’t blame her. That dress looks uncomfortable. It’s pretty, he has to admit. It’d be a good look if she liked it. But she doesn’t, and the whole thing looks forced and fake and…yeah, he misses the sweater she’d usually wear. This isn’t Cadence at all.

“Alright, alright, off with you, let’s go.” She doesn’t give the crowd a moment to look at them. 

Octavo grabs onto Cadence when they’re shoved along, and he’s not sure if it’s just instinct, or if he wants to protect her, or if he just needs something to ground him.

At the very least, one of them will not come home.

He’s not sure what he hopes for more. For Eli to keep Cadence or to reunite with his brother.

Sorry, Cadence, but Arno wins on that one.

They’re moved to a room behind the stage, and Octavo can feel his knees buckle when he walks.

Cadence keeps him upright. And he’s not sure if it’s just a common courtesy thing, or if she cares. 

“Let’s keep it moving, Octavo.” She says, and he keeps pace with her.

“Sorry,” He says. “I..”

“I know. We get five minutes, okay? You’ll see your brother again.” Cadence says quietly.

“Y-yeah. I know. I’ll be fine.” He clears his throat.

He’s not entirely sure what to expect. But they let his family through those doors and he doesn’t waste a second.

He holds his brother in his arms. He tries not to cry. It doesn’t work, he feels his nose start to sting and his throat feels rough as he sobs onto his brother.

“It’s okay, It’s okay, I’ll be okay,” He says, but it’s empty promises and empty words. “It’s okay, It’s okay, it’s okay!” he gets a little firmer with his tone, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything.

“Octavo, you can’t…” His brother is panicking, and his breath hitches. Arno wipes his eyes, and refrains from tearing up. He’s more stoic about this than Octavo. “Don’t go..”

“Hey, don’t cry, you’re okay. You’ll watch my games, and you’re gonna watch your brother win, alright?”

Octavo’s mom is very quiet, and he doesn’t like it. 

“Hey, Ma..?” He whispers. “It’ll be alright, yeah?” He mumbles.

“What am I supposed to do?” She says. “You all keep dying, and-” Octavo thinks about his father. She'd barely get out of bed some days, and Octavo would head down to the bakery, because it was familiar, and Eli was always a friendly face.

“Hey, kid, you alright? How’s your mom?” He asked, and in hindsight, it must’ve been so hard, to lose everything just a few years before and still have empathy for the fatherless kid wandering in without money. 

But he supposed it’s not like Eli was particularly tight on money, he had Aria, after all.

“She’s…alright,” He’d lie, and he knew Eli never believed him, but a lot of socialization was acting, if anything. Eli didn’t pry. He was only a kid. “Tired, I think.” Again, another lie. Four years old and walking around without his mom. Kind of sad if you want to look at it that way.

“Octavo, what’s wrong?” Arno snaps him back to where he is.

He knows he’s glaring at his mom–it feels right, honestly–but he can’t stop it.

“Nothing. I’m just…thinking, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

His mom looks ahead at him, and seems to be staring through him.

If she says something about his father, he’s going to snap. It’s not the time, not the place, and he’s his own person, anyway. No matter how similar his eyes are or how much he looks like him in his dress shirts.

“Ma.” He speaks quietly, and steps up to hug her, but it’s a little too rigid. “You take care of Arno.”

“Of course I will, I’m going to-”

“No.” He says, rather firmly, which feels like an inappropriate tone to use with his mom. “You’re going to take care of him, no matter what happens to me. I don’t care if you’re grieving. He’s a kid. And you’re going to take care of him.” He’s a bit harsh, but he doesn’t stop. “I love you. And I love Arno. And I know you love Arno, too. Don’t let this ruin his childhood. I don’t want him to…” Octavo pauses, and finally sobs again.

His mom hugs him, and he’s not sure if he can get everything out in the little time he has left.

He’s got only five minutes. To tell his mother everything. To tell his brother life advice, how to deal with people, what to focus on, things an older brother would know. 

He doesn’t have enough time for it. He’s spent enough time staring at the wall.

“I love you, Ma.” He sobs. He collapses in his mom’s arm, and for a moment, he can remember running to her after school, and having something exciting to tell her after a long day of kindergarten. He remembers her making breakfast, and dressing him up when he was little for ‘big days’–the games, but he didn’t know that yet–and she told him how handsome he was, and god, he really felt like he was.

“I love you too, Octavo.”

And then he takes a moment to hold his brother. It’s difficult, and hearing Arno sobs makes everything hurt, but he holds his brother. He remembers holding him for the first time. A little over 12 years ago now, but he still has the same face.

“I love you, Octavo.” He says in that quiet little voice–so unsure, uncertain–but that’s a voice that will go home. 

Oddly, Octavo is a little less scared because of it. He’s staring down the path of his death and it doesn’t make him freeze up anymore. His brother will go home. His brother will live.

“Alright, time’s up, let’s get going.” Harmonie says, not paying much attention to Arno as she moves him away.

Octavo realizes he never spoke. “Wait, wait wait-” He pushes past Harmonie to hold his brother again. Harmonie makes a noise of visible disgust, like he’s some kind of animal, but he tries not to let it get to his head.

“I love you, Arno. I love you so much, that’s all I want you to remember. No matter what you’re loved. I love you. Don’t forget that.” Octavo speaks quickly, and kisses his brother’s forehead before Harmonie gets him to move again.

He’s placed onto an unfamiliar train, and he sits down. Cadence is sitting next to him, and she looks about as defeated as he feels.

He sees the tear streaks down her face. Her eyes are still red and puffy, and Octavo realizes his are, too. He wipes his eyes.

“Your mentors will be here shortly.” Harmonie says offhandedly.

Cadence chuckles. “Looking forward to the family reunion, Octavo?” Her tone has a bit of friendliness to it, and Octavo’s not opposed.

Octavo laughs dryly, looking at the glasses on the table. He expects at least one to be filled with liquor soon.

“I can’t wait.”