There had been a point during the trial when Arty had stopped wanting to know the identity of Atsuko’s killer.
She’d been trying just like the rest of them, working to save them from the obvious threat, doing her best. But when Fenna put her hand on her shoulder and whispered an apology, everything changed. For the second time in her life, Arty had discovered an answer only to realize too late that she shouldn’t have been trying to find it.
There was a lot to unpack from that moment, as well as the ones that followed. Mortification—she’d trusted Fenna; she’d defended her baselessly, because of what? Because she didn’t seem like a killer? But that had been wrong. Fenna had been a killer, concealing it all along, and maybe not just as bad but pretty close to it was the fact that in defending her Arty, in front of everyone, had demonstrated a refusal to see the truth for what it was. Pretty much everyone else had been able to see it, but not her. How naïve, how childish she had been to think the best of someone again.
Fear—in the aftermath, everything had devolved into chaos. Insults were hurled, blows were exchanged, bodies were sprawled on the floor, and everyone was hateful. Arty knew her small voice could do nothing to stop it. All she could do was plant her feet on the seat of her chair and bring her knees to her chest, praying to herself that she wouldn’t be next, that somehow she would be spared by it all. She had been, at least physically. But she’d watched, and she’d listened, and she’d judged, and she was afraid. She was still afraid.
Hopelessness—as the trial came to a close, and Fenna gave her explanation and her goodbyes, Arty found herself agreeing with her more than anything else. Murder wasn’t right, no. But the assumption she went on—that Atsuko was going to kill someone—was well-founded in Arty’s eyes. Whatever else Atsuko may have been, she was a source of terror for Arty, and Fenna had been the only other one to recognize that. Arty was glad to have one less reason to worry about her safety. But in removing it, so much damage had been caused, including the brutal death of someone who’d been trying to help all of them. Fenna’s last words hung in the air around her like a proverbial stormcloud. 'There’s gotta be some other way.' Arty turned the words over in her head, but she couldn’t make herself believe them.
She’d tried to force herself to watch the execution, but when the flames reached Fenna, Arty had squeezed her eyes shut. You have to face this, she’d thought. How are you going to live if you can’t face it? Everyone else is facing it. But she couldn’t open them. She’d even tried to pretend she was somewhere else, and the screams were just a horror movie playing in the background.
Everything after that was a blur; Arty was shuffled out of this car and onto the next one with no attempt to protest. Maybe if she’d been more present, she could have gotten a car to herself, something she desperately wishes for once she sees who she’s seated with.
Haruka Yukimura "And Arty… oh, dear, are you alright? No one should ever have to see such things, and especially not so young.”
Haruka’s sympathy, however well-intentioned, is clearly unwanted in this moment if Arty’s cross look is any indication. “None of us should have to. But we did. And I’m fine.” As fine as anyone else is right now. …Except Jack.
Her cross look slides over to Abel, where it intensifies to a light glare. She doesn’t say anything to him.
