Page 10 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

Darkness presses in on all sides, suffocating and endless. The only sound is my heartbeat, loud and frantic, echoing in my ears like a drum. Then, faintly, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Bree.”

I freeze, every muscle locking up as the voice grows louder, closer.

“You’re such a lucky girl, Bree. Daddy needs you.”

No.

"Show daddy what you can do, Princess.”

I want to scream, to fight, to run. But my body betrays me, frozen in terror as his weight settles onto the mattress. His hands are rough, calloused, uncaring as they paw at me. There's no tenderness, no attempt to make it anything but an act of selfish taking.

The pain is sharp, invasive. I bite my lip until I taste blood, desperate to stay silent. To make a sound is to make it real, to acknowledge that this is happening again.

He grunts, his breath hot and sour against my neck. I retreat deep inside myself, imagining I'm anywhere but here. When it's over, he leaves without a word, as if I'm nothing more than a convenient object to be used and discarded.

I curl into myself, shame and revulsion coursing through me. This is what love looks like, I think bitterly. This is all I'm good for.

The memory fades, but the visceral feeling of violation lingers. I jolt awake, my chest heaving and my body trembling. The room around me is quiet, the soft gray light of dawn filtering through the curtains. For a moment, I forget where I am.

Then it all comes rushing back. The hospital. The rain. Phil. Rhett.

I sit up slowly, my heart still hammering against my ribs.

Sweat makes my borrowed clothes cling to my skin as I try to orient myself.

The room swims into focus—cozy, lived-in, with mismatched furniture and a faint smell of pine and old books.

Theo’s blanket is draped over the foot of the bed, and there’s a pile of neatly folded clothes on the chair near the door—probably Rhett’s, judging by the size.

My stomach twists. I shouldn’t be here.

The ghost of the nightmare still clings to me, its shadow stretching into the corners of my mind. Phil's leering face from last night superimposes itself over my father's, a grotesque overlap of different men and the same entitled cruelty.

My skin crawls, and I have the overwhelming urge to scrub myself raw. But no amount of soap can wash away the stain of these memories, the way they’ve twisted my perception of intimacy and trust.

I slide out of bed, wincing as my bare feet touch the cool floor. The soreness in my arm from Phil’s grip pulls me back into the present. I glance at the neatly folded clothes again, the quiet thought that Rhett’s trying to make me feel at home flickering and fading as quickly as it came.

I shouldn’t stay.

They don’t need me. They don’t need this.

I don’t belong here.

The thought settles like a weight in my chest as I grab the clothes and change quickly, pulling the soft t-shirt over my head. It smells like cedar and something clean, and for a second, it feels like a hug I don’t deserve. I push the thought away.

The house is quiet as I creep down the stairs, each creak of the wood making me wince. My breath catches as I reach the living room. The front door looms ahead of me, like a lifeline.

Almost there.

I reach for the doorknob, but a voice cuts through the stillness, low and steady. “You weren’t planning on saying goodbye, were you?”

I freeze, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Slowly, I turn, my heart sinking when I see Wes sitting in the armchair near the window. His dark eyes are sharp but calm, his posture relaxed like he’s been waiting for this.

“Wes,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s early,” he says simply. “Where are you going?”

“I…” My throat feels tight. “I need to go. I shouldn’t have stayed.”

His gaze doesn’t waver, and the silence stretches, heavy and expectant. “Why not?”

“Because…” The words stick, and I swallow hard. “Because I don’t belong here. You guys don’t need this—don’t need me.”

Wes stands slowly, his movements unhurried but deliberate, and steps closer. “Is that what you think? That you’re a burden?”

I look away, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. “It’s not what I think. It’s what I know.”

His sigh is quiet, almost imperceptible, but the weight of it presses against me. “Bree, we’ve been friends our whole lives. You know us. Do you really think we’d let you go through this alone?”

I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. “I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”

“You’re not dragging us into anything,” he says firmly. “We’re already here. Whether you want us to be or not.”

“He’s right.”

The voice cuts through the stillness, making me jump. I spin around to see Gray standing in the hallway, his green eyes sharp and unreadable. He leans casually against the doorframe, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at me.

“You’re not dragging us into anything,” Gray continues, stepping closer. “And you’re not doing anyone any favors by pretending we don’t care.”

I take a step back, the strap of my bag slipping slightly from my shoulder. “I’m not pretending—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupts, his tone unwavering. “You’ve been doing it for years. And you’re damn good at it. But you don’t get to shut us out anymore, Bree. Not after last night.”

The words hit harder than I expect, knocking the air out of my lungs. “You don’t understand,” I whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like—”

“Then tell us.” Gray’s voice softens, but the intensity in his gaze doesn’t waver. “Help us understand. Let us in.”

“Gray,” Wes says, his tone a quiet warning.

But Gray doesn’t back down. “She needs to hear this.”

I stare at him, my chest tightening. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Gray says, taking another step forward. “We’re not going anywhere, Bree. No matter how hard you try to push us away, we’re still here.”

The weight of his words press down on me, the truth of them both comforting and terrifying. I feel the tears welling up, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall.

“I should go,” I murmur, but even I can hear how hollow the words sound.

“No,” Wes says gently but firmly, stepping beside Gray. “You should stay.”

The two of them stand there, a united front against my instinct to run. My legs feel heavy, weighted by something that feels like exhaustion but might be surrender.