Page 11 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

Steam clouds the small bathroom, curling around the mirror and softening the harsh light overhead.

I let the hot water cascade over me, my muscles aching with relief as I lean against the cool tile wall.

The heat seeps into my skin, washing away the rain, the cold, and the lingering feeling of Phil's grip on my arm.

I stayed.

The thought circles in my mind, startling every time it surfaces. I stayed. I didn't bolt.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of the water hitting the tub. It's safer to think about that than the fact that I'm standing here in their house, using their bathroom, doing exactly what I promised myself I wouldn't do.

A lump forms in my throat, and I bite it back. It's not like they're mad I stayed. If anything, they wanted me to. Wes and Gray practically said as much.

Wes's calm assurance echoes in my mind. "We're already here, whether you want us to be or not."

My chest tightens, the weight of his words pressing against my ribs. They're here. Always have been. And I've been pushing them away for years, convinced it was better for everyone.

I run my hands over my arms, scrubbing harder than necessary, as if I can scrub away the thoughts with the grime. Just like my scars.

The mirror is completely fogged over when I step out, and for a moment, I stare at my hazy reflection. The girl in the mirror looks softer, less jagged around the edges. Maybe it's just the steam, but she doesn't look like she's been running for as long as I feel like I have.

I pull the towel tighter around me and turn away before I can think too much about it.

Stepping out of the bathroom, dressed again in Rhett's borrowed clothes, I hesitate in the hallway.

The sound of voices drifts up from downstairs—lighthearted, full of life.

My stomach does a slow flip, equal parts longing and dread.

Pots clink, and the faint smell of coffee and something sweet wafts through the air.

For a second, I consider retreating back to the room. Curling up under the blanket Theo left me and pretending none of this ever happened. But the warmth of their voices draws me forward, tugging at something fragile inside me.

I pad down the stairs, one hand trailing along the wooden railing. The closer I get to the kitchen, the more distinct the voices become.

"Why the hell are you using every pan we own?" Gray's tone is sharp, but there's no real heat behind it.

"Because I'm making a masterpiece," Jace says, the grin evident in his voice. "Something the lady of the hour deserves."

"It's pancakes, Jace," Rhett deadpans. "Not an art exhibit."

"Pancakes," Theo corrects. "Waffles. Bacon. Eggs. Fruit. You're basically making a buffet."

Jace snorts. "I aim to impress."

"Where did all this come from anyway? I don't think I've ever seen so much food in this house at once." Gray says, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"I went shopping." Jace responds like it's obvious.

I stop just outside the kitchen, wrapping my arms around me, listening to their banter. It's easy, natural, like they've been doing this forever. And they probably have.

Then Jace's voice cuts through the noise. "I swear I heard her upstairs. Think she'll join us, or do I need to deliver the pancakes directly to her room?"

"Leave her alone," Rhett says, though his tone is softer than usual. "She'll come down when she's ready."

I square my shoulders, but I can't help thinking about the loose sleeves of Rhett's shirt falling just above my elbows.

They're going to see so much of my skin they haven't seen since we were kids, so much of my past. I try hard to shake away the thought, but the weight of it lingers, pressing down on me as I step closer to the kitchen.

My heart pounds with every step, my bare feet almost silent against the floor. I stop just short of the doorway, clutching my arms to my chest. Their voices fill the space, warm and easy, and I let myself hover in the shadow of the hall, listening.

"Almost done," Jace says, his voice rising cheerfully above the clatter of pans. "Prepare to be amazed, gentlemen."

Gray snorts. "That's a big promise for pancakes."

"They're not just pancakes," Jace says, feigning offense. "These are works of art. Made with love. And maybe some stress."

Theo chuckles softly. "More like showing off."

"Call it what you want," Jace fires back. "But no one's going hungry today, thanks to me."

Rhett's voice cuts in, calmer but teasing. "We'll see if the pancakes make it to the table before you burn them."

For a moment, I just stand there, soaking it in. It feels wrong to step into it, like I'll disturb the balance of something perfect.

Then Jace speaks again, his voice exaggeratedly loud. "Seriously, though. She's gotta be starving after last night. Should I take her some bacon or—"

"Jace," Rhett says, sharper this time. "I'm sure she'll be down."

I take a deep breath and step into the doorway before they can notice me lingering.

The room falls quiet for a fraction of a second as their eyes shift to me, and I feel the weight of their attention like a physical thing.

I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest, to hide the parts of me I've never wanted them to see.

"There she is," Jace says, breaking the moment with a wide grin. He's standing at the stove, a spatula in one hand and a pan in the other, his easy confidence barely hiding the flicker of relief in his eyes.

Theo leans against the counter, holding his coffee mug with both hands the way he always does when he's worried, his usual calm smile softening as his gaze meets mine.

Gray, perched against the far wall, straightens slightly, his sharp eyes flicking over me while his shoulders stay tense despite his casual stance.

Rhett, still sitting at the table, glances up, his expression steady but softening just enough to be noticeable.

"You made it just in time," Jace says, flipping the pancake in the pan with a flourish. "Feast of champions, right here."

I pull the shirt's hem lower, suddenly too aware of my bare legs and the scars they can probably see now. My throat tightens, but I force myself to speak. "You didn't have to do all this."

"Didn't have to," Jace says, grinning. "But I wanted to. That's what friends do, Bree."

The words hit me like a physical blow, gentle but undeniable. Because that's what they've always done, isn't it? Been there, steady and unwavering, while I've spent years convincing myself I didn't deserve it.