Page 14 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

The last box sits on the floor near the door, smaller than the others but heavier with meaning. My journal, photos, ticket stubs from concerts we went to together, silly notes passed in class, pressed daisies - every reminder of the family I've been pushing away. My hands tremble as I pick it up.

"I'll take this one," I say quickly, cutting through the quiet hum of the room. Rhett glances at me, brow furrowed. "It's small. I've got it."

He hesitates but doesn't argue. I slip out before anyone can question it, clutching the box like a shield as I hurry down the stairs. The stairwell's sour smell hardly registers - I just need to get this to the truck before they can ask what's in it.

I push through the door into the bright morning sun, blinking as my eyes adjust. Relief floods through me at the sight of Rhett's truck waiting in the lot.

"Well, well." The voice stops me cold. "Moving out so soon?"

Phil emerges from the shadow of the building, cigarette dangling from his fingers. The mist coils around my ankles, sharp and cold like a warning. His eyes rake over me in that way that makes my skin crawl, that makes me feel small and dirty and trapped.

"Don't," I warn, but my voice shakes.

He grins, flicking ash onto the pavement. The ember glows too bright in the morning sun. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Daddy issues making you run again?"

The words hit hard, making me flinch. I try to step around him, but he moves faster than he should for someone who reeks of alcohol at ten in the morning.

His arm shoots out, catching me around the waist and spinning me until my back hits the rough brick wall.

The box tumbles from my hands, contents spilling across the concrete.

"Get off me." I push against his chest, but he just presses closer.

"Your daddy said you'd play hard to get.

" Phil's breath is hot against my face, making my stomach roll.

"But he promised me you'd come around. Said it runs in the family - how you pretend you don't want it.

" His fingers dig into my hip as he leans closer.

"That's why I gave you such a good deal on rent.

Your old man assured me you'd be a sure thing, just like you were for him. "

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. As Phil grinds against me, I feel the sickening evidence of his arousal pressing into my hip. My skin crawls, revulsion coursing through every cell of my body. I want to scrub myself raw, to burn away the memory of his touch.

"Let her go." Rhett's voice cuts through the air like a thunderclap.

Phil's head snaps up, but he doesn't release me. If anything, his grip tightens. "Well, if it isn't the cavalry." His lips curl into an ugly smile. "We're just having a friendly chat about family matters. Right, Bree?"

The way he says 'family' makes acid burn in my chest. Through the haze of panic, I see them - the guys at the base of the stairs, but something's different. Wrong. The easy way they usually carry themselves is gone, replaced by something darker.

Gray's stillness is absolute, the kind that comes before an explosion. Jace's ever-present smile has vanished, leaving something sharp and dangerous in its wake. Theo's usual calm calculation has hardened into cold fury. And Rhett... Rhett looks ready to tear Phil apart with his bare hands.

But it's Wes who moves first.

One moment he's standing with the others, and the next he has Phil by the throat, ripping him away from me with a force I didn't know he possessed.

The mist surges with him, cold and sharp like winter's bite.

Phil stumbles, gasping, as Wes shoves him against the opposite wall.

Even the air feels different - charged with the kind of quiet violence that Wes usually keeps buried deep.

"You think we don't know who you are?" Wes's voice is barely recognizable, stripped of its usual quiet control. Each word drips with carefully contained rage. "What you are?"

"Get your hands off me," Phil snarls, trying to push back, but Wes doesn't budge.

"You touch her again," Wes says, his voice dropping to something that makes even me shiver, "and they won't find enough of you to identify."

"Wes." Theo's voice carries a warning, but his eyes are cold as he moves to gather my scattered belongings.

Phil laughs, but it's shaky. "What are you gonna do? Beat me up? That's assault, buddy."

"No." Gray steps forward, his movement deliberate as a hunter stalking prey. "Assault is what you just did to her. What you tried to do the other night. The police might be interested in hearing about that. Or maybe the housing authority should know about your habit of attacking tenants?"

Phil's face drains of color. "You can't prove anything."

"Wanna bet?" Jace's voice is stripped of its usual warmth. He holds up his phone, screen glowing. "Security camera right there, asshole. Got a nice clear shot of everything."

Wes's grip tightens, and for a second, I think he might actually do it - might actually hurt Phil. The air feels heavy, charged with violence barely contained.

"Wes." My voice comes out smaller than I mean it to. "Don't. Please."

Something in my tone reaches him. He releases Phil with a shove that sends him stumbling. "Get out of here," Wes growls. "If I ever see you near her again..."

He doesn't finish the threat. He doesn't need to.

Phil scrambles away, his bravado crumbling as he nearly trips over himself to get to his car. The screech of tires on pavement echoes through the lot as he peels out.

The silence that follows feels like glass about to shatter, broken only by my shallow breathing. My legs feel strange, disconnected, like they might give out. The brick wall scrapes against my back as I slide down it, barely registering the pain.

They heard. They know.

The thought circles in my head, over and over, as black spots dance at the edges of my vision. Years of careful walls, of keeping that part of my life locked away where it couldn't touch them, crumbling because of Phil's drunken taunts.

Someone moves toward me—Theo, I think, but everything's blurry. The world tilts sideways, sounds growing distant like I'm underwater. I'm vaguely aware of voices, of hands hovering near but not touching.

"Bree." Rhett's voice seems to come from far away. "Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."

I try, but my chest is too tight. The morning sun feels too bright, too harsh. My skin crawls where Phil touched me, phantom sensations that make my stomach heave.

"—going into shock," I hear Theo say, his voice clipped with barely contained rage. "We need to—"

"Don't touch her," Gray cuts in sharply. "Not yet."

He's right. The thought of hands on me, even theirs, makes panic claw up my throat. I press my palms flat against the rough concrete, trying to ground myself in the sensation.

The mist swirls at my feet, agitated and heavy. Through the fog in my mind, I notice Jace watching it, his face hard with understanding. They can see it too. One more secret exposed.

"Home," Wes says quietly, but his voice still carries that dangerous edge. "We need to get her home."

Home. The word echoes strangely in my head. I want to laugh, or maybe scream. Instead, I just sit there, staring at the scattered contents of my box—my secrets spread out on the pavement like broken glass.

They know. They know. They know.

The thought circles like a vulture as black spots dance at the edges of my vision. Years of careful walls crumbling because of Phil's drunken taunts. The mist thickens around me, trying to hold me up as my legs give out, but it's too late. Everything feels distant, underwater, wrong.

The morning sun fractures into pieces, too bright, too harsh. My skin burns where Phil touched me, phantom sensations that make bile rise in my throat. The concrete scrapes my palms as I try to ground myself, but even that feels far away.

The last thing I see is the mist, curling protectively around my scattered secrets on the pavement, before darkness claims me completely.