Page 15 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

The drive home is too quiet. Behind me, Theo cradles Bree's head in his lap, his fingers hovering near but never touching her hair - always careful, always holding back.

Gray sits rigid in the passenger seat, his jaw working silently, teeth grinding loud enough I can hear it over the engine.

The rest follow in Wes's car, steady in my rearview mirror, staying close like they're afraid we'll all disappear if they let us out of their sight.

My hands clench around the steering wheel until my knuckles go white, focusing on the smooth leather under my palms instead of the rage burning through my chest. The image of Phil's hands on her keeps flashing through my mind, mixing with his words about her father until I taste copper from biting my cheek too hard.

A dull throb starts behind my eyes - the kind of headache that comes from holding yourself together when everything in you wants to break something. Someone.

But I can't lose it. Not now. Not when she needs us steady. Not when she's finally letting us help, even if it took her collapsing for it to happen.

"She's still out," Theo murmurs from the back seat, his voice tight with the kind of control that comes from years of practice. "But her breathing's even."

Gray doesn't turn around, but his shoulders tense at Theo's words. "The mist," he says, voice low and careful. "You all saw it?"

Nobody answers. We don't need to. We'd all watched it swirl around her feet, agitated and heavy, like it was responding to her distress. Just like we used to see when we were kids, though we never talked about it then either.

The house looms ahead, dark windows reflecting the mid-morning sun. I pull into the driveway, and Wes parks behind us, blocking us in. It's what we do now—layers of protection, keeping her surrounded.

"I've got her," I say as I kill the engine, but Theo's already shaking his head.

"Your hands are shaking," he says quietly. "Let me."

He's right. I hadn't even noticed, but my fingers tremble as I release the steering wheel. Jace appears at Theo's door, opening it with uncharacteristic silence. The mist follows as Theo lifts Bree, careful and slow, like she might shatter if he moves too fast.

She looks small in his arms, drowning in my borrowed hoodie, her face pale against the dark fabric. Something in my chest twists at the sight. How many times had she been hurt while we weren't looking? How many secrets has she been carrying alone?

"Inside," Wes says from behind us, his voice carrying that dangerous edge it gets when he's holding himself together by a thread. "Before the neighbors start asking questions."

We move as a unit, falling into an unconscious formation we've perfected over years.

Theo carries her, his training evident in every careful step.

Wes and Gray flank him like shadows, their movements synchronized without a word passing between them.

Jace takes point, already pulling out his keys, while I bring up the rear, watching everything, everyone.

We don't need to discuss it - each of us knowing our role, our place in this protective circle we've built around her.

The morning sun streams through the windows as we file inside, catching dust motes in its beam, making everything feel too bright, too normal for what just happened. My throat tightens at how small she looks in Theo's arms, drowning in my borrowed hoodie, her face too pale against the dark fabric.

"Should we take her to..." Jace starts, but Theo cuts him off with a quiet "Guest room.

" Gray's already heading up the stairs, moving ahead to clear the path, to check every corner like he's done since we were kids and he first heard the sounds through their shared wall.

Like he can protect her from everything if he just moves fast enough, plans well enough.

I catch Jace's wrist as he moves to follow. "The box," I murmur. "Her things—"

"On it." He's gone before I can finish, slipping back outside to gather what Phil scattered. What she tried so hard to keep private.

The silence feels heavy as we climb the stairs, broken only by the soft thud of careful footsteps. The mist follows, curling around our ankles, drifting up the bannister like water flowing uphill. None of us mention it. Not yet.

Theo lays her on the bed with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. She looks younger like this, vulnerable in a way she never lets us see when she's awake. Her dark hair spills across the pillow, and I notice the faint tremor in Theo's hands as he steps back.

"She's freezing," he says, voice rough.

Wes moves to the closet, pulling out extra blankets—the ones we bought because Bree's always cold, even if she never admitted it and had never been here to use them. Gray takes them wordlessly, draping them over her with precise movements, tucking the edges like he's building a fortress around her.

"Someone should stay," Wes says, though we all know none of us are leaving. "In case she—"

"Wakes up scared," Gray finishes. "Disoriented."

"Or tries to run," Theo adds quietly.

The truth of it sits heavy between us. Because that's what Bree does—she runs. Has been running for years, we just didn't know from what. Until now.

Jace appears in the doorway, the battered box cradled in his arms like something precious. His face is harder than I've ever seen it, all his usual humor stripped away. "Photos were scattered," he says, voice tight. "And her journal—"

"Don't," I cut him off. The idea of reading her private thoughts, even accidentally, feels like another violation. "Just... put it somewhere safe."

He nods, setting the box carefully on the dresser. We all pretend not to notice how his hands shake, how he has to grip the edge of the dresser for a moment to steady himself.

"Her father," Gray says suddenly, the words sharp enough to make us all flinch. "All this time. Her father—"

"Not now," Theo interrupts, but his voice lacks its usual calm. "We can't... not here. Not with her..."

He doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to. We can all see the mist thickening around Bree, responding to something even in her unconscious state.

"Theo's right," Wes says, his quiet voice carrying an edge of steel. "We deal with that later. Right now—"

"We protect her," I finish. It's what we've always done, even if we failed more times than I can count.

The silence stretches, broken only by Bree's soft breathing. I sink into the armchair by the window, unable to tear my eyes away from her face. She looks peaceful now, but I can still see the moment she collapsed, the way her legs gave out as the truth of Phil's words hit her.

"We should have known." Gray's voice is barely audible, but it carries enough self-loathing to fill the room.

He stands by the dresser, fingers tracing the edge of her journal box without touching it.

"All those years, living right next door.

I heard—" His voice catches. "I heard things. Through the wall. But I never..."

"We all missed it," Theo says, but the words sound hollow. He sits on the floor, back against the wall, looking more undone than I've ever seen him. "Or maybe we didn't want to see it. Because seeing it meant—"

"Admitting we couldn't stop it," Wes finishes. He hasn't moved from his spot near the door, like he's standing guard. The mist swirls around his feet, and for a moment, I swear it takes the shape of something protective, something fierce.

Jace paces near the foot of the bed, that restless energy of his turned sharp and dangerous. "Phil said her father promised him—" He cuts himself off, hands clenching into fists. "They were talking. Recently. About her."

The implications hit like a physical blow. Her father isn't just some ghost from her past. He's still out there, still trying to control her, still—

"We find him." Gray's voice has gone cold, calculated. "We find both of them."

"And do what?" Theo asks, though there's something in his tone that suggests he already has ideas. Dark ones.

"Whatever we have to," Wes says simply.

I watch the mist curl higher around the bed, like it's responding to our anger, our need to protect her.

"First," I say, forcing my voice steady, "we make sure she's safe.

Really safe." I look at each of them in turn.

"No more letting her push us away. No more respecting boundaries that are killing her. "

"She'll fight it," Jace says, finally stopping his pacing. "You know she will."

"Let her," Gray says, and there's something fierce in his voice. "She can hate us for keeping her safe. That's better than—" He swallows hard. "Better than the alternative."

Movement on the bed makes us all freeze. Bree shifts slightly, a small sound escaping her that might be pain or fear. The mist thickens instantly, and I notice how we all lean forward, instinctively ready to move.

But she settles again, fingers clutching the blanket Gray tucked around her. Even unconscious, she's trying to hold herself together.

"We need a plan," Theo says quietly, his analytical mind already working. "For when she wakes up. For after."

"She stays here," I say firmly. "Non-negotiable."

"Agreed," Wes nods. "But that's just the start."

"Her apartment," Gray adds. "We need to clear it out. Today. Make sure Phil can't—" His jaw clenches. "Can't use anything against her."

"I'll handle the lease, like I said." Jace offers. "And maybe have a word with the housing authority about our friend Phil." His smile is sharp enough to cut. "I'm sure they'd be interested in his business practices."

"Carefully," Theo warns. "We can't risk him running to her father if we spook him too badly."

The thought sends a chill down my spine. Her father. The monster who lived next door to us for years. Who hurt her while we played video games and complained about homework. Who's still hurting her, even now.

"One thing at a time," I say, even though every cell in my body screams for immediate action. For violence. "Right now, we focus on her. On making sure she knows..."

"That she's not alone," Wes finishes. "Not anymore."

The mist shifts again, almost like it's agreeing. Like it's been waiting for us to finally understand, to finally see what's been right in front of us all along.

"We should talk about that too," Theo says carefully, his eyes tracking the mist's movement. "About what we saw. What we've always seen but never discussed."

The mist coils thicker around Bree's unconscious form, almost like it's listening.

Like it knows we're finally acknowledging what we've spent years pretending not to notice.

A sound escapes her - small, wounded - and the temperature in the room seems to drop as the mist responds instantly, wrapping around her like a shield.

The protective surge isn't just from the mist. I catch Gray's hand twitching toward her, see Wes shift his weight like he's ready to move, notice how Jace's restless energy stills completely.

We're all connected to her by threads we can't explain, drawn to protect her in ways that go deeper than friendship or even love.

"Later," I say, watching how the mist moves, how it mirrors our need to keep her safe even now. "Everything else can wait. Right now, we just..." The words catch in my throat, thick with everything I can't express.

"We stay," Gray finishes simply, his voice carrying the weight of a vow.

So we do. Because it's all we can do. All we've ever done, even when we didn't understand why she pulled at us like gravity. Even when we failed her.

Not again. Never again.