Page 16 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

Awareness comes in fragments. The softness beneath me isn't my lumpy couch. The blankets are too heavy, too warm. Even through closed eyelids, the light feels wrong—softer somehow, filtered through curtains I don't own.

Then memory crashes back. Phil. The box. His words about my father.

They know.

My chest constricts as panic claws up my throat. They know everything. Every secret I've kept locked away, every wall I've built—gone. Shattered like the careful lies I've been telling for years.

I force my eyes open, then immediately wish I hadn't. The room spins slightly, but I recognize it—the guest room at their house. The one I slept in last night, with its soft gray walls. The one that was supposed to be mine, but I push that thought away.

The mist hovers at the edges of my vision, thicker than usual. Almost... protective? I blink hard, trying to clear it away before anyone notices.

A soft exhale draws my attention to the armchair by the window. Rhett sits there, his head tipped back, eyes closed. But even in sleep, his jaw is clenched tight. One hand rests on the chair arm, fingers curled like he's ready to move at any moment.

Gray leans against the wall near the dresser, arms crossed, watching me with those sharp eyes that see too much. My battered box sits on the dresser behind him—the one that held every memory I tried to keep safe. The one Phil scattered across the concrete like worthless trash.

My journal. Oh god, my journal.

"We didn't read it," Gray says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. "We just... gathered everything up. Put it somewhere safe."

I try to sit up, but my arms shake too much to support my weight. Before I can try again, Theo appears at my side, his movements careful and measured.

"Easy," he murmurs. "You've been out for a while."

The door opens, and Wes slips in like a shadow, followed by Jace. They move with an unfamiliar tension, all of Jace's usual lightness gone, Wes's quiet energy turned sharp.

Five pairs of eyes watch me, heavy with things I'm not ready to face. With knowledge I never wanted them to have.

"How much..." My voice cracks. I swallow hard and try again. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." Rhett's voice is carefully controlled, but I can hear the rage simmering beneath it. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, and the morning light catches the shadows under his eyes. "Why didn't you tell us?"

The question hits like a physical blow. I curl my fingers into the blankets, anchoring myself against the tide of shame threatening to pull me under.

"I couldn't." The words come out small, broken. "I didn't want you to know. To see..."

"To see what?" Theo asks gently. "That you were hurting? That you needed help?"

A bitter laugh escapes me. "To see how weak I am. How broken. How much I deserved it."

"Stop." Gray's voice cuts through the air like a blade. "You're not weak. You're not broken. You're—" He breaks off, his hands clenching at his sides. "You survived. You protected everyone but yourself. That's not weakness, Bree. That's strength."

The tears spill over, hot and relentless. "You don't understand. He's still... he can still..."

"He can't touch you." Wes's quiet voice carries an edge of steel. "Not anymore. Neither of them can."

I shake my head, memories pressing in like shadows. "You don't know him. What he's capable of—"

"We know enough." Rhett stands, his movement slow but purposeful. "And we're not letting you face this alone. Not again."

The mist swirls around my feet, responding to the storm of emotions I can't contain. I pull my legs closer, trying to hide the ethereal tendrils from view. Just one more thing they can't know about. One more reason they'd think I'm crazy.

"I should go," I whisper, but even I can hear how hollow the words sound.

"No." Five voices, one word. United in a way that makes my chest ache.

"You're staying," Rhett says firmly. "We're not asking."

"This isn't your problem to fix," I try, but Jace cuts me off.

"Family isn't a problem to fix," he says, all his usual humor stripped away. "It's just what we are. What we've always been."

The truth of his words settles over me like the blankets they've wrapped me in—heavy, suffocating. The mist drifts closer, and I force myself not to look at it, not to acknowledge its presence. They already know too many of my secrets.

My father's voice echoes in my head: No one wants damaged goods, Bree.

I close my eyes against the weight of their concern, their determination to help. They don't understand. No matter how many walls they build around me, the darkness always finds its way in.