Page 20 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

I wake to filtered sunlight and the musty scent of old wood. For a moment, I can't place where I am—not my apartment, not the guest room. Dust motes dance in slanted beams that cut through dormer windows, catching on exposed beams overhead.

The attic. I'd found the door earlier when the walls of the guest room started pressing in too close. Needed somewhere higher, somewhere I could breathe. I hadn't expected to find... this.

I shift slightly, realizing I'm curled up in a window seat, soft cushions cradling me. A throw blanket has been tucked around my shoulders, the fabric impossibly soft against my skin.

The mist drifts lazily near the floor, peaceful in a way I've rarely seen it. Like it belongs here. Like maybe I do too.

Nope. I can't let myself think like that.

"You found it." Wes's quiet voice carries from somewhere to my left. I turn my head to see him settled cross-legged on the floor, his back against a bookshelf. "We were wondering when you would."

I blink, taking in the space for the first time in full light. It's been transformed into something out of a dream. Refinished floors gleam beneath oriental rugs. String lights wind through the rafters. The window seat I'm curled in looks custom-built, complete with storage drawers underneath.

"What is all this?" My voice comes out rough with sleep and wonder.

Wes doesn't answer immediately, just watches me with that steady gaze of his.

Beyond him, taking up most of the far wall, stands what has to be the biggest bed I've ever seen.

It seems like a strange centerpiece for what otherwise looks like a reading nook, but something about it feels.

.. right. Like it was meant to be here, though I can't explain why.

Custom-made, my mind supplies distantly. Has to be. Normal beds don't come that size.

"We've been working on it for a while," Wes finally says, his voice careful but warm. "It started as just storage space, but..." He shrugs, the movement almost shy. "It felt like it needed to be more... For you."

I run my fingers over the window seat cushions, startled to find the fabric is exactly the soft shade of green I've always loved. "You guys did all this?"

"We all helped. Rhett built the window seat. Gray handled the electrical. Theo designed the layout." His lips quirk slightly. "Jace just kept buying things he said you'd like and hiding them up here."

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. "Why?"

"You know why." He says it simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like they haven't just revealed they've created an entire space meant for me without even knowing if I'd stay.

The mist swirls closer, curling around my feet like a contented cat. For once, I don't try to hide it. Wes has always seen it anyway, even when I pretended he didn't.

"I don't deserve—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Don't." The single word carries enough weight to make me look at him. His dark eyes are intense, unwavering. "Do not finish that sentence. Not up here. This space..." He gestures around us. "This is for the truth. And the truth is, you deserve more than we could ever give you."

I pull my knees closer to my chest, trying to ground myself against the wave of emotion threatening to drown me.

Wes nods toward a door I hadn't noticed, tucked between two exposed beams.

"Bathroom through there," Wes says, nodding toward a door tucked between two exposed beams. "Gray went a little overboard with the renovations."

My legs feel shaky as I stand, the throw blanket slipping to the floor. The mist follows as I move toward the door, like it's as curious as I am about what else they've created.

"Oh." The word escapes in a small gasp as I take in the space. The bathroom is bigger than my entire studio apartment, with a tub that could probably fit... I cut that thought off quickly. Heated floors gleam beneath my feet, and soft light spills from fixtures that look antique but feel modern.

"Walk-in closet through there," Wes says from behind me as I notice another door. "Though Jace keeps complaining it's too small."

Too small. I almost laugh. The closet stretches deeper than seems possible, built-in shelves and hanging space that could hold a lifetime of clothes. More space than I'd ever dream of filling.

But something else draws my attention. Half-hidden behind a rack of empty hangers stands another door, its dark wood stark against the white walls. Unlike the others, this one feels... older. Ancient, almost. Like it existed long before their renovations.

My hand reaches for the handle without conscious thought. It doesn't turn.

"That's the one thing we couldn't figure out," Wes says quietly. "No key we've tried works. Gray even had a locksmith look at it, but..." He shrugs. "It won't budge."

The mist curls around the doorframe, thicker than before, almost eager. My fingers tingle where they touch the handle, and for a moment, I swear I feel something pulse beneath the wood, like a heartbeat.

"Bree?" Wes's voice seems to come from far away.

A symbol catches my eye, carved into the doorframe so faintly I almost miss it. It looks like a knot, but more fluid, the lines seeming to shift the longer I stare at them. Something about it tugs at me, familiar in a way that makes no sense.

My fingers trace the pattern before I can stop myself. The door vibrates beneath my touch, just for a second, and the mist surges around my feet.

"Did you feel that?" I whisper, but when I turn to look at Wes, his expression is curious but calm.

"Feel what?"

I pull my hand back, trying to shake off the strange sensation. "The door, it... never mind." I glance at the symbol again. "Has that marking always been there?"

He moves closer, studying it. "I've never noticed it before." His dark eyes shift to me, thoughtful. "But then again, you see things the rest of us miss sometimes."

The mist swirls between us, almost... expectant.

Weird.

I step back from the door, suddenly needing distance from whatever just happened. But the movement brings me closer to Wes, and for once, I don't feel the usual urge to retreat.

"This is real, isn't it?" I gesture at the space around us, this room they've created. "You really want me here."

"We've always wanted you here." His voice is quieter than usual, raw with something I'm afraid to name. "I've wanted..." He stops, seeming to catch himself. "We've been hoping you'd find your way home to us."

Home. The word echoes in my chest, stirring something that feels dangerous. Hopeful.

"I keep waiting," I whisper, staring at the mysterious door rather than meeting his eyes. "For this to fall apart. For you all to realize I'm not worth—"

"Stop." The fierceness in his voice makes me look at him.

His usual careful composure cracks, showing something deeper underneath.

"Do you know how quiet it's been without you?

How wrong? Even when you push us away, even when you run, there's this.

.. space. This Bree-shaped hole nothing else can fill. "

My chest feels too tight, like my heart might crack open. Without thinking, I reach for his hand.

Wes goes completely still. His fingers curl around mine slowly, carefully, like he's afraid I might spook. And maybe I should. Maybe I should pull away, rebuild those walls I've worked so hard to maintain.

But his hand is warm, solid, real. An anchor in the storm I've been drowning in.

"I'm glad you're here," he says softly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "We all are. But selfishly... I'm really glad you're here."

The mist swirls around our joined hands, and for a moment, everything feels... right. Like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

"Wes?" Gray's voice carries up the stairs, followed by his footsteps. "You up there? Have you heard from—"

He appears in the doorway and stops short. His sharp eyes take in the scene - our joined hands, the comfortable closeness that should feel foreign but somehow doesn't. Something flashes across his face, too quick to read, but it's not jealousy. If anything, it looks like... hope.

I start to pull away, but Wes's fingers tighten slightly. Just enough to say I don't have to run. Not this time.

Gray leans against the doorframe, his expression softening as he takes in my reaction to the room. "You found it."

"It's..." My voice trails off, still overwhelmed by what they've created here. What it means.

"Yours," he says simply. "If you want it."

The normalcy of the moment feels strange but good, like finding something precious you never knew you'd lost. But there's tension in Gray's shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that wasn't there before.

"What's wrong?" Wes asks before I can, his hand still steady around mine.

Gray's jaw tightens. "Theo and Jace haven't checked in. They should have been back by now."

Ice slides down my spine as I remember where they went. My apartment. Phil.

"How long?" Wes's voice carries that dangerous edge it gets when he's worried.

"Too long." Gray pushes off from the doorframe, all pretense of casualness gone. "I'm going to check on them."

"I'll come with you," Wes says, but Gray shakes his head.

"Stay with Bree." His eyes meet mine, and there's something fierce in them. "We're not leaving her alone. Not again."