Page 22 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

"You have cardamom?" The words slip out before I can stop them, surprise overriding my usual caution. The spice cabinet in their kitchen is more organized than I expected, full of things I haven't been able to afford in years.

Wes leans against the counter, watching me with that steady gaze of his. "We have everything."

Something in his tone makes me look up. His dark eyes hold mine, and the weight of what he's not saying settles in my chest. We have everything you need. Everything you want. Just stay.

I turn back to the cabinet, fingers trailing over glass jars. "I used to..." The words stick, but I force them out. "My mom taught me this curry recipe. Before she..."

"Show us?" Rhett's voice is carefully neutral, like he's afraid of spooking me. He stands in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, looking more uncertain than I've ever seen him.

The mist drifts lazily around my feet, calm in a way that somehow makes the decision easier. "Okay."

They move around me as I gather ingredients, maintaining careful distance while somehow making the kitchen feel less empty. Rhett chops onions with the same precise focus he brings to everything, while Wes measures spices I call out without questioning why I don't need to look up amounts.

"You've done this before," Wes observes quietly when I add spices by feel rather than measuring.

I swallow hard, stirring the onions Rhett hands me. "After mom left... Dad didn't really cook. So I had to learn. Had to remember what she taught me."

The wooden spoon scrapes against the pot, filling the silence that follows. I wait for the questions, the pity, but neither comes. Instead, Wes just slides me the ginger I hadn't even asked for yet.

"Here." His fingers brush mine as he passes the root, and for once, I don't flinch. The touch is so light, so casual, I almost miss it. Almost.

The mist swirls contentedly as I add more spices, the familiar scents filling the kitchen. For a moment, I can almost pretend I'm somewhere else. Someone else. Someone who belongs in this warm kitchen with its well-stocked cabinets and people who look at me like I matter.

"Smells amazing," Rhett says, pausing his chopping to peer into the pot. "You said your mom taught you?"

"Yeah..." I stir faster, focusing on the movement. "She said cooking was like magic. Taking simple things and making them into something better." Something worth keeping, I don't add. Something worth loving.

"She was right." Wes's voice is closer than I expect. He stands near my shoulder, not quite touching but present. "About the magic part."

I glance up to find him watching me with an expression I can't quite read. The mist curls around both our feet, and for a second, I swear I feel... something. Like static electricity but warmer.

"Shit," Rhett mutters behind us, breaking the moment. "Sorry, I think I murdered this tomato."

A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. The sound surprises me - rusty but real.

"Here." I move to his cutting board, gesturing at the mangled vegetable. "Like this." I demonstrate with another tomato, my movements sure despite years of disuse.

Rhett watches intently, standing close enough that I can feel his warmth. "You're good at this," he says softly. "Really good."

"I..." The praise catches me off guard. "It's just practice."

"It's more than that." Wes appears on my other side, handing me more tomatoes. "You know exactly what you're doing. Like you've got some sixth sense about flavors."

I duck my head, uncomfortable with the attention but not... not hating it. "The rice needs to start soon," I mumble, deflecting. "If we want everything ready at the same time."

They let me change the subject, but I feel their eyes on me as I move through the kitchen. It should make me nervous, being watched. But something about their presence feels... steady. Safe.

The curry comes together like I remember, rich and fragrant.

I add a final pinch of garam masala, and the scent hits me hard - memory wrapped in spice and steam.

Mom in our tiny kitchen, laughing as she taught me to bloom spices.

Her hand over mine on the spoon, showing me how to stir without splashing.

"Bree?" Wes's voice is gentle. When I look up, I realize I've stopped stirring, lost in the memory.

"Sorry, I..." I blink hard against the sudden sting in my eyes. "It just... it smells like home. Like it used to be."

Rhett moves like he wants to reach for me but stops himself. "Thank you," he says instead. "For sharing this with us."

The words feel bigger than they should, heavy with meaning I'm not ready to examine. I focus on plating the food instead, falling back on movements that don't require thought.

The front door opens, voices drifting up from the entryway. Gray's low rumble, Theo's measured tone, Jace trying too hard to sound normal. Something's wrong - I can hear it in the careful way they're speaking, see it in how Wes and Rhett exchange glances.

But when they appear in the kitchen doorway, their faces shift to genuine surprise.

"Holy shit, what smells amazing?" Jace asks, his usual grin sliding into place as he peers at the stove.

"Bree cooked," Rhett says, and there's something like pride in his voice that makes my cheeks warm.

Gray leans against the doorframe, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he takes in the scene. Theo moves to help set the table, his movements deliberately casual in a way that would worry me if I let myself think about it.

But the mist stays calm, appearing and disappearing between all of us like it's holding something together. And when we sit down to eat, the conversation flows easier than it should, filling the kitchen with a warmth that has nothing to do with curry.

I notice the careful way they avoid certain topics, the looks they think I don't see. But for now, maybe it's enough to just be here, watching Jace dramatically fan his mouth from the spice while Theo rolls his eyes. Feeling Wes's quiet presence beside me as Gray asks for seconds.

Maybe, just for tonight, I can pretend this is normal. That I belong here, in this moment, with them.

The others insist on cleaning up, brushing off my attempts to help. Even Jace, who normally avoids dishes like they might bite him, starts gathering plates.

"Come on," he says, nodding toward the stairs. "Got something to show you."

I hesitate, glancing at the others, but they're already settling into a rhythm - Rhett washing, Wes drying, Theo putting things away while Gray wipes down counters. It should feel strange, how naturally they work together, but something about it just feels... right.

The mist follows as Jace leads me upstairs to the guest room. He's uncharacteristically quiet, missing his usual swagger. When he pushes open the door, I freeze in the doorway.

Bags cover the bed - more than I can count at first glance. Not just Target, but other stores I'd never let myself shop at. A mountain of soft things in shades of green and blue, tags still attached.

"I might have gone a little overboard," Jace says, running a hand through his hair.

The gesture makes him look younger, almost nervous.

"But I saw this blanket, and it reminded me of your eyes when you actually smile, you know?

And then there were these sweaters that seemed warm, and you're always cold, and.

.." He trails off, watching my face. "Too much? "

I step closer, running my fingers over the nearest item. The fabric is softer than anything I own. "Jace, I..." My throat tightens. "I can't accept all this."

"Sure you can." He bounces on his toes, that restless energy of his returning. "Look, this one's my favorite." He pulls out something impossibly soft and green. "Feel it."

The sweater feels like clouds in my hands. I check the tag before I can stop myself and my knees go weak. "This costs more than I make in two shifts."

"Good." His voice loses its playful edge.

"Because you deserve nice things, Bree. Things that feel good.

Things that keep you warm." He starts pulling out more items - pajamas, socks, things I haven't been able to replace in years.

"And before you argue about money - this is nothing compared to what I spend on my hair products. "

A laugh catches in my throat, coming out more like a sob. There's more clothing here than I've owned in my entire adult life. Things picked with obvious care - comfortable but pretty, practical but not cheap. Things chosen by someone who knows me, who sees me.

"I got you some books too," he says softer, gesturing to a stack on the dresser. "The ones you used to read until they fell apart. And this--" He pulls out a small lamp with a dimmer switch. "For late nights when you can't sleep. The light changes colors."

My vision blurs as I sink onto the edge of the bed. The mist curls around my ankles, calm and steady. "Why?" I whisper.

"Because we love you, dummy." He says it easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And yeah, I know you're not ready to hear that. But tough luck - we're not going anywhere."

I press my face into the soft sweater, breathing in the new-clothes smell, trying to hold back tears. Jace sits beside me, close but not touching.

"You don't have to wear any of it," he says quietly. "We can send it all back if you hate it. But please... please let us do this. Let us help make this feel like home."

A tear escapes despite my best efforts, soaking into the sweater. Jace pretends not to notice, just starts showing me more things - pajamas with little stars on them, fuzzy socks in ridiculous patterns, a robe that feels like being hugged by a cloud.

And somewhere between his dramatic commentary on each item and the gentle way he handles things he picked just for me, I stop trying to fight the tears. Stop trying to pretend this doesn't mean everything.

The mist settles around us like a blanket, peaceful and content, as Jace's steady stream of chatter fills the space where my words can't reach.

For a long moment, I just sit there, surrounded by more kindness than I know how to process. Jace's voice washes over me, a comforting backdrop as I run my fingers over soft fabrics and try to breathe through the tightness in my chest.

"Oh, and check this out," Jace says, reaching for something on the nightstand.

"It's one of those white noise machines.

You can set it to rain or ocean waves or whatever.

Thought it might help with..." He trails off, but I know what he means.

The nightmares. The restless nights when sleep feels like a distant memory.

I nod, not trusting my voice. The thoughtfulness of it all threatens to overwhelm me. Each item feels like a piece of armor against the cold, empty life I've been living. A shield against the loneliness that's been my constant companion for so long.

"Jace," I manage finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to say."

He grins, but it's softer than his usual cocky smile. "You don't have to say anything. Just... maybe try some of it on? See how it feels?"

I hesitate, then nod. "Okay. I... I can do that."

"Great!" He bounces to his feet. "I'll give you some privacy. Take your time, okay? And if anything doesn't fit or you don't like it, we can exchange it. No pressure."

He's almost to the door when I find my voice again. "Jace?"

He turns, eyebrows raised in question.

"Thank you," I say softly. "For... for seeing me."

Something flashes across his face - too quick for me to name, but it makes my chest ache. "Always, Bree," he says, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "We see you. All of us do."

Then he's gone, closing the door gently behind him. I'm left alone with a mountain of gifts and a lump in my throat that won't seem to fade.

The mist swirls around my ankles as I stand, drifting over the piles of clothing like it's exploring too. I reach for the green sweater first, the one that reminded Jace of my eyes. It slips over my head like a cloud, impossibly soft against my skin.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and freeze. The girl staring back at me looks... different. Softer somehow, less sharp around the edges. The sweater brings out flecks of gold in my eyes I've never noticed before.

For a moment, I can almost see what they see when they look at me. Someone worth protecting. Someone worth loving.