Page 27 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

“Try not to get blood on my onions!” Jace yells from the stove.

The kitchen hums with energy. Rhett’s at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched as he leans over a simmering pot, stirring with the kind of focus that comes natural to him.

Jace, moving to the counter and coming shoulder-to-shoulder with Theo who has moved on from tomatoes to chopping herbs with surgical precision while Jace makes exaggerated faces at every slice he cuts.

Gray leans against the fridge, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes flicking between the chaos and me.

And me? I stand at the sink, rinsing off a cutting board that has seen better days, feeling out of place in this well-oiled machine. But they’ve let me help, and that’s something. A small victory in a house where it feels like everyone’s holding their breath around me.

The scent of garlic and onions mingles with the faint aroma of bread warming in the oven.

It’s comforting, grounding, and so different from the empty hum of my old apartment, where dinner meant instant noodles or toast and the only sound was the faint buzz of the fridge.

I glance at the others, watching the easy rhythm they’ve fallen into.

This shouldn’t feel like home. I shouldn’t feel like I belong here.

Jace catches me watching and grins, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re up next, Bree. I hope you’re ready to taste-test the masterpiece I’ve been slaving over.”

Theo snorts without looking up from his chopping. “Slaving? You’ve barely done anything.”

“Excuse me, chef extraordinaire, but I think someone forgot who’s in charge of the main dish,” Jace fires back, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. “I’m about to revolutionize your taste buds.”

Rhett glances over his shoulder, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Pretty sure you said that last week. How’d that turn out again?”

“Okay, first of all, that lasagna was an experiment—”

“A disaster,” Gray cuts in, his tone dry. “You set the smoke alarm off three times.”

“I was testing its reliability,” Jace says with mock indignation, winking at me when I finally crack a small smile.

The banter swirls around me, light and warm, like the steam rising from Rhett’s pot. And yet, there’s a weight under my ribs that won’t lift. I grip the edge of the sink, my fingers pressing into the cool metal as their voices fade into the background.

They’ve done so much for me, and I’m grateful—more than they’ll ever know. But I can’t stay here forever. I can’t keep letting them carry me. I need to figure out how to stand on my own, to save enough so I can finally find a place where my father’s shadow doesn’t stretch.

“Bree?” Gray’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp but not unkind.

I blink, turning to find all four of them watching me. “What?”

“You okay?” Rhett asks, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yeah.” I force a smile, hoping it’s convincing. “Just lost in thought.”

“Don’t go disappearing on us,” Jace says lightly, though there’s an edge to his tone. “Not when the fun part’s about to start.”

“What’s the fun part?” I ask, though I already know. They’ve been hinting at this dinner for days now, building it up like some kind of sacred ritual.

Jace grins, holding up a plate like it’s a prize. “The tasting, of course.”

The door to the kitchen creaks open, and every head turns as Wes steps in. His dark curls are slightly damp, and his sharp, quiet gaze flicks over the room, taking in the chaos like he’s weighing whether to dive in or let it pass.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says simply, his voice low but warm enough to settle some of the tension in the room. His eyes land on me for a brief moment, and something flickers there—something that makes my breath catch before I can bury it.

“Perfect timing, broody,” Jace says, clapping Wes on the back as he passes. “You missed my genius in action, but don’t worry, I saved you a front-row seat for the masterpiece unveiling.”

Wes doesn’t answer, just moves to lean against the counter opposite me, his presence grounding in a way I can’t explain. His dark eyes linger on me again, but this time, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

The kitchen hums back to life, Jace’s exaggerated commentary mingling with Theo’s quiet corrections and Rhett’s steady presence at the stove. But Wes stays where he is, watching with that calm intensity that’s always felt like a secret he’s waiting to share.

And for a moment, as the smells of garlic and spices swirl around us, I let myself imagine that this could be normal. That I could be part of this, part of them. Even though I know better.

Because sooner or later, I’ll have to leave. Sooner or later, this will have to end.

The dining table is chaos, but the kind of chaos that feels alive.

Plates are passed back and forth, Jace narrating the "brilliance" of his contribution with exaggerated flair, while Rhett quietly refills everyone’s glasses. Theo settles into his seat like he’s orchestrating some grand feast, slicing the bread with careful precision.

Gray sits at the head of the table, his eyes flicking between us, ever the quiet observer.

Wes slips into the chair next to me, his presence steady and grounding, though he hasn’t said much since he walked in. He glances at my plate, then at me, like he’s checking to see if I’ve eaten enough without actually asking.

I take a bite of whatever Jace slid onto my plate—something with chicken and a sauce that’s probably fancier than he lets on—and savor the warmth spreading through me. It tastes like effort. Like care. Like a version of family I haven’t let myself believe in for a long time.

“This,” Jace says, pointing his fork at Rhett, “is why I should cook more often.”

Rhett snorts, leaning back in his chair. “You assembled ingredients, Jace. The oven did most of the work.”

“And yet, here you are, enjoying the fruits of my labor,” Jace fires back, flashing a grin. “Theo, back me up.”

Theo doesn’t even look up from his plate. “Your contribution was adequate.”

“High praise,” Wes murmurs, his voice dry but soft enough that it draws a flicker of a smile from me.

The banter carries on, warm and easy, but my stomach tightens as I sit there, my fork toying with the food on my plate. I should just say it. Rip off the bandage and deal with the fallout. But the words feel heavy, harder to push out than I’d expected.

Gray catches my hesitation first. His sharp green eyes narrow slightly as he leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “What’s on your mind, Bree?”

The table quiets, all their attention shifting to me in unison. It’s a weight I’ll never get used to—the intensity of their focus, the way they look at me like I’m something fragile and precious all at once.

“I’m going back to work tomorrow,” I say, the words tumbling out faster than I mean them to.

The reaction is immediate.

“What?” Jace blurts, nearly dropping his fork.

“You’re not ready,” Rhett says, his voice firm but not unkind.

“Bree,” Theo cuts in gently, setting his utensils down. “You’ve been through—”

“I know.” My voice is sharper than I intended, and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet their eyes. “I know I’ve been through a lot. I know you’re worried. But I need this.”

“Do you?” Gray asks, his tone even but edged with challenge. “Or do you think you need it because you’re afraid of leaning on us?”

“I can’t lean on you forever,” I say, the words burning in my throat. “I have to stand on my own.”

“We’re not asking you to lean on us forever,” Wes says quietly, his voice cutting through the tension. “Just... for as long as you need to.”

My chest tightens at the offer, at the steady way he looks at me, like he means it. Like he’d carry my weight forever if I let him.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I say, my voice softer now. “Really, I do. But this is something I have to do. For me.”

The silence that follows feels heavy, but not hostile. Rhett runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if to steady himself. Jace looks down at his plate, his usual humor nowhere to be found. Theo’s brow furrows, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Gray is the first to break the silence. “If you’re going to work, you’re not going alone.”

“Gray—”

“Don’t argue,” he cuts me off, his tone brooking no room for debate. “You’re not walking into that place by yourself. Not until we know everything’s secure.”

“I’ll drive her,” Jace says, finally looking up. “I have a showing near there tomorrow anyway.”

Gray’s eyes narrow slightly, but he nods. “Fine. But you call the second something feels off.”

I glance between them, the weight of their protectiveness both comforting and suffocating. “It’s just work. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You don’t know that,” Rhett says, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Not after everything we’ve found out.”

The air feels thick again, the easy warmth of dinner replaced by something heavier. I push back from the table, my appetite gone, and stand. “I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Thank you for dinner. It was... amazing.”

Without waiting for a response, I head toward the stairs, the weight of their worry pressing against my back. But in my chest, something else burns—a stubborn resolve.

I have to do this. To save enough to find a place for myself, free from my father’s shadow.

But as I climb the stairs, the warmth of their voices follows me, making me wonder if I’m running from more than just the past.