Page 28 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

The truck smells faintly of leather and pine, a scent that’s both comforting and suffocating.

Jace taps his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to a song playing softly through the speakers.

The ride is quiet for the most part, just the low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio filling the space between us.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Jace asks, glancing over at me as we pull out of the driveway.

I nod, clutching my bag a little tighter in my lap. “I’ve been ready, Jace. It’s just a shift. Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but not full of doubt either. “Right. Just a shift. Nothing major at all. Definitely not your first time back after—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Fine, no ‘thing.’ Got it.” He holds up one hand in mock surrender, though I catch the way his knuckles tighten around the wheel as he grabs it again.

The truck hums along the road, the trees blurring into a sea of green as we head toward Maple Grove. The mist lingers at the edges of the road, curling lazily around the tires like it’s been following us the whole time.

“I’m just saying,” Jace starts again after a beat, his tone softer this time, “you could’ve waited a few more days. Let yourself settle a bit more.”

“I’ve had enough time,” I reply, staring out the window at the passing fields. “Too much time.”

My words hang between us, heavy and unspoken. Jace doesn’t push, which is surprising for him. Instead, he changes the subject, his voice lightening as he nods toward the dashboard.

“So, the first family dinner didn’t scare you off?”

I smirk despite myself. “I’ve survived worse.”

“High praise,” he says, grinning. “You know, if you play your cards right, I might just let you be the new reigning champion of ‘best curry.’”

I roll my eyes, but the banter eases the knot in my chest. It’s been like this with Jace since we were kids—his easy charm balancing out my sharp edges.

“Thanks for driving me,” I say after a pause, my voice quieter.

He glances at me, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Always.”

The mist thickens as we near the turn for Maple Grove, coiling along the ditches like it’s waiting for something. I catch myself staring at it, the way it seems to almost glow in the early morning light, and quickly look away.

Jace pulls into the parking lot, the truck rumbling to a stop. He shifts into park, turning to face me fully. “You’re sure you don’t want me to wait? I’ve got a showing not far from here, but I can swing back if you need a ride.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, pulling on the strap of my bag. “You’ve already done enough.”

“It’s not about what I’ve done, Bree,” he says, his voice dropping. “It’s about making sure you’re okay.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his concern pressing against my chest. “I’ll be fine,” I repeat, forcing a smile. “Go sell your house.”

He studies me for a moment longer before nodding. “Text me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I open the door, the cool morning air brushing against my skin as I step out. The mist seems to thicken as I walk toward the entrance, curling around my ankles like a persistent shadow. I don’t look back, even though I can feel Jace’s eyes on me until I disappear inside.

I have to do this. For myself. For Mrs. Henderson. And, if I’m being honest, to save enough to finally get out from under my father’s shadow.

The familiarity of the nursing home hits me immediately—its too-bright fluorescents, the antiseptic tang in the air, the faint hum of conversation from the common room. I make it three steps past the receptionist's desk before I hear my name.

“Well, if it isn’t Bree Holloway.”

I turn, my bag on my shoulder slipping slightly as I come face-to-face with Jason, his smirk as irritatingly smug as I remember.

“Jason.”

He grins, that same cocky tilt to his mouth that used to make my stomach flip when I was seventeen. Now, it just makes my skin crawl.

“That’s right,” he drawls, his gaze dragging over me like he’s cataloging every detail. “Didn’t think you’d show your face here, not after what people are saying.”

My fingers tighten on the strap of my bag, my knuckles whitening as I fight the urge to shove past him. “I don’t have time for this, Jason.”

“Oh, come on.” He shifts, blocking my path, his grin widening. “Don’t be like that. You’ve got time for everyone else, don’t you? Thought maybe you’d saved some for me.”

“Move,” I snap, keeping my voice low. The last thing I need is for this to turn into a spectacle.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he steps closer, his eyes narrowing in a way that sends a cold shiver down my spine. “You know, I’ve been hearing some interesting things lately.”

My stomach churns, but I keep my expression neutral. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh, I think you are.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Phil’s been talking. Your dad, too. They’ve got some real stories about you, Bree.”

The words hit like a slap, and I stagger back a step, the tray wobbling in my hands. “What are you talking about?”

Jason smirks, his confidence growing with every inch I give him. “Phil told me all about you. Said you like it rough. That you like a man who takes control. Said you’re not happy unless someone’s got you pinned to the wall, making you feel… wanted.”

My grip on my bag falters, I almost drop it. The mist begins to stir at the edges of my vision, faint and restless, but Jason doesn’t notice. He steps closer, his hand brushing against my arm, and I jerk back as if burned.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap, my voice sharper now.

His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows. “Relax, Bree. I’m just saying… if you’re handing out pieces of yourself, don’t forget the people who’ve been waiting the longest.”

The mist surges, cold and sharp, curling around my ankles. Jason shivers slightly, finally noticing the sudden drop in temperature. He glances around, a flicker of unease crossing his face.

“What the hell?” he mutters, rubbing his arms.

I don’t wait for him to recover. My legs carry me forward before my brain catches up, my shoulder knocking into his as I pass. My bag swings, but I don’t stop until I’m in the staff lounge, the door slamming shut behind me.

I throw my bag on the counter, my uniform half falling out, but I barely notice.

My hands are trembling, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Jason’s words echo in my head, pulling me back to Phil’s leering face, my father’s cruel whispers.

The mist lingers near the door, curling protectively, but it does nothing to ease the nausea churning in my stomach.

They’ve poisoned everything. Every relationship, every memory.

Jason was my first boyfriend. But I never gave him what he really wanted, no matter how much he pushed.

. He was kind, sweet, even protective—until my father got to him.

Until Phil twisted the narrative. Now he looks at me like I’m nothing more than an object to be used and discarded.

The words echo in my head, louder than they should: You’re a tease, Bree. Always have been.

I press my palms flat against the counter, the cool metal biting into my skin as I try to steady myself. My chest tightens, every breath jagged. They’ll never stop. Not until there’s nothing left of me to ruin.

The mist stirs at the edges of my vision, curling closer, brushing against my fingertips like it’s trying to pull me back from the edge. I swear it feels warmer, softer, as if it’s saying: You’re still here. You’re still whole.

But the doubt creeps in, insidious and familiar.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe that’s all I’m worth. Maybe that’s all I’m good for.

My stomach churns as another thought surfaces, one I don’t want to admit even to myself. Is that why the guys want me there? Because they think I’m... that easy? That desperate?

My breath catches, shame burning through me, hot and sharp. I grip the counter harder, forcing myself to face the thought. But even as it claws at me, another voice rises in defiance. No.

I shake my head, the motion sharp and instinctive.

They’d never.

The certainty of it surprises me. Despite everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve been told, I can’t picture Rhett, Wes, Theo, Jace, or Gray looking at me the way Jason did.

They don’t see me as something to use. They don’t look through me.

They look at me, like I’m something worth holding on to.

The mist swirls closer, encircling my wrists like a faint, protective embrace. I close my eyes, leaning into its quiet presence, letting it steady me. The coolness of the counter, the warmth of the mist, the steady rhythm of my breathing—all of it works to anchor me in the moment.

They don’t know everything. The thought flickers, weak but insistent. They don’t know what’s inside me. They don’t get to break me again.

When I open my eyes, the mist is still there, quiet and steady. I don’t try to brush it away. I let it stay.