Page 32 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

The sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting long shadows across the counter.

The smell of coffee fills the air, but it does little to cut through the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Jace sits at the island, absently drumming his fingers on the countertop, his usual energy subdued.

Rhett leans against the sink, his arms crossed, staring out the window like it might hold answers.

“Quiet morning,” Jace remarks, his tone too light to be genuine. He glances at the clock. “Bree’s sleeping late today.”

“She mentioned an earlier shift, didn’t she?” Theo’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, subtle but unmistakable.

I glance up from my seat at the table, the unease I’ve been trying to push aside curling tighter in my chest. Bree’s never been one to oversleep. If anything, she’s always up before the rest of us, moving through the morning like a ghost trying not to be seen.

“I’ll check on her,” Rhett offers, already moving toward the stairs.

The silence in the kitchen thickens as we wait. My fingers tighten around my mug, the ceramic cool against my skin. Something feels wrong.

Rhett steps into the kitchen. Stops short. His jaw tightens, his movements stiff. The silence stretches—too long, too heavy.

"She’s gone."

Jace freezes mid-drum, his hand falling still. “Gone?”

“Her room’s empty.” Rhett’s gaze flickers to each of us, searching for answers we don’t have. “She took her bag. Only the things she came with are missing.”

Theo is already on his feet, moving toward the stairs with purpose. “What about her other things?”

“Scattered,” Rhett mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Torn, shredded—like she didn’t want to leave anything behind for us to find.”

Something cold settles in my stomach, a weight that presses against my ribs as we follow Rhett upstairs. Bree’s room feels hollow, the air heavy with the absence of her presence. The bed is made, but the chaos she left behind—shreds of paper, fragments of memories—is impossible to ignore.

Theo crouches by the bed, his hand brushing over a torn piece of a daisy, now brittle and lifeless. Jace stands by the door, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the room like he’s piecing together a puzzle he doesn’t want to solve.

"She didn't just leave," I say, my voice breaking the silence. "She ran."

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. My gaze catches on the dresser where Jace's carefully chosen clothes still sit, untouched. The reading lamp he picked out, the books Theo brought her - everything we tried to give her, left behind like evidence of something she couldn't bear to keep.

"Last night," Gray says suddenly from the doorway, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. His jaw tightens. "The attic."

A beat of silence. The realization crashes in like a cold slap of water.

"She must have heard us."

Fuck.

"Would explain this." Theo gestures to the torn remnants on her bed, his voice tight. "Question is, what exactly did she hear?"

The silence that follows feels suffocating. I think of everything we discussed up there - about feelings none of us have voiced to her, about choices and lack of choices, about how much we all...

"Doesn't matter what she heard," Rhett cuts in, his jaw clenched. "She ran. Again. Like she always does when things get..."

"Real?" Gray finishes, but there's no judgment in his tone. Just a bone-deep understanding that makes my chest ache.

I move to the window, drawn by something I can't explain. The daisies still glow faintly in the morning light, untouched by whatever drove her to destroy everything else. The mist curls around them, restless and cold, like it's trying to tell us something we're too slow to understand.

"We need to find her," Jace says, but uncertainty threads through his voice. "Before she..."

"Convinces herself she was right to run?" I finish quietly. "That whatever she thinks she heard was proof she doesn't belong here?"

No one answers. Because what can we say? That we've been dancing around this thing between all of us for years? That maybe the idea of choosing - or not having to choose - was too much for her to face?

"She'll have gone somewhere she feels safe," Theo says finally, his analytical mind already working through possibilities. "Somewhere she can process whatever she thinks she discovered."

Or somewhere she can hide, I think but don't say. Somewhere she can build her walls back up, convince herself that running was the only choice she had.

The morning sun catches on the torn pieces of her past, and I wonder if this is how it always ends with Bree - not with a fight or a goodbye, but with scattered fragments of memories she couldn't bear to keep.