Page 34 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

I slam the truck door harder than I mean to, the sound echoing through the empty street. My hands grip the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me together, knuckles white, nails digging into my palms.

Where the hell is she?

I’ve been driving for hours—through the city, the neighborhoods I know she’d never go, the places I hoped to God she wouldn’t. Every corner feels like a dead end, every familiar landmark a reminder that I’ve failed her. Again.

I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve known she’d run. It’s what she does when things get too real, when the weight of everything she carries gets too much to bear. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

Doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Damn it!” My fist slams against the steering wheel, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. I can feel the frustration bubbling over, hot and blinding, but there’s nowhere to put it. Nowhere to direct it except at myself.

I pull into a random parking lot and park haphazardly, my hands trembling as I grip the wheel. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts, and I press my forehead against the cool leather, trying to pull myself together. But the image of her room—hollow, emptied out—burns in my mind like a brand.

She didn’t just leave. She took only what she came with. Every single thing we gave her—the books, the clothes, the little comforts we thought might make her feel safe—she left behind. Like they never meant anything.

The thought twists something sharp and painful in my gut. Because maybe she didn’t just leave to protect herself. Maybe she left to prove she never belonged.

Maybe she left because she didn’t trust us. Because she thought we were just like—

I slam the door open and step out, pacing the lot like a caged animal. The air is cool against my overheated skin, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to settle the storm inside me. I run a hand through my hair, yanking at the ends like the pain might drag me out of this spiral.

Where the hell could she have gone?

I’ve checked the hospital, her old apartment, every goddamn coffee shop within a ten-mile radius. No sign of her. No one’s seen her. It’s like she’s disappeared, like the earth opened up and swallowed her whole.

I shove my hands into my pockets, my fingers brushing against the keys I’ve carried for years. The ones that open every door to this damn house. The one she didn’t slam shut behind her.

The house.

Before I know it, I’m back in the driveway, the truck barely in park before I’m out, striding toward the backyard like the answers are waiting for me there. Because that’s where she was happiest. That’s where she felt most like... her.

The daisies catch my eye immediately, their faint glow like a beacon in the growing dusk. My breath catches, and for a moment, the fury in my chest softens into something more painful. Something more desperate.

I drop to my knees in the damp grass, the cool earth grounding me as I stare at the flowers she planted. They’re still glowing, but it’s different now—fainter, like they’re losing their light. Like they’re missing her too.

“What do you want me to do?” My voice breaks in the stillness, raw and unsteady. “Where is she? How do I—” I stop, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “How do I bring her back?”

The mist stirs around me, curling tighter, colder, almost restless. I reach out without thinking, my fingers brushing against one of the daisies. The warmth I felt before is barely there now, a ghost of what it was.

I pluck it carefully, the stem trembling in my hand. The glow fades almost entirely, and for a second, it feels like I’ve lost her all over again. Like this is the last piece of her, slipping through my fingers.

“Bree,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat.

I stand slowly, the daisy cradled in my palm, its light faint but persistent.

My chest tightens as I turn back toward the house, the weight of failure pressing heavy on my shoulders.

But as I step forward, the light shifts—brighter now, spreading from the petals down the stem, wrapping around my fingers like a pulse.

The mist moves with it, swirling around my feet in a way that feels deliberate. Intentional.

My heart pounds as I take another step, and the light flares again, stronger this time. Guiding.

“Is this you?” My voice is barely audible, my fingers tightening around the daisy. “Are you—”

The light pulses again, pulling me toward the edge of the yard. The mist flows ahead of me, weaving through the grass like it knows where to go. Like it’s leading me.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t question. I just follow.

Because if this is her, if this is the only way I can find her, I’m not stopping until I do.

The light grows brighter with every step, the daisy in my hand glowing like a tiny beacon. The mist swirls ahead of me, weaving between the trees as I follow its lead. My pulse pounds in my ears, each step quicker than the last.

I don’t question where it’s taking me anymore. The streets, the turns—they blur together, fading into the background. All that matters is the pull in my chest, the overwhelming sense that she’s close.

The glow intensifies as the mist guides me toward a familiar iron gate—Oakwood Cemetery. My breath catches, my chest tightening as I push the gate open, the creak of iron breaking the stillness of the dawn.

I step inside, scanning the quiet rows of headstones. The morning sun casts long shadows across the uneven ground, the mist curling low around the stones. It feels heavier here, charged with something I can’t name.

And then I see her.

A figure kneeling near a fresh grave, dark hair catching the faint light. My heart lurches, and I start toward her, the daisy glowing brighter in my hand as if urging me forward.

“Bree,” I whisper, the name slipping from my lips like a prayer.

She doesn’t move. The mist swirls thickly around her, obscuring the details, but I can see her shape, her stillness, the way her shoulders hunch against the chill. Relief floods through me, sharp and overwhelming, as I close the distance between us.

“Bree,” I call again, louder this time.

The figure shifts, slowly turning toward me.