Page 36 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

"Bree—" The name dies in my throat as I catch sight of Phil steps from her, his face twisted with something dark and hungry. The daisy in my hand pulses brighter, almost hot against my palm, as fury floods through me.

Without taking my eyes off Phil, I slip my phone from my pocket, thumbing the screen until I feel it vibrate - Gray's contact. One ring, then silence. He'll understand.

"Well, isn't this touching," Phil sneers, his gaze flicking between us. "The hero arrives just in time."

I move forward slowly, deliberately placing myself between him and Bree. The mist coils around my feet, thicker than I've ever seen it, almost solid in its intensity.

"Rhett, don't—" Bree's voice cracks behind me. "Just go. Please."

"Not happening." My voice comes out low, deadly calm despite the rage burning in my chest. The kind of calm that comes before a storm.

Phil's smirk widens as he takes a step closer. "You hear that, sweetheart? Always trying to play the protector. But we both know what you really want from her, don't we?"

"Back off." I shift my stance, years of firefighter training kicking in as I assess the threat. He's bigger than me, but slower. Drunk, probably. Dangerous.

"Or what?" Phil laughs, but there's an edge to it. "You going to fight me, boy? Over some used-up piece of—"

I move before he can finish, my fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to snap his head back. The daisy falls from my other hand as pain shoots through my knuckles, but I barely notice.

"Don't you dare," I growl, advancing on him as he stumbles. "Don't you fucking dare talk about her like that."

The mist surges around us, and I swear the temperature drops several degrees. Phil's eyes widen slightly as he rights himself, blood trickling from his split lip.

"You don't know what you're dealing with," he spits, but there's fear creeping into his voice now. "Her father—"

"Isn't here." I cut him off, my voice carrying steel. "But I am. And if you ever come near her again..."

I let the threat hang, watching as he weighs his options. Behind me, I can hear Bree's ragged breathing, feel the way the mist coils protectively around both of us.

Phil's gaze darts past me to Bree, then back. Something calculating crosses his face before he takes a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Have it your way," he says, his smirk returning though it doesn't reach his eyes. "But this isn't over. Not by a long shot."

"It is for now." I don't move from my defensive stance, my body humming with adrenaline and barely contained violence.

Phil backs away slowly, his gaze never leaving us until he reaches the cemetery gates.

A long silence. Just the wind through the trees. Just the sound of Bree’s ragged breathing.

Only when he disappears from view do I let my shoulders drop, turning to face Bree.

She stands frozen, her face pale in the morning light, arms wrapped tight around herself like she's trying to hold something in. Or keep something out.

"Bree," I start, softer now, but she shakes her head.

"Don't." Her voice trembles. "Just... don't."

The mist swirls between us, and I notice the daisy on the ground, still glowing faintly. When I reach for it, the petals pulse once, like a heartbeat.

In the distance, I hear car doors slam. Gray. The others. But I don't take my eyes off Bree, afraid she'll disappear again if I look away for even a second.

"I don't know what you heard last night," I say quietly. "But whatever you're thinking—"

"Stop." She takes another step back, her shoulders hunching like she's bracing for a blow. "You can't... I can't do this. Not with you. Not with any of you."

"Do what?" The words come out rougher than I mean them to, frustration bleeding through. "Trust us? Let us help you?"

Her laugh is bitter, broken. "Help me? Is that what you call it?"

"Bree—"

"He's right, you know." Her voice cracks around the edges. "About what people want from me. What they think I'm worth."

The fury that had cooled surges back, hot and sharp. "He's not right about anything."

"Isn't he?" Her eyes meet mine finally, bright with unshed tears. "I heard you. All of you. Talking about me like I'm something to be—"

She cuts off as footsteps approach, her gaze darting toward the sound. Gray appears first, moving with that predatory grace of his, followed by Theo, Wes and Jace. The mist thickens, almost solid now in its intensity.

"Don't," she whispers, but I'm not sure if she's talking to me or the mist or herself. "Please, just... let me go."

"We can't do that," Gray says quietly, stopping a few feet away. "Not this time."

Something flashes across her face—pain or fear or something deeper—before her walls slam back up. The mist surges around her, and for a moment, I swear it glows with the same light as the daisy still clutched in my hand.

"You don't get to decide that," she says, her voice steadier now but hollow. Empty. "None of you do."

Then she turns and runs, disappearing into the maze of headstones before any of us can move.

The mist surges with her, thick and consuming, swallowing her whole in a matter of seconds.

By the time we move, she’s already gone

"Damn it," Jace mutters, already starting after her, but Gray catches his arm.

"Let her go."

"Are you kidding?" Jace tries to pull free, but Gray's grip doesn't loosen. "After what just happened? After Phil—"

"She needs space," Theo cuts in, his analytical tone barely masking his own worry. "We push now, we'll lose her completely."

I stare at the spot where she disappeared, the daisy still pulsing faintly in my palm. "We're already losing her."

No one argues. Because what can we say? That we didn't mean for her to hear us? That we were trying to protect her? That everything we've done—every careful word, every gentle touch, every moment of holding back—was because we thought we were doing the right thing?

The morning sun feels too bright, too harsh against the weathered stones around us. Against the fresh dirt of Mrs. Henderson's grave where we found her.

Where she was hiding from us.

"What do we do now?" Jace asks, his voice smaller than I've ever heard it.

I close my fingers around the daisy, feeling its warmth pulse against my skin like a reminder. Like a promise.

"We wait," I say finally. "And we hope she finds her way back."

But as the mist fades into the morning light, I can't help wondering if we've already lost our chance to make this right.