Page 41 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

My phone buzzes against the dash. Theo's name lights up the screen, and something in my chest goes cold before I even answer.

"We're coming," is all he says. His voice carries that careful control that means everything's wrong. "Pull up front."

I'm already moving before he hangs up, the truck's engine roaring to life. Three days of watching, of waiting, and still we weren't fast enough. My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as I swing around to the entrance.

The sight of Bree cradled in Jace's arms makes my blood run cold. She looks small, fragile in a way she'd hate if she was conscious to notice. Frost clings to her scrubs, delicate patterns that shouldn't be possible in this heat.

Theo opens the back door before I can move, helping Jace maneuver her inside. "Home," he says quietly, and I catch the weight in that single word. Not her apartment. Home.

"What happened?" I ask as we pull away, watching them in the rearview. Bree's head rests in Jace's lap, his fingers hovering near but not touching, like he's afraid she'll shatter.

"Phil." Theo's voice carries barely controlled rage. "He was waiting. But Gray..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "The mist. It wasn't just reacting this time. She controlled it."

"Controlled it?"

"Phil was on the ground when we got there," Jace says, his voice rough. "Ice everywhere. The mist—I've never seen it like that before. And his eyes..." He trails off, something flickering across his face that looks almost like recognition.

"Silver," Theo finishes. "Inhuman. He wasn't surprised either." He hesitates, glancing at Jace. "You said he mentioned something about a binding breaking?"

Jace nods, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Like it was inevitable. Like he’d been waiting for it."

A heavy silence settles between us, the weight of those words pressing down like a storm on the horizon.

My grip tightens on the wheel as pieces click into place. The mist's increasing activity. The way Phil's been watching her. Her father's shadow lurking behind everything.

"The others?" I ask.

"Already called them." Theo types something on his phone. "They're meeting us at home. Wes is bringing supplies - medical kit, just in case."

"Rhett?"

"Making sure Phil doesn't follow."

I nod, understanding everything Theo isn't saying. Rhett's rage needs direction right now, and following Phil is better than the alternative.

The house comes into view, and something in my chest eases at the sight of Wes's car already in the drive. The porch light glows warm against the growing dusk, and I catch movement behind the curtains - the others preparing.

"We moved her things," I say as I park, glancing at Theo. "While you were on watch. The attic..."

"Good." He nods, already moving to help Jace. "She needs somewhere that feels safe. Really safe."

I lead the way, unlocking the door as Jace carries her inside.

The mist follows, curling around our feet like it's making sure we're taking her somewhere secure.

Wes appears at the top of the stairs, his dark eyes taking in everything - the frost on her clothes, the bruises forming on her throat, the way Jace holds her like she's precious.

The attic feels different as we climb the stairs - warmer, lived-in.

We'd worked in shifts while she was gone, the ones not on guard duty throwing themselves into making this space truly hers.

Her books line the shelves now, arranged the way she always kept them.

The bed we'd built is piled with soft things in shades of green and blue.

Little touches everywhere - the reading lamp she'd mentioned liking, the throw blankets she always gravitates toward, her journal on the window seat where she can watch the daisies.

Jace settles her on the bed with careful movements while Wes sets up the medical supplies. None of us speak - we don't need to. We move around each other with practiced ease, each knowing our role in this dance we've been performing since childhood.

"Her pulse is steady," Wes says quietly, his fingers gentle on her wrist. "Temperature's low, but..."

"The ice," Theo supplies. "The power she used - it drained her."

I watch from the doorway as they work, cataloging every detail.

The way the mist seems to approve of the space, drifting contentedly around the room.

How Bree's breathing evens out, some of the tension leaving her face as she settles into the bed we made for her.

The careful distance we all maintain while still staying close enough to protect.

"She'll have questions," Jace says finally, running a hand through his hair. "When she wakes up."

"We all do," I reply, but my eyes stay on Bree. On the girl we've loved since before we understood what love was. On the power that's breaking free.

The mist swirls lazily around us, and for a moment - just a breath - I swear I feel something. A memory, maybe. Or an echo of one. But then it's gone, leaving only the certainty that everything is about to change.

We settle in to wait - Jace by the window, Theo near the door, Wes checking her vitals with careful precision. And me, watching it all, trying to piece together a puzzle that feels bigger than any of us realized.

When Rhett joins us later, fury still simmering beneath his controlled movements, none of us mention the blood on his knuckles. Some questions can wait.

For now, we guard her sleep and pray that when she wakes, she'll finally let us explain that she's not alone. That she's never been alone.

And she never will be again. For as long as she’ll have us.