Page 42 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

I'm falling, drowning in a sea of memories that aren't mine, yet are undeniably a part of me. The dream grips me, pulling me deeper into a past I've never known but feel in my bones.

Phil's face looms before me, twisted with a cruel hunger that makes my skin crawl.

His fingers dig into my flesh, and I can feel him reaching inside me, grasping at something intangible yet vital.

My power. My essence. It flows through my veins like starlight, and he's determined to drain every last drop.

Fire comes first, ripped from my core in a blaze of agony. I scream, my voice echoing in this dreamscape that feels all too real. The flames that once danced at my fingertips sputter and die, leaving me cold and diminished.

Ice follows, crackling as it's torn away. The frost that used to coat my thoughts, giving me clarity and precision, melts into nothingness. I'm left raw and exposed, my mind a jumble of fractured thoughts.

Air rushes out of me next, leaving me gasping and weak. The currents I once commanded abandon me, and I'm left earthbound and heavy.

Water flows from my eyes, not just tears but the very essence of the tides I used to control. It streams down my face, pooling at my feet before vanishing into shadow.

The shadows themselves are torn away last - my darkness, my ability to hide and protect myself. Phil pulls them from me like threads unraveling from a tapestry, each one taking a piece of me with it.

But even as he strips away every power he can find, the mist remains - so subtle, so intertwined with my soul that he doesn't recognize it as power at all. It curls through me, around me, holding the fragments of myself together even as everything else is taken.

The pain is beyond anything I could have imagined. It's not just physical; it's a soul-deep ache that threatens to unmake me entirely. But even as I crumble, even as Phil's laughter rings in my ears and his hands continue their vicious work, I cling to a single thought.

I'm doing this for them. My men. Wes, with his steady strength. Rhett, fierce and loyal. Gray, whose quiet intensity anchors me. Theo, brilliant and passionate. Jace, wild and free. And Thane.

Their faces flash before me, a kaleidoscope of love and devotion. I hold onto these images as Phil continues his torture, reminding myself that this sacrifice is worth it. For them, I would endure a thousand lifetimes of pain.

But even as I try to stay strong, I can feel myself slipping away. With each power Phil strips from me, a piece of my identity goes with it. I'm losing myself, becoming less and less with each passing moment.

The dream shifts, blurring at the edges.

I'm no longer just experiencing the torture; I'm watching it happen to a version of myself I barely recognize.

She's on her knees, head bowed, while Phil towers over her.

The air around them crackles with stolen power, and I want to scream, to fight, to do something to stop this.

The dream shifts again, flickering between memory and nightmare. The mist coils tighter, shielding me from Phil’s grasp. But his voice—his voice follows me into the dark."

"See you soon, princess."

I wake up gasping.

Cold. Everything feels cold.

Consciousness returns in fragments, like shards of ice melting slowly. The first thing I register is softness beneath me, different from my lumpy couch at home. Then voices, low and careful, filtering through the fog in my head.

"Her temperature's still low," someone murmurs. Wes, I think. His voice carries that quiet steadiness I'd know anywhere.

"The frost is finally melting though." Theo this time, analytical even in his concern.

Frost? The word catches in my mind, tugging at memories that feel sharp and jagged. Phil's face, twisted with something inhuman. The mist surging around me, cold and fierce. Power flowing through my veins like liquid ice.

I try to open my eyes, but they feel heavy. My whole body aches, like I've been running for hours. The mist curls around me - I can feel it even with my eyes closed, its presence somehow warmer than usual, almost protective.

"She's waking up." Gray's voice, closer than the others. "Give her space."

My fingers twitch against what feels like a blanket - softer than anything I own. The scent of cedar and pine fills my lungs, familiar and grounding. When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, the first thing I see is the attic ceiling, its exposed beams bathed in soft light.

The attic. They brought me to the attic.

"Easy," Rhett says as I try to sit up. His hand hovers near my shoulder but doesn't touch, giving me the choice. "You've been out for a while."

My throat feels raw when I try to speak. "What..." I swallow and try again. "What happened?"

The guys exchange glances - five sets of eyes carrying weights I can't quite read. The mist swirls thicker around the bed, and for a moment, I swear it pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat.

"What do you remember?" Theo asks carefully, his blue eyes sharp with that focused concern that means he's cataloging every detail.

The dream crashes back - powers being stripped away, a version of me I don't recognize, Phil's cruel laughter. I shudder, trying to separate nightmare from reality. "I... there was ice. The mist... it listened to me. And Phil, he..."

My hands find my way to my neck, my voice breaks as more recent memories surface: Phil's grip on my throat, the sour stench of his breath, the way his eyes changed when the mist responded to my fear.

Then... power. Ice crystals forming in the air, the mist becoming solid enough to throw him across the room.

"I..." My voice cracks. "Did I...?"

"Yeah," Jace says softly from his perch by the window. "You did."

The confirmation hits harder than I expect. My hands shake as I press them flat against the blanket, trying to ground myself. Ice shouldn't be possible. The mist shouldn't be able to... I shouldn't be able to...

"Breathe," Gray commands quietly, and I realize I'm starting to hyperventilate. "You're safe here."

But am I? The thought spirals as I look around the attic - at the careful way they've arranged themselves around me, at the medical supplies on the bedside table, at the frost still clinging to my scrubs.

"Phil," I manage, the name tasting like ash on my tongue. "He said something about... a binding breaking?"

Rhett's jaw tightens, and I notice for the first time the bruises on his knuckles. What did he do after I passed out?

"We'll figure it out," Wes says, his dark eyes steady when I meet them. "Together."

The word settles over me like another blanket - heavy but not suffocating. The mist drifts closer, curling around my fingers where they grip the covers. Its touch feels different now, more deliberate. Like it's trying to tell me something.

"I'm not..." I stop, struggling to find the words. "This isn't normal."

"No," Gray agrees, his voice carrying that quiet certainty that both steadies and terrifies me. "But neither is the way the mist has always followed you. Or those daisies you planted."

I glance toward the window, where the faint glow of the flowers is visible even from here. They pulse softly in the growing dusk, like they're responding to my awareness of them.

"What am I?" The question slips out before I can stop it, small and afraid.

Five sets of eyes meet mine, and something in their combined gaze makes my chest tighten. There's no fear there, no judgment. Just fierce protection and something deeper - something that feels ancient and new all at once.

"You're ours," Rhett says simply, like it's the most obvious truth in the world. "The rest we'll figure out together."

The mist swirls higher, wrapping around all of us like it's sealing a promise I'm not sure I'm ready to make. But as I sit here, surrounded by their steady presence and the quiet magic humming through my veins, I let myself believe - just for a moment - that maybe I don't have to face this alone.

The dream lingers at the edges of my mind, a warning or a memory - I'm not sure which. But something tells me the answers are closer than I think, hidden in the mist that's followed me all my life, waiting to be remembered.