Page 44 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

The house has settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind that only comes late at night when the world finally exhales.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint creaks and whispers of the old Victorian.

The day passed in a blur of soft voices, warm meals, and too much attention I didn’t feel like I deserved.

They insisted I stay in bed, taking shifts to check on me.

Rhett brought me coffee, the same way he used to when I had to cram for finals.

Jace cracked jokes at the door, trying to coax a smile out of me.

Gray sat in the chair by the window with his usual sharp focus, acting like he wasn’t watching every move I made.

And Theo… Theo was steady, quiet, leaving a book on the nightstand without a word.

I’ve never felt so cared for. Or so smothered.

It’s not their fault. They’re just trying to help.

But the weight of their concern presses against my chest, suffocating in its gentleness.

I needed the rest, sure, but now I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.

The mist stirs faintly at the edges of the room, restless, like it’s echoing my unease.

Sliding out of bed, I grab Rhett’s hoodie from the chair and pull it on, the hem brushing against my thighs.

The house feels cooler now, the warmth of the day fading into the stillness of night.

My feet move without direction, carrying me down the hall like they know where I’m supposed to go before I do.

Light spills softly from the study, pooling in the hallway like a beacon.

I pause just outside, drawn by the quiet hum of a turned page.

Peeking in, I spot Theo, sitting in the oversized armchair with a book balanced on his knee.

A single lamp casts a warm glow over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the relaxed curve of his shoulders.

He doesn’t look up, but I know he knows I’m here. It’s Theo. He always knows.

“You’re up late,” he says, his voice low and even, like he’s afraid to break the quiet.

“So are you.” I step inside, the thick rug soft under my bare feet. “What are you reading?”

He tilts the book slightly so I can see the cover. It’s one of the ones he left on my nightstand—a battered old paperback with a cracked spine. I recognize the title immediately, a rush of familiarity warming my chest.

“I read that in high school,” I say, moving closer. “It’s... good.”

Theo raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “That’s high praise.”

“I mean it.” I hover by the arm of the chair, unsure if I should sit or leave. “It’s one of those books that sticks with you. The kind you think about years later.”

He nods, his dark eyes soft as they meet mine. “That’s why I like it. It doesn’t tell you what to feel—it just… lingers.”

The silence between us feels gentle, not awkward, and I find myself sinking onto the edge of the ottoman near his feet. The mist curls faintly at the corners of the room, barely visible in the low light, but I can feel it—warmer, steadier.

“Why do you read so much?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "I mean, you were always reading. Even when we were kids.”

Theo leans back in the chair, his gaze distant, like he’s looking through the book to something beyond it. “It’s quiet. Books don’t ask for anything. They don’t judge. They just… exist.”

Something about his answer makes my throat tighten. I look down at my hands, fidgeting with the hem of Rhett’s hoodie. “I think that’s why I started reading. It felt... safer than the real world. Easier.”

“Still feel that way?” he asks softly, and I can hear the careful weight in his question. He’s not pushing—he never pushes. But he’s giving me space to answer if I want to.

I shrug, staring at the grain of the wooden floor. “Sometimes. I mean, I like being here. With you guys. But it’s... a lot. All at once.”

Theo doesn’t respond right away, but when I glance up, his expression is calm, patient. “It’s okay to need space,” he says after a moment. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The mist shifts slightly, swirling around his legs and brushing against my ankles. It feels softer somehow, curious rather than restless. I reach out absently, my fingers brushing against the edge of the ottoman where the mist lingers. It doesn’t feel cold this time—it feels... alive.

Theo notices but doesn’t comment. Instead, he closes the book, setting it gently on the armrest. “What about now?” he asks. “Does this feel like too much?”

“No.” The word slips out before I can think. “This is... nice.”

His lips curve into a faint smile, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

He has that effect on me—always has, though I’ve never let myself dwell on it.

It’s the quiet steadiness of him, the way he holds himself like he’s unshakable but never cold.

The way his dark eyes seem to see past every wall I’ve built, straight to the pieces of me I’m still trying to figure out.

I know I should look away, should pull back before he notices the way my cheeks warm or the way my fingers curl against the edge of the ottoman to keep from fidgeting. But I can’t. Because this—him—is different.

Theo doesn’t overwhelm me like Jace’s relentless charm or Gray’s sharp intensity. He doesn’t try to pull me out of my head the way Rhett does, or linger in the background like Wes. He’s just here, present and solid, like he’ll wait forever if that’s what I need.

And maybe that’s why it scares me. Why he scares me.

Because Theo makes me feel seen, even when I don’t want to be. He makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never been able to trust, like he’s the anchor I didn’t realize I was drifting without. And it’s terrifying, this quiet, steady pull toward him that feels like gravity.

It’s not just that he’s beautiful—though God, he is.

The sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes, the way his hair falls just slightly out of place like he’s too focused on the world around him to care.

It’s everything he is beneath that. The patience, the kindness, the way he listens without judgment, without expecting anything in return.

Being near him feels like standing in the eye of a storm. Calm and quiet, even when everything else inside me is chaos. The silence stretches between us, but I'm not uncomfortable. Not scared. Just... here.

The mist swirls higher, wrapping faintly around Theo's wrist where it rests on the arm of the chair. He doesn't pull away, doesn't flinch. He just watches me with that steady, unshakable presence that's always made me feel like maybe I'm not as broken as I think I am.

Years of memories flood back - Theo sitting next to me in the library, never pushing, just being there.

The way he'd leave books on my desk in high school when I was having a bad day.

How he noticed which ones made me smile and somehow always found more like them.

All those quiet moments when the world felt too heavy, and he'd just.. . appear. Like he knew.

My throat tightens. "I don't know how to do this," I whisper, the words barely audible.

"Do what?" His voice is soft, patient.

"Let someone see me." My fingers twist in the hem of Rhett's hoodie. "Really see me. All of it. The broken parts, the scared parts, the..." I swallow hard. "The parts that want to stay."

Theo stays perfectly still, but I can feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing. "You don't have to be whole to be worthy of being seen, Bree."

The words hit like a punch to the chest, stealing my breath. Because that's what I've been afraid of, isn't it? That if they - if he - saw all of me, the real me, they'd finally understand how damaged I am. How unfixable.

"I keep waiting," I say, my voice cracking, "for you all to realize I'm not worth this. Worth..." I gesture vaguely at the room, at the house, at everything they've given me. "Any of it."

"You've never been something to fix," Theo says quietly. "You're someone to protect. To cherish. To..." He pauses, and I can hear him choosing his words carefully. "To love."

Something breaks inside me - a wall I didn't even know was still standing. Tears spill over before I can stop them, hot and relentless. I try to turn away, to hide, but Theo's hand moves finally, catching mine where it trembles against the chair.

His touch is gentle, barely there, but it anchors me as the sobs I've been holding back for years tear free. All the pain, all the fear, all the longing I've never let myself feel - it crashes through me like a wave, threatening to pull me under.

But Theo's there, steady and sure, his fingers laced with mine as I fall apart.