Page 8 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

The silence wraps around us like a blanket as Rhett drives, broken only by the rhythmic swish of windshield wipers and the soft patter of rain.

I stare out the window, but I’m not really seeing anything.

My mind keeps circling back to Phil’s grip on my arm, to Mrs. Henderson’s last breath, to the way the mist seemed to respond when. ..

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t think about that right now.

“Almost there,” Rhett says quietly, and my stomach clenches as I realize where we’re heading. The truck turns onto Oak Street, lined with old Victorian homes split into apartments. I’ve gone past their place a hundred times but never went inside. Another wall I built. Another boundary I enforced.

Rhett pulls into a narrow driveway beside a huge blue Victorian, complete with a wraparound porch and way too many windows.

Light spills from several of them, warm and inviting in a way that makes my chest ache.

A shadow moves past one of the first-floor windows—probably Theo, he’s always up late reading.

He hesitates, his hands tightening on the wheel before he finally speaks. “You don’t have to come in. I can call you a cab, or take you anywhere else you want to go.”

My throat tightens, the weight of the offer pressing down on me. I should say yes. I should ask for a cab, go somewhere—anywhere that won’t make this night more complicated than it already is. But I’m so tired. Tired of running, tired of being afraid, tired of being alone.

I take a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Rhett’s head turns, his eyes flicking to mine as if he’s checking to see if I really mean it.

When I don’t say anything else, he nods and pushes the door open.

He’s around to my side of the truck in an instant, but he doesn’t touch me.

He just holds the door and waits as I slowly uncurl myself from the seat.

My legs shake as I follow him up the porch steps. The old wood creaks beneath our feet, and I catch the scent of rain-soaked cedar. Rhett unlocks the door, and warmth spills out—along with the smell of coffee and something else, something that smells like cinnamon and safety.

“Just for tonight,” I say, my voice rough. “Just until…”

Until what? Until I’m less broken? Less afraid? Less me?

Rhett’s eyes soften, but he just nods. “Just for tonight.”

Rhett nudges the door shut behind us, locking it with a quiet click. The warmth of the house hits me immediately, and with it, the overwhelming realization of how cold I am. My damp clothes cling to me, my fingers frozen stiff.

“Let me grab you a towel or some clothes,” Rhett says, his voice low, steady. He glances at me like he’s afraid I’ll bolt the moment he moves.

I nod faintly, crossing my arms tighter around myself. But before Rhett can step away, the sound of footsteps on the stairs makes us both freeze.

Theo rounds the corner, a book in hand, his head down as he reads. He stops mid-step, his foot hovering over the last stair when he looks up and sees me. His face shifts instantly—surprise, worry, and something else I can’t quite name flashing through his blue eyes.

“Bree?” His voice is soft, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he speaks too loud. “What... are you okay?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. My throat feels too tight. Theo sets the book down on the banister and takes a cautious step forward, his brows knitting together as he studies me.

I know what he sees. The damp hoodie clinging to my frame, the dark circles under my eyes, the way my arms are wrapped so tightly around myself it’s like I’m trying to hold myself together.

And suddenly, I can’t stand it. The worry in his eyes, the quiet way he looks at me like I’m some fragile thing he needs to fix. My chest tightens with the familiar sting of shame.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, though the words sound hollow even to me. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Theo interrupts gently. “Don’t apologize.”

I swallow hard, dropping my gaze to the floor. My mind starts spiraling, berating myself for letting things get to this point. For making them worry. Again.

“I’ll be right back” Rhett murmurs as he leaves the room. Theo steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s trying not to spook me. “Come on,” he says softly, tilting his head toward the hallway. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

I nod again, my legs moving on autopilot as he guides me down the hall. The warmth of the house presses against my damp clothes, a reminder of how cold I still feel. The soft sound of voices drifts through the air, and I stiffen when I hear someone call out.

“Theo, is that you? There’s snacks!” Jace’s voice is light and teasing, but the knot in my chest tightens. Snacks. The idea of food should be comforting, but all I feel is the gnawing ache of shame.

I glance at Theo, ready to make an excuse to leave, but before I can speak, my stomach growls loudly, betraying me. My cheeks burn as I wrap my arms tighter around myself, hoping the sound wasn’t as loud as it felt.

Theo raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “Guess we’re heading to the kitchen,” he says gently, not giving me a chance to argue.

The kitchen is warm and bright, its mismatched cabinets and cluttered counters making it feel inviting in a way that catches me off guard. Jace is leaning against the counter, a half-empty bag of chips in one hand, while Gray stands near the sink, his arms crossed.

Both of them turn as we enter, their expressions shifting the moment they see me. Jace’s easy grin falters, replaced by something softer, and Gray’s sharp eyes narrow as they sweep over me, cataloging every detail. I feel their scrutiny like a weight, heavy and suffocating.

“Bree,” Gray says, his voice calm but tight, like he’s holding back a tidal wave of questions. His sharp eyes scan me like he’s reading every shadow under my eyes, every tremor in my hands. I hate it.

Jace tries to lighten the mood, as always. “Hey, didn’t expect to see you tonight.” He holds up the bag of chips, his grin wobbly. “Want some? They’re stale, but, you know, free food.”

I manage a weak smile, but my throat is too tight to answer. Before I can find my voice, Theo nudges me toward a chair at the table and drapes a blanket over my shoulders. The soft fabric is warm, but it feels like too much, like a weight pressing down on me.

Gray’s voice cuts through the quiet. “What happened?”

My chest tightens, my fingers gripping the edges of the blanket as if it might anchor me. “It’s nothing,” I mumble, my voice barely audible. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” The word is quiet but firm, and Gray steps closer, his green eyes locking on mine. “You’re not fine.”

“Gray,” Theo warns, his voice low, but Gray doesn’t back down.

“You show up here in the middle of the night, soaked to the bone, and you’re saying it’s nothing?” His tone isn’t angry—it’s sharp with concern, cutting through the fragile wall I’ve built around myself. “Talk to us, Bree. Let us help.”

I freeze, my mind scrambling for a way out. The air feels too thick, the room too warm, their concern too much.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice tight as I push back from the table. “I should go.”

Jace’s eyes widen, and Theo moves to stop me, but I’m already standing. The blanket slips from my shoulders and pools on the floor as I turn toward the hallway. My heart pounds, the overwhelming urge to escape drowning out the voices in the room.

I take a shaky breath.

I need to go. I can’t stay here. Not like this.

I make it two steps before Rhett appears, holding a towel and a neatly folded t-shirt and boxers. He stops mid-step, his brows drawing together as he takes in the scene. His eyes flick from the dropped blanket to my trembling hands.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice calm but firm enough to make me pause.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “This was a mistake. I’m fine. I can—”

“Bree.” Rhett steps closer, setting the towel and clothes on the back of a chair. His voice is steady, unwavering. “Stop.”

The single word cuts through the noise in my head, and I freeze, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I glance at the door, then at the floor, the weight of his gaze holding me in place.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rhett says, softer this time. “You don’t have to run.”

The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving me sagging under the weight of my own exhaustion. My throat tightens, and I blink hard, willing the tears to stay where they are.

“You’re not a burden,” Rhett continues. His tone is low, deliberate. “And you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Something in me cracks, just a little.