Page 9 of Crown of the Mist (The Ether Chronicles #1)

The house feels wrong tonight. Not the usual kind of quiet that settles in after a long day, when we're all winding down in our own ways.

This is heavier—sharp with unspoken words and the kind of tension that makes my shoulders ache.

My damp shirt still clings to my skin from the rain, but I can't bring myself to leave the kitchen long enough to change.

Jace leans against the counter, a glass of water clutched in his hand like he's forgotten it's there.

His eyes haven't left Bree since she sat down, and I get it.

She looks small, huddled at our kitchen table with Theo's blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

The way she's holding herself—tight, closed off—it's like she's trying to disappear into herself.

I've seen that look before, back when we were kids. It never meant anything good.

I catch Theo's eye and he nods, understanding without words. He's always been good at that.

"Come on, Bree," he says, keeping his voice soft like he's talking to a spooked animal. "Let's get you cleaned up. You can take the guest room tonight."

She hesitates, fingers tightening around the blanket's edge.

For a second, I think she's going to bolt—that instinct to run written all over her face.

But then she nods, movements stiff like she's forcing herself to stay put.

Theo guides her toward the stairs, careful not to touch her, and something in my chest aches at how natural that caution has become.

The moment they disappear down the hall, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The weight of responsibility settles deeper on my shoulders, familiar but heavy.

“Well,” Jace mutters, breaking the silence, “this has been a shit night.”

Gray finally moves from his spot by the sink, his crossed arms and sharp eyes reminding me of how he looks when he's diagnosing a particularly stubborn engine problem. "She needed to hear it."

“Did she?” Jace’s voice is sharper than usual, the usual warmth stripped away. He sets the glass on the counter and crosses his arms, the movement jerky. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you practically shoved her out the door.”

Gray stiffens, his jaw tightening. “She’s not going to let us help if she keeps pretending everything’s fine. Someone had to push.”

"Push?" Jace scoffs, that restless energy of his turning sharp. "You think cornering her into a breakdown is helping? Come on, Gray."

"Enough." I don't raise my voice—don't need to. They both turn to me, that simmering frustration hanging between them like smoke. "We're all on edge, but fighting isn't going to fix this."

Jace mutters something under his breath but doesn’t argue further. Gray’s gaze flicks toward the staircase, and I can see the doubt creeping into his expression. He’s replaying what happened, just like the rest of us are.

The sound of the front door opening and closing breaks the quiet. Wes walks in, his dark curls damp from the rain, his expression neutral but sharp. He stops in the doorway, his dark eyes sweeping over the room before landing on the glass of water sitting untouched on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks, his voice low.

I rub the back of my neck, feeling every hour of this endless night. "Bree's here," I say simply. "She's upstairs with Theo."

Wes’s brow furrows. “Why?”

"She had a rough night," Jace says, deflating a bit. "Rhett brought her back."

Before Wes can ask anything else, Theo reappears, his steps slow as he comes back down the stairs. He looks at me first, then at the others, his expression a mix of exhaustion and something softer. “She’s out,” he says, leaning against the banister. “Passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow.”

“Good,” Jace mutters, shaking his head. “She needs it.”

Theo doesn’t move to sit. Instead, he turns to Gray, his blue eyes steady but hard. “What the hell was that back there?”

Gray stiffens. “I was trying to help.”

“Help Bree? Or your own curiosity?” Theo’s voice is quiet but pointed, each word sharp enough to cut. “She’s already hanging by a thread, and you thought pushing her was the right call?”

“She wasn’t going to talk otherwise,” Gray snaps back, his tone defensive. “She keeps shutting us out—”

“And maybe there's a reason for that," Jace cuts in, but his voice lacks its usual heat.

He runs his hands through his hair, frustrated.

"Look, I saw the bruise when she came in, the torn sleeve.

Something happened—something bad—and Gray's not wrong.

She's not going to tell us shit unless we push.

" He laughs, but there's no humor in it.

"But she's not like you, man. She doesn't process things by turning them into puzzles to solve. "

Theo leans against the banister, his gaze steady but tired.

“She barely said anything upstairs,” he murmurs.

“When I asked if she was okay, she just... brushed it off. Like even admitting something’s wrong is too much for her right now.

” He exhales slowly, his hands gripping the banister as if grounding himself.

“She’s not just shutting us out because she’s stubborn.

She’s shutting us out because she doesn’t think she can let us in. ”

Gray shifts, his jaw tightening as he stares down at the floor. His foot scuffs lightly against the tile, the sound small but loud in the silence. “I get it, okay? I shouldn’t have pushed. But I can’t just stand here and watch her fall apart.”

“We’re all watching her fall apart,” I say, stepping in before the argument spirals further. “But if we’re going to help her, we can’t keep pulling in different directions.”

The room falls into a tense silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

“She doesn’t trust us anymore,” Theo says finally, his voice quieter. “I don’t know what we did, but she feels like she’s alone. We have to be patient.”

“That’s not going to be easy,” Jace mutters, shaking his head. His fingers tap a restless rhythm on his bicep as he shifts again, glancing toward the stairs like he’s hoping she’ll magically reappear and prove them all wrong.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Wes says simply, his voice calm but firm. He leans against the doorway, his dark eyes flicking toward the stairs like he’s already thinking three steps ahead.

I glance toward the stairs, the weight in my chest settling deeper. “She’s here now,” I say quietly. “That’s a start.”