Page 13 of Crown of the Mist
I nod again, my legs moving on autopilot ashe 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, andGray’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 calmbut 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.
9. Rhett
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.