Page 17 of Crown of the Mist

Wes's calm assurance echoes in my mind. "We're already here, whether you want us to be or not."

My chest tightens, the weight of his words pressing against my ribs. They're here. Always have been. And I've been pushing them away for years, convinced it was better for everyone.

I run my hands over my arms, scrubbing harder than necessary, as if I can scrub away the thoughts with the grime. Just like my scars.

The mirror is completely fogged over when I step out, and for a moment, I stare at my hazy reflection. The girl in the mirror looks softer, less jagged around the edges. Maybe it's just the steam, but she doesn't look like she's been running for as long as I feel like I have.

I pull the towel tighter around me and turn away before I can think too much about it.

Stepping out of the bathroom, dressed again in Rhett's borrowed clothes, I hesitate in the hallway. The sound of voices drifts up from downstairs—lighthearted, full of life. My stomach does a slow flip, equal parts longing and dread. Pots clink, and the faint smell of coffee and something sweet wafts through the air.

For a second, I consider retreating back to the room. Curling up under the blanket Theo left me and pretending none of this ever happened. But the warmth of their voices draws me forward, tugging at something fragile inside me.

I pad down the stairs, one hand trailing along the wooden railing. The closer I get to the kitchen, the more distinct the voices become.

"Why the hell are you using every pan we own?" Gray's tone is sharp, but there's no real heat behind it.

"Because I'm making a masterpiece," Jace says, the grin evident in his voice. "Something the lady of the hour deserves."

"It's pancakes, Jace," Rhett deadpans. "Not an art exhibit."

"Pancakes," Theo corrects. "Waffles. Bacon. Eggs. Fruit. You're basically making a buffet."

Jace snorts. "I aim to impress."

"Where did all this come from anyway? I don't think I've ever seen so much food in this house at once." Gray says, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"I went shopping." Jace responds like it's obvious.

I stop just outside the kitchen, wrapping my arms around me, listening to their banter. It's easy, natural, like they've been doing this forever.And they probably have.

Then Jace's voice cuts through the noise. "I swear I heard her upstairs. Think she'll join us, or do I need to deliver the pancakes directly to her room?"

"Leave her alone," Rhett says, though his tone is softer than usual. "She'll come down when she's ready."

I square my shoulders, but I can't help thinking about the loose sleeves of Rhett's shirt falling just above my elbows. They're going to see so much of my skin they haven't seen since we were kids, so much of my past. I try hard to shake away the thought, but the weight of it lingers, pressing down on me as I step closer to the kitchen.

My heart pounds with every step, my bare feet almost silent against the floor. I stop just short of the doorway, clutching my arms to my chest. Their voices fill the space, warm and easy, and I let myself hover in the shadow of the hall, listening.

"Almost done," Jace says, his voice rising cheerfully above the clatter of pans. "Prepare to be amazed, gentlemen."

Gray snorts. "That's a big promise for pancakes."

"They're not just pancakes," Jace says, feigning offense. "These are works of art. Made with love.And maybe some stress."

Theo chuckles softly. "More like showing off."

"Call it what you want," Jace fires back. "But no one's going hungry today, thanks to me."

Rhett's voice cuts in, calmer but teasing. "We'll see if the pancakes make it to the table before you burn them."

For a moment, I just stand there, soaking it in. It feels wrong to step into it, like I'll disturb the balance of something perfect.

Then Jace speaks again, his voice exaggeratedly loud. "Seriously, though. She's gotta be starving after last night. Should I take her some bacon or—"

"Jace," Rhett says, sharper this time. "I'm sure she'll be down."

I take a deep breath and step into the doorway before they can notice me lingering. The room falls quiet for a fraction of a second as their eyes shift to me, and I feel the weight of their attention like a physical thing. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest, to hide the parts of me I've never wanted them to see.