Page 19 of Crown of the Mist

"I'm fine," I say automatically, but the words feel hollow. Empty. Like everything else I've been telling them.

"You haven't touched your food," Jace says, trying to keep his tone light even though I can hear the worry underneath. "Not up to your standards?"

I shake my head, gripping the edge of the table. "No, it's not—I just—" My throat closes up around the words. How do I explain that I don't deserve this? Their kindness, their concern, their endless patience with my broken pieces?

"You don't have to talk about it," Wes says from his across the table, his voice steady. "But you do need to eat."

Something in me snaps. "Why are you all acting like this is normal?" The words burst out beforeI can stop them. "Like I didn't show up in the middle of the night, like I'm not wearing your clothes, like—" My voice cracks. "Like everything's fine when it's not. It's not fine. None of this is fine."

The silence that follows feels sharp enough to cut. I stare down at my hands, watching them tremble against the dark wood of the table. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if they can hear it.

"No," Gray says finally, his voice quiet but firm. "It's not fine."

I look up, startled by the edge in his tone. He's watching me with those sharp eyes of his, all pretense of casualness gone.

"None of this is fine," he continues. "You showing up scared in the middle of the night? Not fine. You being afraid to come to us? Not fine." His jaw tightens. "You thinking you have to handle everything alone? Definitely not fine."

"Gray," Rhett warns, but Gray shakes his head.

"No, she needs to hear this." He leans forward, his gaze holding mine. "We're not acting like everything's normal, Bree. We're trying to give you space to feel safe. But don't think for a second that we're okay with any of this."

My throat burns. "I didn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"We know," Theo cuts in gently. "But Gray's right.You don't have to pretend with us."

"And you don't have to run," Wes adds quietly from his seat. "Not anymore."

Jace sets his fork down, all his usual playfulness gone. "What happened last night, Bree?"

The question hangs in the air between us. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold in the tremors that threaten to shake me apart. "I can't—" My voice breaks. "Mrs. Henderson died."

The words fall like stones into still water. Ripples of shock cross their faces.

"And then Phil..." I swallow hard, the memory of his grip making my skin crawl. "He was waiting when I got home. He grabbed me, and I couldn't—" My voice cracks again. "I couldn't get away at first."

The mist coils around my feet, cold and agitated, as the room temperature seems to drop. The shift is instant - Jace's fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his knuckles white. Gray goes preternaturally still, like a predator catching a scent. Theo sets his mug down with calculated precision, while Rhett's breath catches in a way that sounds like pain. Even Wes, usually so controlled, straightens with a fluid motion that reminds me of a blade being drawn.

I can't look at any of them, but I feel the change inthe air—like a match about to strike.

"He what?" Gray's voice is low, dangerous in a way I've never heard before.

Rhett's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, but Wes's quiet voice cuts through the tension. "Let her finish."

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing. "I got away. The mist—" I stop, catching myself. They don't need to know about that part. About how strange it was, how Phil stumbled back like he was seeing something that wasn't there. "I just ran. And Rhett found me."

"I'll kill him." Jace's words are soft, matter-of-fact, like he's commenting on the weather. The fork in his hand trembles slightly, betraying the rage beneath his calm.

"Get in line," Gray mutters, his fingers white-knuckled around his coffee mug.

"Guys," Theo warns, but there's an edge to his voice too. He sets his mug down carefully, too carefully, like he's afraid of what his hands might do if he doesn't control every movement.

"You're not going back there." Rhett's tone leaves no room for argument. When I look up, his eyes are fierce, protective in a way that makes my chest ache. "We'll get your things today."

"I can't just—" The words stick in my throat asreality crashes back in. "My lease. The rent. I can't afford—"

"Stay here," Wes says simply.

My head snaps to him. "What?"