Page 24 of Crown of the Mist

"Bree." Rhett's voice seems to come from far away. "Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."

I try, but my chest is too tight. The morning sun feels too bright, too harsh. My skin crawls where Phil touched me, phantom sensations that make my stomach heave.

"—going into shock," I hear Theo say, his voice clipped with barely contained rage. "We need to—"

"Don't touch her," Gray cuts in sharply. "Not yet."

He's right. The thought of hands on me, even theirs, makes panic claw up my throat. I press my palms flat against the rough concrete, trying to ground myself in the sensation.

The mist swirls at my feet, agitated and heavy. Through the fog in my mind, I notice Jace watching it, his face hard with understanding. They can see it too. One more secret exposed.

"Home," Wes says quietly, but his voice still carries that dangerous edge. "We need to get her home."

Home. The word echoes strangely in my head. I want to laugh, or maybe scream. Instead, I just sit there, staring at the scattered contents of my box—my secrets spread out on the pavement like broken glass.

They know. They know. They know.

The thought circles like a vulture as black spots dance at the edges of my vision. Years of careful walls crumbling because of Phil's drunken taunts. The mist thickens around me, trying to hold me up as my legs give out, but it's too late. Everything feels distant, underwater, wrong.

The morning sun fractures into pieces, too bright, too harsh. My skin burns where Philtouched me, phantom sensations that make bile rise in my throat. The concrete scrapes my palms as I try to ground myself, but even that feels far away.

The last thing I see is the mist, curling protectively around my scattered secrets on the pavement, before darkness claims me completely.

15. Rhett

The drive home is too quiet. Behind me, Theo cradles Bree's head in his lap, his fingers hovering near but never touching her hair - always careful, always holding back. Gray sits rigid in the passenger seat, his jaw working silently, teeth grinding loud enough I can hear it over the engine. The rest follow in Wes's car, steady in my rearview mirror, staying close like they're afraid we'll all disappear if they let us out of their sight.

My hands clench around the steering wheel until my knuckles go white, focusing on the smooth leather under my palms instead of the rage burning through my chest. The image of Phil's hands on her keeps flashing through my mind, mixing with his words about her father until I taste copper from biting my cheek too hard. A dull throb starts behind my eyes - the kind of headache that comes from holding yourself together when everything in you wants to breaksomething. Someone.

But I can't lose it. Not now. Not when she needs us steady. Not when she's finally letting us help, even if it took her collapsing for it to happen.

"She's still out," Theo murmurs from the back seat, his voice tight with the kind of control that comes from years of practice. "But her breathing's even."

Gray doesn't turn around, but his shoulders tense at Theo's words. "The mist," he says, voice low and careful. "You all saw it?"

Nobody answers. We don't need to. We'd all watched it swirl around her feet, agitated and heavy, like it was responding to her distress. Just like we used to see when we were kids, though we never talked about it then either.

The house looms ahead, dark windows reflecting the mid-morning sun. I pull into the driveway, and Wes parks behind us, blocking us in. It's what we do now—layers of protection, keeping her surrounded.

"I've got her," I say as I kill the engine, but Theo's already shaking his head.

"Your hands are shaking," he says quietly. "Let me."

He's right. I hadn't even noticed, but my fingers tremble as I release the steering wheel.Jace appears at Theo's door, opening it with uncharacteristic silence. The mist follows as Theo lifts Bree, careful and slow, like she might shatter if he moves too fast.

She looks small in his arms, drowning in my borrowed hoodie, her face pale against the dark fabric. Something in my chest twists at the sight. How many times had she been hurt while we weren't looking? How many secrets has she been carrying alone?

"Inside," Wes says from behind us, his voice carrying that dangerous edge it gets when he's holding himself together by a thread. "Before the neighbors start asking questions."

We move as a unit, falling into an unconscious formation we've perfected over years. Theo carries her, his training evident in every careful step. Wes and Gray flank him like shadows, their movements synchronized without a word passing between them. Jace takes point, already pulling out his keys, while I bring up the rear, watching everything, everyone. We don't need to discuss it - each of us knowing our role, our place in this protective circle we've built around her.

The morning sun streams through the windows as we file inside, catching dust motes in its beam, making everything feel too bright, too normal for what just happened. My throat tightens at how small she looks in Theo's arms, drowningin my borrowed hoodie, her face too pale against the dark fabric.

"Should we take her to..." Jace starts, but Theo cuts him off with a quiet "Guest room." Gray's already heading up the stairs, moving ahead to clear the path, to check every corner like he's done since we were kids and he first heard the sounds through their shared wall. Like he can protect her from everything if he just moves fast enough, plans well enough.

I catch Jace's wrist as he moves to follow. "The box," I murmur. "Her things—"

"On it." He's gone before I can finish, slipping back outside to gather what Phil scattered. What she tried so hard to keep private.