Page 25 of Crown of the Mist

The silence feels heavy as we climb the stairs, broken only by the soft thud of careful footsteps. The mist follows, curling around our ankles, drifting up the bannister like water flowing uphill. None of us mention it. Not yet.

Theo lays her on the bed with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. She looks younger like this, vulnerable in a way she never lets us see when she's awake. Her dark hair spills across the pillow, and I notice the faint tremor in Theo's hands as he steps back.

"She's freezing," he says, voice rough.

Wes moves to the closet, pulling out extra blankets—the ones we bought because Bree's always cold, even if she never admitted it and had never been here to use them. Gray takes them wordlessly, draping them over her with precise movements, tucking the edges like he's building a fortress around her.

"Someone should stay," Wes says, though we all know none of us are leaving. "In case she—"

"Wakes up scared," Gray finishes. "Disoriented."

"Or tries to run," Theo adds quietly.

The truth of it sits heavy between us. Because that's what Bree does—she runs. Has been running for years, we just didn't know from what. Until now.

Jace appears in the doorway, the battered box cradled in his arms like something precious. His face is harder than I've ever seen it, all his usual humor stripped away. "Photos were scattered," he says, voice tight. "And her journal—"

"Don't," I cut him off. The idea of reading her private thoughts, even accidentally, feels like another violation. "Just... put it somewhere safe."

He nods, setting the box carefully on the dresser. We all pretend not to notice how his hands shake, how he has to grip the edge of the dresser for a moment to steady himself.

"Her father," Gray says suddenly, the words sharp enough to make us all flinch. "All this time. Her father—"

"Not now," Theo interrupts, but his voice lacks its usual calm. "We can't... not here. Not with her..."

He doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to. We can all see the mist thickening around Bree, responding to something even in her unconscious state.

"Theo's right," Wes says, his quiet voice carrying an edge of steel. "We deal with that later. Right now—"

"We protect her," I finish. It's what we've always done, even if we failed more times than I can count.

The silence stretches, broken only by Bree's soft breathing. I sink into the armchair by the window, unable to tear my eyes away from her face. She looks peaceful now, but I can still see the moment she collapsed, the way her legs gave out as the truth of Phil's words hit her.

"We should have known." Gray's voice is barely audible, but it carries enough self-loathing to fill the room. He stands by the dresser, fingers tracing the edge of her journal box without touching it. "All those years, living right next door. I heard—" His voice catches. "I heard things. Through the wall. But I never..."

"We all missed it," Theo says, but the words sound hollow. He sits on the floor, back against the wall, looking more undone than I've ever seen him. "Or maybe we didn't want to see it. Because seeing it meant—"

"Admitting we couldn't stop it," Wes finishes. He hasn't moved from his spot near the door, like he's standing guard. The mist swirls around his feet, and for a moment, I swear it takes the shape of something protective, something fierce.

Jace paces near the foot of the bed, that restless energy of his turned sharp and dangerous. "Phil said her father promised him—" He cuts himself off, hands clenching into fists. "They were talking. Recently. About her."

The implications hit like a physical blow. Her father isn't just some ghost from her past. He's still out there, still trying to control her, still—

"We find him." Gray's voice has gone cold, calculated. "We find both of them."

"And do what?" Theo asks, though there's something in his tone that suggests he already has ideas. Dark ones.

"Whatever we have to," Wes says simply.

I watch the mist curl higher around the bed, like it's responding to our anger, our need to protect her. "First," I say, forcing my voice steady, "wemake sure she's safe. Really safe." I look at each of them in turn. "No more letting her push us away. No more respecting boundaries that are killing her."

"She'll fight it," Jace says, finally stopping his pacing. "You know she will."

"Let her," Gray says, and there's something fierce in his voice. "She can hate us for keeping her safe. That's better than—" He swallows hard. "Better than the alternative."

Movement on the bed makes us all freeze. Bree shifts slightly, a small sound escaping her that might be pain or fear. The mist thickens instantly, and I notice how we all lean forward, instinctively ready to move.

But she settles again, fingers clutching the blanket Gray tucked around her. Even unconscious, she's trying to hold herself together.