Page 29 of Crown of the Mist

"Okay." He accepts it easily, like my weakness is nothing to be ashamed of. "I was thinking of stopping by Target after the showing. Could pick up whatever you need." His voice stays deliberately casual. "Clothes, toiletries. Maybe some stuff to make your room feel more like home? There's this fuzzy blanket I saw the other day that screamed 'Bree.'"

Your room.The words hit hard, maybe harder than I’d like to admit because that isn't my room. This isn't my home. This is temporary, fragile, bound to shatter the moment they realize how broken I really am.

My father's voice whispers in my head:They'll see, princess. They'll see what you really are.

The mist thickens around my ankles, and I step back, needing space, air, anything. "I can't spend the day in your clothes," I say to Rhett, plucking at the borrowed shirt. "Is it okay if I use your washer?"

"Sure," Jace answers before Rhett can. "But seriously, let me grab some stuff for you. Basics, obviously." He pulls out his phone, already making notes. "And that vintage store on Fifth has these cool reading lamps—"

"Jace." My voice cracks. "Stop. Please."

He looks up, his usual grin fading into something more serious. "Too much?"

I wrap my arms around myself, hating how small I feel. How weak. "I can't let you—"

"You can," Wes cuts in, his quiet voice brooking no argument. "And you will."

I flee before anyone can say more, their concern following me up the stairs like a shadow. In the safety of the guest room, I press my forehead against the cool wall.

They think they can fix this. Fix me.

They don't understand that some things stay broken.

18. Jace

The showing goes about as well as you'd expect when your mind is stuck on old journals and scattered daisies. I smile through the walk-through on autopilot, pointing out crown molding and original hardwood floors while part of me catalogs everything Bree needs.Clothes. Toiletries. Something to make that room feel less like a guest space and more like home.

My clients are a young couple, all starry-eyed about their first house. They don't notice how my chatter about the updated kitchen feels hollow, or how my hands shake slightly when I pull out my keys to lock up.

I sit in my car afterward, staring at the Target list on my phone. The practical stuff is easy - basic clothes, shampoo, toothbrush. But it's the other things that matter more. The soft blanket I saw last week that made me think of her. A reading lamp for late nights. Little pieces of comfortshe'd never buy for herself.

Things she couldn’t afford to buy for herself.

The steering wheel creaks under my grip as I think about her apartment. About what waits there. Not just the sparse furniture and empty room, but the ghosts of everything she's been hiding.

My phone buzzes, Theo's name lighting up the screen. My stomach drops - he was supposed to be keeping an eye on her while the rest of us handled damage control.

"What's wrong?" I answer, already turning the key in the ignition.

"Nothing. Well, something." Theo's voice has that tone he gets when he's trying to puzzle something out. "She's in the attic."

I pause, hand hovering over the gear shift. "The attic? How did she even—"

"Found the door unlocked when I went to check on her. She's asleep up there, curled up right where we were planning to put her reading nook." He pauses. "The mist is...different up there. Thicker. Almost like it's trying to tell us something."

"Don't let her wake up alone," I say, pulling out of the parking lot. The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes - her finding the one place inthe house we've been secretly renovating for her. "I'll grab her stuff and be back as soon as I can."

"Jace." Theo's voice stops me before I can hang up. "Be careful at the apartment. Phil might—"

"I know." My free hand tightens on the wheel. "Trust me, part of me hopes he shows up."

"That's exactly why I'm telling you to be careful." Another pause. "The others are still out handling the legal stuff. You'll be alone."

"Good." I end the call before he can argue further, but his warning echoes as I drive.Be careful. Like any of us have been careful enough when it comes to Bree.

???

The Target bags rustle in my trunk as I pull up to her building. I've probably gone overboard - three throws because I couldn't decide which one she'd like best, a stack of paperbacks from her favorite authors, one of those LED candles that flickers like a real flame. Simple things that might make her stay feel less temporary.