Page 36 of Crown of the Mist

The wooden spoon scrapes against the pot, filling the silence that follows. I wait for the questions, the pity, but neither comes. Instead, Wes just slides me the ginger I hadn't even asked for yet.

"Here." His fingers brush mine as he passes the root, and for once, I don't flinch. The touch is so light, so casual, I almost miss it. Almost.

The mist swirls contentedly as I add more spices, the familiar scents filling the kitchen. For amoment, I can almost pretend I'm somewhere else. Someone else. Someone who belongs in this warm kitchen with its well-stocked cabinets and people who look at me like I matter.

"Smells amazing," Rhett says, pausing his chopping to peer into the pot. "You said your mom taught you?"

"Yeah..." I stir faster, focusing on the movement. "She said cooking was like magic. Taking simple things and making them into something better."Something worth keeping, I don't add.Something worth loving.

"She was right." Wes's voice is closer than I expect. He stands near my shoulder, not quite touching but present. "About the magic part."

I glance up to find him watching me with an expression I can't quite read. The mist curls around both our feet, and for a second, I swear I feel... something. Like static electricity but warmer.

"Shit," Rhett mutters behind us, breaking the moment. "Sorry, I think I murdered this tomato."

A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. The sound surprises me - rusty but real.

"Here." I move to his cutting board, gesturing at the mangled vegetable. "Like this." I demonstrate with another tomato, my movements suredespite years of disuse.

Rhett watches intently, standing close enough that I can feel his warmth. "You're good at this," he says softly. "Really good."

"I..." The praise catches me off guard. "It's just practice."

"It's more than that." Wes appears on my other side, handing me more tomatoes. "You know exactly what you're doing. Like you've got some sixth sense about flavors."

I duck my head, uncomfortable with the attention but not... not hating it. "The rice needs to start soon," I mumble, deflecting. "If we want everything ready at the same time."

They let me change the subject, but I feel their eyes on me as I move through the kitchen. It should make me nervous, being watched. But something about their presence feels... steady. Safe.

The curry comes together like I remember, rich and fragrant. I add a final pinch of garam masala, and the scent hits me hard - memory wrapped in spice and steam. Mom in our tiny kitchen, laughing as she taught me to bloom spices. Her hand over mine on the spoon, showing me how to stir without splashing.

"Bree?" Wes's voice is gentle. When I look up, Irealize I've stopped stirring, lost in the memory.

"Sorry, I..." I blink hard against the sudden sting in my eyes. "It just... it smells like home. Like it used to be."

Rhett moves like he wants to reach for me but stops himself. "Thank you," he says instead. "For sharing this with us."

The words feel bigger than they should, heavy with meaning I'm not ready to examine. I focus on plating the food instead, falling back on movements that don't require thought.

The front door opens, voices drifting up from the entryway. Gray's low rumble, Theo's measured tone, Jace trying too hard to sound normal. Something's wrong - I can hear it in the careful way they're speaking, see it in how Wes and Rhett exchange glances.

But when they appear in the kitchen doorway, their faces shift to genuine surprise.

"Holy shit, what smells amazing?" Jace asks, his usual grin sliding into place as he peers at the stove.

"Bree cooked," Rhett says, and there's something like pride in his voice that makes my cheeks warm.

Gray leans against the doorframe, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he takes in thescene. Theo moves to help set the table, his movements deliberately casual in a way that would worry me if I let myself think about it.

But the mist stays calm, appearing and disappearing between all of us like it's holding something together. And when we sit down to eat, the conversation flows easier than it should, filling the kitchen with a warmth that has nothing to do with curry.

I notice the careful way they avoid certain topics, the looks they think I don't see. But for now, maybe it's enough to just be here, watching Jace dramatically fan his mouth from the spice while Theo rolls his eyes. Feeling Wes's quiet presence beside me as Gray asks for seconds.

Maybe, just for tonight, I can pretend this is normal. That I belong here, in this moment, with them.

The others insist on cleaning up, brushing off my attempts to help. Even Jace, who normally avoids dishes like they might bite him, starts gathering plates.

"Come on," he says, nodding toward the stairs. "Got something to show you."