Page 44 of Crown of the Mist
“Bree?”
Gray’s voice pulls me back. I turn to find him watching me, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. His gaze flicks from my face to the window, and I know he sees it too.
For a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something. But then he doesn’t. He just nods slightly, his expression calm but knowing, and goes back to eating like nothing’s out of the ordinary.
I glance back at the small buds, the shimmer still faintly visible in the sunlight. The mist curls around my feet, warmer than usual, almost like it’s pleased.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself smile.
27. Bree
“Try not to get blood on my onions!” Jace yells from the stove.
The kitchen hums with energy. Rhett’s at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched as he leans over a simmering pot, stirring with the kind of focus that comes natural to him. Jace, moving to the counter and coming shoulder-to-shoulder with Theo who has moved on from tomatoes to chopping herbs with surgical precision while Jace makes exaggerated faces at every slice he cuts. Gray leans against the fridge, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes flicking between the chaos and me.
And me? I stand at the sink, rinsing off a cutting board that has seen better days, feeling out of place in this well-oiled machine. But they’ve let me help, and that’s something. A small victory in a house where it feels like everyone’s holding their breath around me.
The scent of garlic and onions mingles with the faint aroma of bread warming in the oven. It’s comforting, grounding, and so different from the empty hum of my old apartment, where dinner meant instant noodles or toast and the only sound was the faint buzz of the fridge. I glance at the others, watching the easy rhythm they’ve fallen into. This shouldn’t feel like home. I shouldn’t feel like I belong here.
Jace catches me watching and grins, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re up next, Bree. I hope you’re ready to taste-test the masterpiece I’ve been slaving over.”
Theo snorts without looking up from his chopping. “Slaving? You’ve barely done anything.”
“Excuse me, chef extraordinaire, but I think someone forgot who’s in charge of the main dish,” Jace fires back, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. “I’m about to revolutionize your taste buds.”
Rhett glances over his shoulder, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Pretty sure you said that last week. How’d that turn out again?”
“Okay, first of all, that lasagna was an experiment—”
“A disaster,” Gray cuts in, his tone dry. “You setthe smoke alarm off three times.”
“I was testing its reliability,” Jace says with mock indignation, winking at me when I finally crack a small smile.
The banter swirls around me, light and warm, like the steam rising from Rhett’s pot. And yet, there’s a weight under my ribs that won’t lift. I grip the edge of the sink, my fingers pressing into the cool metal as their voices fade into the background.
They’ve done so much for me, and I’m grateful—more than they’ll ever know. But I can’t stay here forever. I can’t keep letting them carry me. I need to figure out how to stand on my own, to save enough so I can finally find a place where my father’s shadow doesn’t stretch.
“Bree?” Gray’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp but not unkind.
I blink, turning to find all four of them watching me. “What?”
“You okay?” Rhett asks, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Yeah.” I force a smile, hoping it’s convincing. “Just lost in thought.”
“Don’t go disappearing on us,” Jace says lightly, though there’s an edge to his tone. “Not when the fun part’s about to start.”
“What’s the fun part?” I ask, though I already know. They’ve been hinting at this dinner for days now, building it up like some kind of sacred ritual.
Jace grins, holding up a plate like it’s a prize. “The tasting, of course.”
The door to the kitchen creaks open, and every head turns as Wes steps in. His dark curls are slightly damp, and his sharp, quiet gaze flicks over the room, taking in the chaos like he’s weighing whether to dive in or let it pass.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says simply, his voice low but warm enough to settle some of the tension in the room. His eyes land on me for a brief moment, and something flickers there—something that makes my breath catch before I can bury it.
“Perfect timing, broody,” Jace says, clapping Wes on the back as he passes. “You missed my genius in action, but don’t worry, I saved you a front-row seat for the masterpiece unveiling.”
Wes doesn’t answer, just moves to lean against the counter opposite me, his presence grounding in a way I can’t explain. His dark eyes linger on me again, but this time, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.