Page 48 of Crown of the Mist

My stomach churns as another thought surfaces, one I don’t want to admit even to myself.Is thatwhy the guys want me there? Because they think I’m... that easy? That desperate?

My breath catches, shame burning through me, hot and sharp. I grip the counter harder, forcing myself to face the thought. But even as it claws at me, another voice rises in defiance.No.

I shake my head, the motion sharp and instinctive.

They’d never.

The certainty of it surprises me. Despite everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve been told, I can’t picture Rhett, Wes, Theo, Jace, or Gray looking at me the way Jason did. They don’t see me as something to use. They don’t look through me. They lookatme, like I’m something worth holding on to.

The mist swirls closer, encircling my wrists like a faint, protective embrace. I close my eyes, leaning into its quiet presence, letting it steady me. The coolness of the counter, the warmth of the mist, the steady rhythm of my breathing—all of it works to anchor me in the moment.

They don’t know everything.The thought flickers, weak but insistent.They don’t know what’s inside me. They don’t get to break me again.

When I open my eyes, the mist is still there, quiet and steady. I don’t try to brush it away. I let it stay.

29. Bree

The early morning light spills across the backyard, soft and golden, painting the dew-dappled grass in muted hues. My bare feet press into the cool earth as I sprint toward the blooms, my pulse pounding in my ears. The mist curls lazily at my ankles, a quiet companion as I skid to a stop near the oak tree.

They’re glowing.

Not just blooming—glowing.Pale, iridescent light shimmers along the petals, shifting like sunlight on water. The sight steals my breath, holding me still. The delicate blossoms look like something from a dream, something not quite real.

I drop to my knees, fingers hovering over the nearest flower, tracing the edges of its strange, luminous petals. It’s familiar, somehow, but different—like a memory blurred at the edges.

Then, it clicks. My breath stutters.

Daisies.

Not just any flowers. The ones I planted. The ones I wasn’t sure would ever grow. The ones that, somehow, recognize me.

Warmth spreads through my fingertips as I brush against one of the blossoms, soft and pulsing, like the flowers breathe in rhythm with the mist. My breath catches, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself feel... joy.

A quiet cough behind me shatters the moment, and I whirl around to see Rhett standing a few steps away, his hands tucked into his pockets. He looks like he just came back from a run—his dark t-shirt clings to his chest, and his hair sticks up at odd angles, still damp from sweat.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his voice low and steady.

“You didn’t,” I manage, though my heart still races. I glance back at the glowing flowers, suddenly self-conscious. “I just... I wanted to check on them. I didn’t know what the seeds actually were.”

Rhett takes a few steps closer, his gaze dropping to the luminous blossoms. His brows furrow slightly, but there’s no fear in his expression—just quiet curiosity.

“Guess they’re not regular daisies, huh?”

I laugh softly, the sound catching me off guard. “No, definitely not.”

He crouches beside me, his presence grounding me in a way I didn’t expect. The morning breeze carries the faint scent of cedar and something warm and familiar—Rhett. “They’re beautiful,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now.

“Yeah,” I whisper, looking at the flowers, then back at him.

The mist swirls around us, heavier now, curling around Rhett’s legs like it’s welcoming him. He doesn’t flinch or pull away; he just watches me with that steady, unshakable gaze that makes my chest ache.

“I don’t know why they’re here,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “But they feel... important. Like they’re trying to tell me something.”

Rhett’s green eyes hold mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us. “Maybe they’re trying to tell you you’re important,” he says quietly.

The words hit me harder than they should, stealing the air from my lungs. Before I can think, before I can second-guess myself, I lean forward and press my lips to his.

It’s soft, tentative, over before I fully realize whatI’ve done.