Page 51 of Crown of the Mist

But someone’s always looking. Always watching. That thought flickers darkly in the back of my mind, and I shove it down, forcing myself to swallow a bite of pancake.

I glance toward the hallway, where the faint sound of movement upstairs draws my attention. “Where’s Wes?” I ask, grateful for the distraction.

“Sleeping in,” Jace answers with a shrug, though his gaze doesn’t leave me. “Late night at the bar.”

“Classic Wes,” he adds, grinning faintly. “Broody, mysterious, and running on four hours of sleep like it’s a lifestyle choice.”

“Better than you running on caffeine and bad decisions,” Theo mutters into his coffee, though the corners of his mouth twitch.

The banter washes over me, light and familiar, but I feel the absence of Wes like a missing piece of the puzzle. He’s always been the quiet one, the steady one, but even now, I wonder if he’s staying away because he can sense how close I am to breaking.

The mist curls faintly at the edges of the window, and I glance at it for a moment too long. Rhett follows my gaze, his brows furrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. None of them do.

“It’s not forever,” I murmur under my breath, not realizing I’ve spoken aloud until Rhett’s green eyes flick back to me, sharp with curiosity.

“What’s not forever?” he asks, his voice quiet but steady.

I shake my head quickly, forcing a smile. “Nothing. Just... nothing.”

They don’t press, but the tension lingers like an unspoken promise. Jason’s words, Phil’s threats, my father’s shadow—they’re all still there, heavy and suffocating. But for now, I keep them to myself, swallowing the bitterness like a stone lodged in my throat.

30. Gray

The attic feels different tonight, heavier somehow. Maybe it’s the weight of everything unsaid, or maybe it’s just me. The others file in one by one, their footsteps muted against the floorboards. I shut the door behind us, leaning against it for a moment longer than necessary.

Rhett stands by the window, his broad shoulders outlined against the faint glow of the moonlight. Jace collapses onto the old loveseat, his usual energy subdued but still there in the restless tapping of his fingers against his knee. Theo claims the armchair by the corner, his sharp gaze already scanning the room like he’s solving a puzzle no one else can see. Wes lingers by the far wall, quiet as always, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding himself together.

It’s not lost on me that we’ve fallen into these roles again—the careful dance of who stands where, who speaks first, who waits.

“She kissed me,” Rhett says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Four heads snap toward him, mine included.

Jace straightens on the loveseat, his easy demeanor replaced with something sharper. “Wait—what?”

Theo leans forward in his chair, his brow furrowing. “When?”

“This morning. By the daisies.” Rhett turns to face us, his green eyes steady but conflicted. “She... she pulled back right after. Apologized. Said she wasn’t thinking.”

“What did you say?” I ask, my voice coming out rougher than I intend.

Rhett’s hand curls into a fist against the windowsill, but his voice stays steady. “I told her she didn’t have to explain. That I got it.” His gaze drops, his shoulders tense like he’s bracing for judgment. “She was caught up in the moment, that’s all.”

Jace lets out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Caught up in the moment? That’s what you’re going with?”

“She kissed me,” Rhett snaps, his green eyes blazing. “And then she apologized. What was I supposed to do—push her for more? She doesn’t need that. She doesn’t need me making it harderfor her.”

“She doesn’t need space, Rhett,” Theo says evenly, though his tone carries a hint of frustration. “She needs to know she’s allowed to feel something good without apologizing for it.”

“She needs to know she’s not alone,” Wes adds, his voice quiet but resolute. “And right now, she doesn’t.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Theo says evenly, though his tone carries more weight than usual. “But she also doesn’t need mixed signals. If she kissed you, it means she’s trying to trust us.”

“She’s already trusting us,” Wes cuts in, his voice quieter but no less intense. “She let me sit with her the other morning. Let me talk to her about... about things I never thought I’d say out loud.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “But she doesn’t think she deserves us. Any of us.”

The room falls silent again, the truth of Wes’s words hitting harder than anyone wants to admit.

“Like when I told her the attic was hers,” Wes continues, his tone measured but raw. “She said she didn’t deserve it.”