Page 52 of Crown of the Mist
Theo leans forward slightly, his hands clasped. “We’ve all seen it, haven’t we? The way she looks at us. Like we’re these impossible things she can’tlet herself have. Like we’re—” He exhales sharply, the words hanging unfinished.
“Too much for her,” Jace finishes, his voice softer now. “But not because she doesn’t want us. Because she doesn’t think she’s enough.”
“She doesn’t think she’s enough because of them,” Rhett growls, his knuckles whitening against the windowsill. “Phil. Her father. They’ve poisoned everything. Every thought she has about herself.”
“And we’re here, trying to fix it,” Wes murmurs, his voice carrying that quiet steel that makes you listen even when he’s barely speaking.
"We all love her." Wes says it like a truth he's known forever but has never dared to say aloud.
The words settle over the room like a punch to the gut. No one moves, no one speaks.
“It’s always been her,” I say finally, the truth scraping out of me like glass. “Since we were kids. It’s always been her.”
Theo nods, his dark eyes steady but full of something I can’t quite name. “Yeah. It has.”
Jace leans back against the loveseat, his head tipped back like he’s trying to find the right words on the ceiling. “You don’t think... you don’t think she’d ever need all of us, do you?”
The question hangs heavy in the air. It’s notsomething we’ve ever said aloud, not something we’ve ever let ourselves think too much about.
“Would that even work?” Rhett asks, his voice low. “All of us? Together?”
“Why not?” Jace says, his voice tinged with something almost hopeful. “We’ve shared everything else. We’ve built a life together, built this house, built...” He trails off, gesturing vaguely toward the attic around us. “Why not this?”
“She’d have to choose,” Rhett mutters, though there’s no conviction in his tone. “Wouldn’t she?”
Wes shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes unreadable. “Maybe she doesn’t have to.”
The mist swirls around our feet, heavier now, curling in the dim light. I glance toward the door, half expecting it to react like Wes said it did when Bree touched it. But nothing happens.
“She doesn’t even know how much she means to us,” My voice raw with emotions I can’t seem to push down. “She thinks we see her the way they did. Like she’s...” I pause, clenching my jaw because I don’t want to say the words, but I have to. “Like she’s a thing to be used and discarded.” The mist stirs, a faint ripple across the floorboards, then stills again.
“She’ll figure it out,” Theo says quietly, thoughthere’s something in his tone that makes me look at him sharply. “She has to.”
But the words feel hollow, even as he says them. Because we all know Bree doesn’t believe in her own worth. Not yet.
“Let’s not screw this up,” I say finally, my voice rough but steady. “Not for her. Not for us.”
The others nod, the unspoken promise settling between us like a fragile thread.
But as the mist curls thicker, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re already on borrowed time. And I wonder—when the moment comes, when Bree finally hears what she’s not ready to hear—will we lose her for good?
31. Bree
The house feels too big at night. Too quiet. Even the soft creaks of the old floors sound louder, stretching the silence into something oppressive.
I sit up in bed, the blanket pooling around my waist. Sleep has been elusive all week, each restless night tangling my thoughts until they're impossible to sort through. Tonight is no different. The weight in my chest refuses to ease, even as I stare at the faint glow of the moonlight spilling through the window.
The attic.
The thought drifts through my mind unbidden, pulling at me. I can't explain it, but I've been drawn to that space ever since I first stepped inside. Like it's calling me back, like it's trying to tell me something I'm not ready to hear.
Sliding out of bed, I tug Rhett's hoodie tighteraround me, the hem brushing against my thighs. My feet move almost on their own, the cool wood floor creaking softly under my steps as I make my way toward the attic stairs.
The mist stirs at my feet, curling and coiling like it knows where I'm going. I don't question it. Not tonight.
As I near the attic door, the faint sound of voices filters through the quiet, muffled but unmistakable. I freeze, my heart kicking up a notch. The guys must be up there. Talking about something serious, judging by the low, tense tones.
I should turn around. Go back to my room and pretend I never heard anything. But something keeps me rooted to the spot, my breath shallow as I lean closer. Just a little. Just enough to catch a few words.