Page 54 of Crown of the Mist

My hands tremble as I move to the small drawer where my journal sits. This, at least, is mine. It's the only thing that holds the truth of what I've endured, unfiltered and untouched by anyone else. I clutch it to my chest before slipping it into the small bag I'd brought with me. My hands work quickly, methodically: my single spare outfit, my work scrubs, the essentials. That's it.

I glance toward the window, the faint glow of the daisies still visible in the distance. They shimmer like they're trying to tell me something, but I can't let myself listen. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The mist curls at the edges of the door as I reach for the handle, coiling tighter as if it's trying to stop me. Its chill bites against my ankles, a silent protest I don't have the strength to acknowledge.

"I have to go," I whisper, the words breaking in the still air. "I can't... stay."

The mist curls around my ankle, tighter now, like it’s trying to hold me back. I hesitate, just for a second. But then it loosens, retreating like it knows I’ve already made my choice.

With one last glance at the room, at the torn remnants of my past scattered across the bed, and the thoughtful things I now see as chains, I swallow the lump in my throat and leave.

The door clicks shut behind me. Discarded. I guess I should be happy they didn't use me first.

32. Wes

The sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting long shadows across the counter. The smell of coffee fills the air, but it does little to cut through the tension simmering beneath the surface. Jace sits at the island, absently drumming his fingers on the countertop, his usual energy subdued. Rhett leans against the sink, his arms crossed, staring out the window like it might hold answers.

“Quiet morning,” Jace remarks, his tone too light to be genuine. He glances at the clock. “Bree’s sleeping late today.”

“She mentioned an earlier shift, didn’t she?” Theo’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, subtle but unmistakable.

I glance up from my seat at the table, the unease I’ve been trying to push aside curling tighter in my chest. Bree’s never been one to oversleep. Ifanything, she’s always up before the rest of us, moving through the morning like a ghost trying not to be seen.

“I’ll check on her,” Rhett offers, already moving toward the stairs.

The silence in the kitchen thickens as we wait. My fingers tighten around my mug, the ceramic cool against my skin. Something feels wrong.

Rhett steps into the kitchen. Stops short. His jaw tightens, his movements stiff. The silence stretches—too long, too heavy.

"She’s gone."

Jace freezes mid-drum, his hand falling still. “Gone?”

“Her room’s empty.” Rhett’s gaze flickers to each of us, searching for answers we don’t have. “She took her bag. Only the things she came with are missing.”

Theo is already on his feet, moving toward the stairs with purpose. “What about her other things?”

“Scattered,” Rhett mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Torn, shredded—like she didn’t want to leave anything behind for us to find.”

Something cold settles in my stomach, a weight that presses against my ribs as we follow Rhettupstairs. Bree’s room feels hollow, the air heavy with the absence of her presence. The bed is made, but the chaos she left behind—shreds of paper, fragments of memories—is impossible to ignore.

Theo crouches by the bed, his hand brushing over a torn piece of a daisy, now brittle and lifeless. Jace stands by the door, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the room like he’s piecing together a puzzle he doesn’t want to solve.

"She didn't just leave," I say, my voice breaking the silence. "She ran."

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. My gaze catches on the dresser where Jace's carefully chosen clothes still sit, untouched. The reading lamp he picked out, the books Theo brought her - everything we tried to give her, left behind like evidence of something she couldn't bear to keep.

"Last night," Gray says suddenly from the doorway, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. His jaw tightens. "The attic."

A beat of silence. The realization crashes in like a cold slap of water.

"She must have heard us."

Fuck.

"Would explain this." Theo gestures to the tornremnants on her bed, his voice tight. "Question is, what exactly did she hear?"

The silence that follows feels suffocating. I think of everything we discussed up there - about feelings none of us have voiced to her, about choices and lack of choices, about how much we all...