Page 56 of Crown of the Mist

I pull my journal from my bag, running my fingers over the worn leather cover. So many secrets hidden in these pages, so many truths I've never been able to say out loud. The guys never asked to read it, never pushed to know what I wrote about in the quiet hours when sleep wouldn't come.

Maybe that should have told me something.

But it doesn't matter now. None of it does. Because in the end, everyone wants something from me. Everyone has a price they think I'm worth.

And I'm done letting people decide my value.

The morning light catches on my mother'sring, still on my finger after all these years. Another woman who ran when staying got too hard. Maybe that's my inheritance - the need to disappear before anyone can see how broken I really am.

A siren wails in the distance, reminding me that the world is waking up. Soon the cemetery will fill with groundskeepers and mourners, and I'll have to find somewhere else to hide.

But for now, I let myself stay. Let the mist wrap around me like a shield against the growing light. Let myself pretend, just for a moment, that I'm not my mother's daughter, running from the only people who might have actually...

No. I can't finish that thought.

Because some things aren't meant for people like me.

Some stories only end one way. I just wish mine had been different.

34. Rhett

I slam the truck door harder than I mean to, the sound echoing through the empty street. My hands grip the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me together, knuckles white, nails digging into my palms.

Where the hell is she?

I’ve been driving for hours—through the city, the neighborhoods I know she’d never go, the places I hoped to God she wouldn’t. Every corner feels like a dead end, every familiar landmark a reminder that I’ve failed her. Again.

I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve known she’d run. It’s what she does when things get too real, when the weight of everything she carries gets too much to bear. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

Doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Damn it!” My fist slams against the steering wheel, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. I can feel the frustration bubbling over, hot and blinding, but there’s nowhere to put it. Nowhere to direct it except at myself.

I pull into a random parking lot and park haphazardly, my hands trembling as I grip the wheel. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts, and I press my forehead against the cool leather, trying to pull myself together. But the image of her room—hollow, emptied out—burns in my mind like a brand.

She didn’t just leave. She took only what she came with. Every single thing we gave her—the books, the clothes, the little comforts we thought might make her feel safe—she left behind. Like they never meant anything.

The thought twists something sharp and painful in my gut. Because maybe she didn’t just leave to protect herself. Maybe she left to prove she never belonged.

Maybe she left because she didn’t trust us. Because she thought we were just like—

I slam the door open and step out, pacing the lot like a caged animal. The air is cool against my overheated skin, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to settle the storm inside me. I run a handthrough my hair, yanking at the ends like the pain might drag me out of this spiral.

Where the hell could she have gone?

I’ve checked the hospital, her old apartment, every goddamn coffee shop within a ten-mile radius. No sign of her. No one’s seen her. It’s like she’s disappeared, like the earth opened up and swallowed her whole.

I shove my hands into my pockets, my fingers brushing against the keys I’ve carried for years. The ones that open every door to this damn house. The one she didn’t slam shut behind her.

The house.

Before I know it, I’m back in the driveway, the truck barely in park before I’m out, striding toward the backyard like the answers are waiting for me there. Because that’s where she was happiest. That’s where she felt most like... her.

The daisies catch my eye immediately, their faint glow like a beacon in the growing dusk. My breath catches, and for a moment, the fury in my chest softens into something more painful. Something more desperate.

I drop to my knees in the damp grass, the cool earth grounding me as I stare at the flowers she planted. They’re still glowing, but it’s different now—fainter, like they’re losing their light. Likethey’re missing her too.

“What do you want me to do?” My voice breaks in the stillness, raw and unsteady. “Where is she? How do I—” I stop, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “How do I bring her back?”