Page 58 of Crown of the Mist

I swallow hard, my fists clenching at my sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckles, the sound low and cold. “Oh, I think you do. See, your daddy’s not too happy with you right now. Says you’ve been getting ideas above your station. And we can’t have that, can we?”

My stomach churns, his words slicing through me like shards of glass. “Stay away from me.”

“Now, now.” Phil’s grin widens, and he takes another step forward. The mist ripples between us, its glow intensifying like it’s trying to hold him back. “No need to get feisty. I’m here to help, sweetheart. Just like your old man asked me to.”

“Help?” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. “You mean like you helped last time? Is that what you call it?”

His smirk falters for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to fan the flames of my anger. My hands shake, and I take another step back,the cool stone of Mrs. Henderson’s headstone pressing against my leg.

“You don’t scare me,” I lie, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

Phil’s eyes darken, and he leans forward slightly, his smirk replaced by something colder. “You should be scared, Bree. Because this time? There’s no one here to save you.”

The mist surges again, a sharp wind whipping through the cemetery. For a split second, I swear I see something in the haze—a shape, a shadow, something that doesn’t belong.

But then Phil steps closer, and the moment shatters.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Not until we’ve had our little talk.”

My heart pounds in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to move, to run, to fight. But I’m frozen, caught between the suffocating weight of his presence and the strange energy thrumming through the mist around me.

I glance toward the gates, my thoughts racing. If I can just get to the street, to somewhere public—

“Don’t even think about it,” Phil snaps, his tone sharp. “You think you can outrun me?”

I take a shaky breath, my gaze flickering back tohim. “I think you’re underestimating me.”

The smirk returns, but there’s something meaner behind it now. “Let’s see about that.”

The mist shifts, curling tighter around my legs as if trying to hold me in place. Or protect me. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I can’t stay here.

“Last chance, Bree,” Phil says, his voice soft but laced with menace. “Come quietly, or this gets messy.”

I meet his gaze, my fear warring with the anger simmering just beneath the surface. My father sent him. My father, who has spent my entire life proving how little I’m worth.

The mist pulses again, brighter now, and I feel something shift deep inside me.

“Come and get me,” I say, the words falling from my lips before I can think better of them.

Phil’s smirk twists into something darker as he steps forward.

And I run.

The mist surges with me, curling and twisting like it’s alive, like it’s trying to shield me from the shadow chasing me through the graves. The ground blurs beneath my feet, the sound of Phil's footsteps pounding in my ears. The mist surges around me, curling and twisting like it's trying toshield me from the shadow at my back.

And then I hear it - another voice cutting through the morning air, sharp and familiar in a completely different way.

"BREE!"

My heart stutters. Rhett.

I stumble, caught between Phil behind me and the last person I want to see right now ahead of me. The mist swirls frantically, and for a moment I swear it glows brighter, like it's trying to tell me something.

But all I can think is: I can't let Phil hurt him.

I have to run. I have to get him away from Rhett. I have to—