Page 6 of Crown of the Mist

"Neither should you." Wes's quiet words cut deepest because he rarely speaks without purpose. His dark eyes hold mine, seeing too much, understanding too well. Like he knows exactly why I'm running, why I keep pushing them away.

And maybe he does. Maybe they all do. That'swhat scares me most.

Gray's eyes haven't left me since I snapped at him, dissecting every twitch, every breath. The worry in his gaze burns worse than anger would.

"You don't have to keep staring at me," I mutter, focusing on the scratched table surface. Years of stories are carved here—initials, hearts, random words etched by hands that needed somewhere to put their pain. I get that now more than ever.

Gray takes his time responding, each second heavy between us. "I'm trying to figure out what's going on in that head of yours."

"There's nothing to figure out." The lie tastes bitter, worse than the cold coffee.

Theo leans in, his gaze steady, his words measured. "Come on, Bree. We're just worried. You've been... different lately."

"I've been busy." Even I don't believe it anymore.

"With what?" Rhett's voice cuts through the café noise like a blade. "Your landlord?"

The words hit like a physical blow, sending heat rushing to my face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The table goes silent. Even Jace, who can joke his way through a funeral, freezes. Gray opens his mouth, probably to smooth things over, but Rhett beats him to it.

"That's not—" he starts, his tone carefully neutral, but something in me snaps.

"Do you think I'm sleeping with him?" My voice rises, trembling with rage and something darker. Heads turn at nearby tables, but I'm past caring. My chest feels too tight, like I'm trying to breathe underwater. "Because if that's what you're implying, just fucking say it."

Rhett leans forward, his green eyes dark with something that might be hurt. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." My nails dig into the table edge, anchoring me against the storm building in my chest. The wood grain blurs as tears threaten.

"Bree—" Gray's voice carries that tone, the one that means he's about to be reasonable, about to make sense of things I can't face.

"You think you can just sit there and judge me?" The words taste like acid. "Like you've got it all figured out? I don't need this from you. Not from any of you."

Gray shifts closer, his voice gentle but relentless. "We're not judging you. We just—"

"I know," I cut him off, the words sharp enough to make the couple at the next table flinch. Heat crawls up my neck as I lower my voice. "I know you're trying to help. But I've got it undercontrol."

"Do you?" Wes's quiet question slices through my defenses like they're paper.

I whip around to face him, meeting that steady, unblinking stare. His calm feels like an accusation. "Excuse me?"

He doesn't flinch. "You keep saying you've got it under control, but all I see is you shutting us out."

The truth in his words hits hard leaving me scrambling. "I... I don't need—"

"What?" Rhett's voice is taut, stretched thin over worry and frustration. "You don't need us? You don't need anyone?"

"I don't." The words explode out of me, too loud, too raw. They hang in the air between us, sharp enough to draw blood. The silence that follows presses against my chest until I can't breathe.

I shove back from the table, my chair screeching against the floor. "I've got to get to work."

"Bree—" Theo reaches for me, but I'm already moving.

"Don't." My voice cracks on the single word. My hands shake as I grab my bag, clutching the strap like it's the only thing holding me together. "Just... don't."

The cheerful bell above the door mocks me as I escape into the morning air. Behind me, I can feel their eyes, their concern, their disappointment. It follows me down the street, a weight heavier than my scrubs bag.

4. Bree