Page 60 of Crown of the Mist

"Stop." She takes another step back, her shoulders hunching like she's bracing for a blow. "You can't... I can't do this. Not with you. Not with any of you."

"Do what?" The words come out rougher than I mean them to, frustration bleeding through. "Trust us? Let us help you?"

Her laugh is bitter, broken. "Help me? Is that what you call it?"

"Bree—"

"He's right, you know." Her voice cracks around the edges. "About what people want from me. What they think I'm worth."

The fury that had cooled surges back, hot and sharp. "He's not right about anything."

"Isn't he?" Her eyes meet mine finally, bright with unshed tears. "I heard you. All of you. Talking about me like I'm something to be—"

She cuts off as footsteps approach, her gaze darting toward the sound. Gray appears first, moving with that predatory grace of his, followed by Theo, Wes and Jace. The mist thickens, almost solid now in its intensity.

"Don't," she whispers, but I'm not sure if she's talking to me or the mist or herself. "Please, just... let me go."

"We can't do that," Gray says quietly, stopping a few feet away. "Not this time."

Something flashes across her face—pain or fear or something deeper—before her walls slam back up. The mist surges around her, and for a moment, I swear it glows with the same light as the daisy still clutched in my hand.

"You don't get to decide that," she says, her voice steadier now but hollow. Empty. "None of you do."

Then she turns and runs, disappearing into the maze of headstones before any of us can move.

The mist surges with her, thick and consuming, swallowing her whole in a matter of seconds.

By the time we move, she’s already gone

"Damn it," Jace mutters, already starting after her, but Gray catches his arm.

"Let her go."

"Are you kidding?" Jace tries to pull free, but Gray's grip doesn't loosen. "After what just happened? After Phil—"

"She needs space," Theo cuts in, his analytical tone barely masking his own worry. "We push now, we'll lose her completely."

I stare at the spot where she disappeared, the daisy still pulsing faintly in my palm. "We're already losing her."

No one argues. Because what can we say? That we didn't mean for her to hear us? That we were trying to protect her? That everything we've done—every careful word, every gentle touch, every moment of holding back—was because we thought we were doing the right thing?

The morning sun feels too bright, too harsh against the weathered stones around us. Against the fresh dirt of Mrs. Henderson's grave where we found her.

Where she was hiding from us.

"What do we do now?" Jace asks, his voice smaller than I've ever heard it.

I close my fingers around the daisy, feeling its warmth pulse against my skin like a reminder. Like a promise.

"We wait," I say finally. "And we hope she finds her way back."

But as the mist fades into the morning light, I can't help wondering if we've already lost our chance to make this right.

37. Unknown

Fuck.

Her pain hits hard, echoing across the veil between realms. The mist writhes around me, agitated and cold, carrying fragments of her despair.