Page 66 of Crown of the Mist

"Already called them." Theo types something on his phone. "They're meeting us at home. Wes is bringing supplies - medical kit, just in case."

"Rhett?"

"Making sure Phil doesn't follow."

I nod, understanding everything Theo isn't saying. Rhett's rage needs direction right now, and following Phil is better than the alternative.

The house comes into view, and something in my chest eases at the sight of Wes's car already in the drive. The porch light glows warm against the growing dusk, and I catch movement behind the curtains - the others preparing.

"We moved her things," I say as I park, glancing at Theo. "While you were on watch. The attic..."

"Good." He nods, already moving to help Jace. "She needs somewhere that feels safe. Really safe."

I lead the way, unlocking the door as Jace carries her inside. The mist follows, curling around our feet like it's making sure we're taking her somewhere secure. Wes appears at the top of the stairs, his dark eyes taking in everything - the frost on her clothes, the bruises forming on herthroat, the way Jace holds her like she's precious.

The attic feels different as we climb the stairs - warmer, lived-in. We'd worked in shifts while she was gone, the ones not on guard duty throwing themselves into making this space truly hers. Her books line the shelves now, arranged the way she always kept them. The bed we'd built is piled with soft things in shades of green and blue. Little touches everywhere - the reading lamp she'd mentioned liking, the throw blankets she always gravitates toward, her journal on the window seat where she can watch the daisies.

Jace settles her on the bed with careful movements while Wes sets up the medical supplies. None of us speak - we don't need to. We move around each other with practiced ease, each knowing our role in this dance we've been performing since childhood.

"Her pulse is steady," Wes says quietly, his fingers gentle on her wrist. "Temperature's low, but..."

"The ice," Theo supplies. "The power she used - it drained her."

I watch from the doorway as they work, cataloging every detail. The way the mist seems to approve of the space, drifting contentedly around the room. How Bree's breathing evens out, some of the tension leaving her face as shesettles into the bed we made for her. The careful distance we all maintain while still staying close enough to protect.

"She'll have questions," Jace says finally, running a hand through his hair. "When she wakes up."

"We all do," I reply, but my eyes stay on Bree. On the girl we've loved since before we understood what love was. On the power that's breaking free.

The mist swirls lazily around us, and for a moment - just a breath - I swear I feel something. A memory, maybe. Or an echo of one. But then it's gone, leaving only the certainty that everything is about to change.

We settle in to wait - Jace by the window, Theo near the door, Wes checking her vitals with careful precision. And me, watching it all, trying to piece together a puzzle that feels bigger than any of us realized.

When Rhett joins us later, fury still simmering beneath his controlled movements, none of us mention the blood on his knuckles. Some questions can wait.

For now, we guard her sleep and pray that when she wakes, she'll finally let us explain that she's not alone. That she's never been alone.

And she never will be again. For as long as she’ll have us.

42. Bree

I'm falling, drowning in a sea of memories that aren't mine, yet are undeniably a part of me. The dream grips me, pulling me deeper into a past I've never known but feel in my bones.

Phil's face looms before me, twisted with a cruel hunger that makes my skin crawl. His fingers dig into my flesh, and I can feel him reaching inside me, grasping at something intangible yet vital. My power. My essence. It flows through my veins like starlight, and he's determined to drain every last drop.

Fire comes first, ripped from my core in a blaze of agony. I scream, my voice echoing in this dreamscape that feels all too real. The flames that once danced at my fingertips sputter and die, leaving me cold and diminished.

Ice follows, crackling as it's torn away. The frost that used to coat my thoughts, giving me clarity andprecision, melts into nothingness. I'm left raw and exposed, my mind a jumble of fractured thoughts.

Air rushes out of me next, leaving me gasping and weak. The currents I once commanded abandon me, and I'm left earthbound and heavy.

Water flows from my eyes, not just tears but the very essence of the tides I used to control. It streams down my face, pooling at my feet before vanishing into shadow.

The shadows themselves are torn away last - my darkness, my ability to hide and protect myself. Phil pulls them from me like threads unraveling from a tapestry, each one taking a piece of me with it.

But even as he strips away every power he can find, the mist remains - so subtle, so intertwined with my soul that he doesn't recognize it as power at all. It curls through me, around me, holding the fragments of myself together even as everything else is taken.

The pain is beyond anything I could have imagined. It's not just physical; it's a soul-deep ache that threatens to unmake me entirely. But even as I crumble, even as Phil's laughter rings in my ears and his hands continue their vicious work, I cling to a single thought.