Page 74 of Crown of the Mist

"For me it was gradual," Theo murmurs against my hair. "All those quiet moments in the library. The way you'd get lost in books, finding escape in stories. How you'd share the good parts with me, your eyes lighting up as you described them." Hisarms tighten slightly. "I fell in love with your soul piece by piece."

Gray is last, his sharp gaze holding mine. "I knew the first time I heard you crying through our shared wall. You were trying so hard to be quiet, to be strong." He swallows hard. "I knocked - three taps, remember? And you tapped back. That's when I knew I'd spend my life trying to protect you."

Tears slip down my cheeks again, but they feel different now. Lighter. Like finally letting go of something heavy I've been carrying.

"I don't..." I take a shaky breath. "I don't know if I can be what you all deserve."

"You already are," Wes says simply.

"Just by being you," Rhett adds softly.

"By surviving," Gray continues.

"By staying," Theo whispers.

"By letting us love you," Jace finishes.

The mist pulses around us, warm and alive, as something deep inside me finally, finally clicks into place. Like a key turning in a lock I didn't know existed. Like coming home to a place I've been searching for my whole life.

I'm not fixed. Not whole. Not yet. But here, surrounded by their steady love, their quiet strength, I feel something I've never let myself feel before.

Hope.

47. Bree

The sky hasn't quite decided if it's dawn yet, the world caught in that soft blue moment between night and morning. I kneel in the damp grass, drawn to the daisies that seem to pulse with their own inner light. The glow is stronger now, almost mesmerizing in the pre-dawn stillness.

The mist curls around the flowers like it belongs there, warmer than I've ever felt it. After last night - after finally letting myself be seen, be held - everything feels different. Clearer somehow, like a veil has been lifted from my eyes.

I reach out, my fingers brushing one of the softly glowing petals. Heat spreads through my hand, not burning but alive, like touching sunlight made solid. The sensation travels up my arm, settling somewhere deep in my chest where all those broken pieces feel like they’re slowly coming together.

"They're changing."

I don't startle at Gray's voice behind me. Maybe because the mist warned me he was there, or maybe because some part of me is finally learning not to fear gentle things.

He moves closer, his footsteps silent in the dewy grass, and crouches beside me. This close, I can smell the faint scent of coffee and motor oil that always clings to him, grounding and familiar.

The early morning light catches on Gray's sharp features as he studies the daisies, his usual intensity softened by something like wonder. The mist drifts between us, connecting rather than separating.

"They're not just glowing anymore," he says quietly. "They're... growing. Differently."

He's right. The stems have taken on an almost crystalline quality, delicate but strong, like glass spun from starlight. The petals shimmer with patterns I've never seen before - intricate swirls that remind me of the mark on the attic door.

"I don't understand what's happening," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Any of it. The flowers, the mist, last night..."

Gray's hand settles in the grass near mine, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel his warmth. "Does it scare you?"

I consider lying, but after last night - after finally letting my walls crack - the truth slips out. "Not as much as it should."

His lips curve slightly, and the expression transforms his whole face. It's rare to see Gray smile, really smile, and something in my chest flutters at being the cause of it.

"The mist has always been different with you," he says, his voice thoughtful. "Even when we were kids. I used to watch it follow you around, respond to your moods. I thought I was imagining things."

"You could see it?" I turn to look at him fully, surprised. "I thought... I always tried to hide it. I thought I was crazy."

"We all saw it," he says simply. "We just didn't know how to talk about it. How to tell you that maybe you weren't the only one who felt its presence."

The mist swirls thicker between us, as if acknowledging his words. A tendril brushes my cheek, soft as a caress, before drifting to touch Gray's hand where it rests in the grass.