Chapter 5
Bree
Sleep used to be my escape. Now it feels like hiding.
I've been doing too much of both lately—three days since the crown, maybe four. Time blurs when you spend most of it unconscious, trying to outrun the weight pressing against your chest every time you're awake.
The room is too quiet when I finally surface, late morning light filtering through curtains I don't remember closing. No voices drifting up from downstairs like there used to be. No laughter echoing through the halls, no easy banter that made this place feel alive.
At the foot of the bed, someone's left a hoodie. Folded carefully, like an offering. I can't tell whose—they all smell like cedar and safety and things I'm afraid to want too much.
I pull it on anyway, drowning in fabric that makes me feel smaller than I already am.
The mist stirs faintly when I swing my legs off the bed, curling around my ankles like it's checking to make sure I'm real. It used to feel like it was following me around, showing up when I was upset, hurt, or angry. Now? Now it never leaves. My constant companion since everything changed.
Since everything broke.
Because of me.
I clench my fists as I head to the hallway, willing it away, but it just curls closer. Like it knows I need it, even when I don't want it there.
The kitchen hums with activity when I finally make it downstairs, but the energy feels wrong. Muted. Like someone turned the volume down on the house itself.
Jace leans against the counter, coffee mug cradled in his hands. His golden hair catches the morning light, but his usual grin is nowhere to be found. Just polite acknowledgment when our eyes meet.
Rhett stands at the sink, shoulders tense as he scrubs a pan that's probably already clean. He doesn't look up when I enter, and something in my chest tightens at the careful distance he's maintaining.
Wes sits at the table, hoodie pulled up despite the warmth, staring down at his bowl like it holds answers to questions he won't ask. His usual quiet feels different now. Heavier.
Theo thumbs through a book nearby, but I can tell he's listening to everything, cataloging the tension like he always does when he's trying to solve a problem none of us understand.
The toaster pops, sending up a thin curl of smoke. Someone burned the bread.
"Well," I say, aiming for lightness, "at least I'm not the only one having kitchen disasters anymore."
Jace's mouth quirks up—barely—but the others don't react. The joke falls flat, landing in the silence like a stone dropped in still water.
I glance at Rhett, concern overriding my own discomfort. "What happened?"
"Nothing." The word comes out too fast, too flat. A practiced lie that doesn't even try to be convincing.
My stomach drops. Since when does Rhett lie to me? Since when does any of this feel so... careful?
I move to sit across from Wes, hoping proximity might break through whatever wall has gone up between us. "Morning," I try, keeping my voice soft.
He mumbles something that might be a greeting, still not meeting my eyes. His fingers drum against the table, restless in a way that's not like him.
"Wes?" I lean forward slightly. "Are you okay?"
That gets a reaction. He looks up sharply, and for a split second, I see something that makes my breath catch.
A soft, pulsing glow at the base of his throat. Like light moving beneath his skin—not bright, but unmistakably wrong. Unnatural.
I blink, and it's gone.
Or maybe it was never there.
But the way Wes freezes tells me otherwise. He caught me staring, caught the recognition in my eyes.
"It's nothing," he mutters, standing abruptly to clear his bowl.
That's the second lie in five minutes. The mist stirs around my feet, responding to the spike of anxiety in my chest.
They're all lying. Not to be cruel—I know them well enough to recognize protection when I see it. But they're protecting me from something. Or protecting themselves from me.
"How are you doing?" Theo's quiet question cuts through my spiraling thoughts. It's the first time anyone's asked me directly since... since everything changed.
The automatic response rises to my lips like it always does. The careful deflection I've perfected over years of deflecting concern.
"I'm fine."
The words barely leave my mouth before heat pulses through my chest—low and coiling, like someone tightening a string beneath my ribs.
At first, I think I'm imagining it.
A faint light, bleeding through the fabric of my sleeves. Soft. Gold-white. Wrong.
I push the hoodie sleeve up with shaking hands, needing to see—
And there it is.
Gold-white light tracing every raised line on my arm. Gentle, but unmistakable.
The old wounds from childhood. The newer ones from Jason.
All of them lit from within, like my body's trying to confess something I haven't admitted yet.
The guys all see it.
Jace curses under his breath, coffee mug frozen halfway to his lips.
Rhett moves like he's going to come closer, then stops—hands clenched, jaw tight.
Wes goes rigid, the faint glow at his throat flickering like a candle in wind.
Theo watches with something that might be awe, but doesn't flinch.
Heat blooms beneath my skin, and I can't stop it—can't make it retreat.
Not now. Not with all of them watching.
Shame rises, sharp and immediate. Not because they know I'm lying.
Because this is happening at all. Because something inside me is still causing things I can't explain. Still glowing in ways I can't control.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to make the light smaller. Trying to make myself smaller.
"I was trying to protect you," I whisper.
I think of Wes—of the flicker at his throat, the way he froze.
The way Rhett won't look at me.
The way Jace hasn't made a joke in days.
They haven't said anything. Not about the crown. Not about me. Not about whatever this is.
But something's happening. Something more than just me.
"You're all acting different." The words come out quiet, devastated. "You're pulling away, and I don't even know what I am anymore."
I look at each of them—these men who've stood between me and everything I've been afraid of, even when I didn't want them to. And now? Now I feel like they're slowly drifting out of reach.
"I see it. I see how you look at me now. Like I'm something you have to manage. Like I'm too much again." My voice cracks on the last word. "Like I'm dangerous."
The truth sits between us, sharp and painful.
"If I broke something inside you," I continue, staring down at my still-glowing scars, "if touching that crown did something to all of us—I didn't mean to. I didn't want to hurt anyone."
The silence stretches too long. Heavy with everything none of us know how to say.
I push back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. The sound cuts through the quiet like a blade.
"I need some air."
I don't wait for a response. Can't. Because if I stay here one more second, wrapped in their silence and half-truths, I'll shatter.
The mist follows as I head for the door, curling around my legs like it's trying to slow me down. But I keep moving, past their watchful eyes, past the weight of everything I can't fix.
Behind me, I hear movement—someone standing, maybe reaching out. But no one follows.
No one stops me.
And maybe that tells me everything I need to know.