Chapter 16
Bree
The blanket feels wrong in my hands. I sit cross-legged on my bed, turning the soft fabric over in my palms. Jace gave it to me along with all those other things—that overwhelming pile of gifts that made me cry.
"I saw this blanket, and it reminded me of your eyes when you actually smile," he'd said, nervous energy making him younger somehow.
The memory of his words still makes my chest tight.
But now, holding it, I don't know if I should pack it. Taking it with me to the sanctuary feels like accepting that I'm leaving—really leaving. Like I'm choosing them over... what? Over the illusion of independence I've been clinging to?
The house has settled into quiet around me. The others have either gone to bed or drifted into their own spaces to deal with whatever we're all feeling after today. After Theo's vision. After Thane's warning.
After everything changed, again.
The mist curls around my ankles, restless and waiting. It's been doing that all evening—hovering close, like it wants me to say something. To someone. But I don't know what words I'm supposed to find for any of this.
A soft knock interrupts my spiral.
“You still awake?”
Gray’s voice, quiet through the door. I hesitate, my grip tightening on the blanket.
“Yeah. Come in.”
He steps inside, and I take in the sight of him—hoodie unzipped, sleeves pushed to his elbows, dark hair still damp from the shower. There’s something careful in the way he moves, like he’s giving me space to change my mind about letting him stay.
He doesn’t sit at first. Just studies me the way he always does, like he’s trying to read a language he almost knows but doesn’t speak out loud.
“Can’t decide what to pack?” he asks, nodding toward the blanket.
“Something like that.” I smooth my thumb over the stitching, focusing on the texture instead of the knot in my chest. “It feels too real. Like once I put it in a bag, I’m admitting…”
“That you’re trusting us,” he finishes.
I look up. “I already trust you.”
The truth sits lower in my chest, harder to name.
“It’s not that,” I say softly. “It’s admitting this might actually matter. That it’s real.”
I smooth the blanket in my lap, not looking at him.
“And if we do this—if we really go—”
I glance at him, and the flicker of hope he’s trying to hide nearly undoes me.
“It means everything changes.”
I swallow.
“For all of us.”
He moves closer, settling on the edge of the bed. Not close enough to crowd me, but near enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“Can I ask you something?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“Always.”
I take a breath, steeling myself. “Earlier… when Thane showed up. When he spoke…”
I trail off, but Gray’s already watching me closer. His expression shifts, becomes more alert. I pull the blanket higher on my lap, trying to find the courage for what I need to say.
“I recognized his voice. Not just ‘I’ve heard this before’—I knew it. I felt it in my chest. Like he was there, the night of the crown. Inside the light. Inside me.”
My voice drops to barely a whisper. “He’s the one who called me Queen of the Mist. I’m sure of it.”
The silence stretches between us. Gray doesn’t speak right away, but something shifts behind his eyes. Not surprise—something closer to confirmation.
“You haven’t told the others,” he says finally.
“No. I don’t even know if it means anything.” I shake my head, frustration bleeding into my voice. “But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s been in this longer than he’s admitting. That he’s not just some Council representative who showed up because of the surge.”
“It means something,” Gray says, and there’s certainty in his voice. “You feel like he was in that moment—like he helped create it?”
I nod, the admission feeling like stepping off a cliff. “I haven’t even told them what the voice said. I didn’t want it to be real.”
“And now?”
“Now I think he’s been watching. Planning. And I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.” The mist coils tighter near my feet, protective and tense. “I don’t want him in my head. I don’t want him in that memory.”
Gray leans forward, his voice low and steady. “If he was in that moment—if he called you queen—then maybe he wasn’t just witnessing your awakening. Maybe he’s part of what caused it.”
The possibility terrifies me, but it doesn’t feel impossible. Nothing feels impossible anymore.
“And if that’s true,” Gray continues, “we don’t know what else he can do.”
I close my eyes, trying to process the implications. When I open them again, Gray is still watching me with that unflinching steadiness that’s always been his strength.
“I’ll keep it between us,” he says quietly. “But Bree…”
“Yeah?”
“If he was there—if he’s been in your head—then we anchor it. Right here, right now. You told me. And I’ll carry it.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. “Just you?”
“Just me.”
The mist stirs, and for a moment, the weight of the secret feels shared instead of crushing.
“Can I tell you something I haven’t told you before?” Gray asks.
I nod, curiosity overtaking the lingering fear.
He goes quiet, his hands clasped between his knees. His gaze drops to the floor.
When he speaks, it’s more to the space between us than to me.
“A few days ago, after you touched the crown, I had this dream. Except it wasn’t a dream.
It was a memory. But not mine.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s something vulnerable and terrified in them.
“I was yours, Bree. Your memory of the night your mother left. I felt what you felt that night. I was at your window, banging on the glass, watching her walk away. I felt your heart breaking. I felt how alone you were.”
The violation of it hits first—someone was inside my most private moment, one of my worst memories. My breath goes tight. My throat closes. For a split second, I want to run.
But then…
“It was you,” I breathe. The fear shifts into something else. Relief, maybe. “If it had to be anyone…”
“I’m sorry,” Gray says quickly. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t ask for it.”
“I know.” I wrap my arms around myself. “You remember everything? How it felt?”
He nods, and I see it—my childhood pain reflected back at me through his eyes. Not perfectly. Not fully. But real.
“I told you guys about that night,” I say quietly. “We were just kids. I remember crying about it to all of you.”
“You told us she left,” Gray says. “But not like that.”
His voice softens.
“Not what it felt like. Not what it did to you.”
He hesitates, then:
“I don’t think I ever understood why you kept so much in until now. Not all of it. But maybe… maybe this was part of it.”
He shifts slightly, glancing at the mist. Then back at me.
“There’s something else,” he says. “From that night. Not a memory I borrowed. Mine.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“When I looked out my window… there was a glow. Faint. Like fog, but not. It was around her. Your mom. Just for a second. Like the night swallowed her—but left something behind. I thought maybe I imagined it. Or maybe it was just the streetlights.”
His voice drops.
“But it looked like this.”
He glances at the mist still drifting near my feet.
“It looked like you.”
The admission hangs between us, impossibly heavy.
He’s not just talking about the memory I gave him. This part—this glow—this is his. His memory. His eyes. His truth.
Something about that makes it harder to breathe.
But also easier to believe.
The mist stirs—lifting, faint and deliberate. It curls gently toward Gray and brushes against his shoe. I see it, but I don’t call it back.
Gray looks down at the mist, then up at me.
"Everything changed the moment she walked away.”
“Everything changed the moment you lived it with me,” I say, the words feeling strange and true all at once.
Gray doesn’t answer right away.
Something flickers across his face—something he doesn’t say.
Not denial. Not guilt. Just... weight.
I tilt my head, watching him. “It wasn’t just you, was it?”
His shoulders rise, then fall. Barely a breath.
He doesn’t lie. But he doesn’t answer either.
“Everything changed,” I murmur, “the moment I wasn’t the only one carrying it anymore.”
He stands and crosses to the window, his movements quiet, unsettled.
I join him there, and we stand side by side, both of us understanding now that something impossible has been happening between us.
"I’m not sorry it happened, Bree. Even if it hurt. Even if it wasn't mine to feel.” He turns to look at me. “Because now I know. Really know. And you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
“I think we’ve both been carrying ghosts,” I say.
“Maybe they brought us here.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty or sad. It’s full of understanding, of secrets finally shared. The mist settles around our feet, no longer restless.
Gray turns to face me, and something in his expression makes my heart skip.
“Thank you,” I say. “For seeing me. Even then.”
He nods, voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped.”
I look down at the blanket still clutched in my hands. The decision feels easier now, with Gray’s quiet presence beside me and the weight of shared truth between us.
I fold the blanket carefully and set it on the pile of clothes I’m taking to the sanctuary.
Some things are worth carrying with you.
Some people are worth trusting.
And some secrets are meant to be shared in the dark, with mist curling around your feet and the promise that you don’t have to carry the ghosts alone anymore.