40. Jace
Jace
The kitchen settles into comfortable chaos—Mairen cooking, the guys finding their places, Riley and Zira keeping to the edges. Bree’s still at the table, mug in hand.
But I’m watching her.
She’s fading.
Her head keeps dipping forward, then jerking back up like she’s fighting sleep and losing. The mug in her hands trembles slightly, and she’s barely touched whatever Mairen put in it.
I catch Rhett’s eye across the room. He sees it too.
“Come on,” I say quietly, pushing off the counter and moving to her side. “You need to sleep.”
She blinks up at me, confusion flickering across her face. “I’m fine.”
“You’re exhausted.” I hold out my hand. “Let me walk you to your room.”
For a second, I think she’ll argue. But then she just nods, setting the mug down and taking my hand.
Her fingers are ice-cold.
Gray starts to stand, but I shake my head once. He understands. She needs rest, not a crowd.
I help her up, and she sways immediately. My arm goes around her waist, steadying her.
“Easy,” I say.
She leans into me, most of her weight pressing against my side. “Thank you. ”
We move through the restored hallway slowly. The sanctuary hums around us—soft and alive again, vines curling along the arches, daisies blooming in cracks that shouldn’t hold life.
It’s beautiful.
I wish I felt it.
“Place looks alive again,” I say, aiming for lightness and missing by miles.
Bree hums in agreement, eyes half-closed.
Every step closer to her room, my chest gets tighter.
The last time I crossed that threshold, it wasn’t her.
I didn’t know. Couldn’t have known. But I should’ve felt the difference, shouldn’t I? Should’ve sensed that something was wrong, that the woman in that bed wasn’t the one I’d been waiting for.
We reach her door. It’s half-open, gauzy curtains shifting in a breeze that smells like rain and daisies.
I stop.
Can’t move forward. Can’t breathe.
The scent hits me like a fist—same as before. Same as when Riley wore her face and let me—and I can’t even finish the thought.
“Jace?”
Bree’s voice pulls me back. She’s looking at me, concern cutting through the exhaustion.
I force a smile. “Yeah. Just… remembering.”
She doesn’t push. Just leans harder against me, trusting me to hold her up.
We step inside .
The room responds immediately. The sheets ripple, Ether re-threading itself across the bed, cleansing what Riley left behind. The walls brighten. The vines at the window turn greener.
It’s like the room itself is exhaling.
I help her to the bed, and she sits on the edge, swaying slightly.
“Boots,” I say, kneeling in front of her.
She doesn’t argue, just lifts one foot, then the other. My hands shake as I pull them off, setting them aside carefully.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, already lying back against the pillows.
I should leave. Let her sleep. Find somewhere else to stand watch.
But before I can move, her hand catches mine.
“I want you here, Jace,” she whispers. “Please.”
My throat closes.
“Bree—”
“Please, Jace.” Her eyes are barely open, but there’s something raw in her voice. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I can’t say no to her. I never could.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
She shifts over, making room, and tugs me gently onto the bed beside her.
I lie down stiffly, every muscle locked. This is fine. This is just comfort. She needs someone, and I can be that person.
Even if it’s killing me.
Bree curls into my side immediately, her head resting on my chest, one arm draping across my ribs. She sighs—relief and exhaustion tangled together.
“I love you,” she breathes—barely a whisper, half dream.
And then she’s gone, sleep pulling her under .
I freeze.
The words hang in the air between us, and I don’t know if she even meant to say them. Don’t know if she’ll remember saying them.
But they’re mine now.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, holding her close while my mind spirals through every reason I don’t deserve to hear those words from her.
And I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling her warmth against me.
This bed.
This room.
The same walls that heard a lie I didn’t stop.
Riley was here. In this exact spot. And I didn’t know.
I thought it was Bree. Thought she’d finally let me close, finally trusted me enough to—
My chest aches.
I remember the way Riley looked at me—confident, certain, nothing like Bree’s careful vulnerability. I remember her hands, her voice, the way she moved.
All wrong.
But I didn’t see it. Didn’t feel it.
What kind of person does that make me?
Bree shifts slightly, pressing closer, and I force myself to breathe through the guilt threatening to choke me.
She trusts me. Right now, in this moment, she’s choosing to be here with me . Seeking comfort. Offering it.
And all I can think about is how the last time I was in this bed, it wasn’t her .
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the dark, knowing she can’t hear me. “I didn’t know it wasn’t you. But I should’ve.”
The Ether stirs faintly around us, warm and alive.
On the windowsill, a single daisy blooms.
I hold Bree closer, feeling her heartbeat against my ribs, steady and real.
The sanctuary quiets around us. Voices fade down the hall. The world narrows to this room, this bed, this woman sleeping peacefully in my arms.
If she’s the heart of this place, then the least I can do is stand guard while it learns to beat again.
I press my face into her hair and breathe her in.
“I love you too,” I whisper.