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.
