"We fucked up," Rhett says, turning to face us. "We let her think she's the problem. Again."
Gray's expression shifts. "What problem? What's going on?"
Rhett runs a hand through his hair, the weight in his eyes heavy. "The crown. She touched it, and everything changed. Her. Me. Wes." He looks down at his hands. "I don't even know what's happening to me, but I can't stop it."
"And instead of talking to her about it," I say, "we just—what? Pretend she won't notice?"
"She already noticed," Jace mutters. "She just didn't know how to say it."
Wes finally moves. Slowly. Hands clenched. Shoulders tight.
"I don't know what's going on right now." His voice is rougher than I've ever heard it. "But I know I'm not okay."
Jace swears under his breath.
Wes doesn't stop. "I keep seeing her. Dreams. Memories that aren't mine."
Gray watches him closely. Quiet. Calculating.
No one speaks.
So I do. "You think you're connected to her."
Wes nods, slow. "I think I was always waiting for her. And now that she's here, it's like I can't stop wanting to feel what she feels."
Jace finally sits. Hard. Like his legs gave up.
"She's out there thinking she ruined us," he says. "And we're in here acting like she's the threat."
"She's not the threat," Rhett says. "She's the reason we're still standing."
I glance toward the hallway. At the soft curl of mist still lingering there.
"We have to tell her."
Jace looks up. "Tell her what? That we're all glowing and cracking and seeing things?"
"That we're changing," I say. "And it's not her fault."
Gray exhales through his nose, sharp. "Did anyone think to tell her that? He crosses his arms when no one answers. "Then we'd better figure out what this is. Fast."
The silence that follows feels different. Not the brittle quiet of secrets and denial, but something heavier. The weight of truth we're finally ready to carry.
I've always been good at reading people—seeing the patterns, the connections others miss. It's why I notice when Jace stops deflecting with humor. Why I catch the way Wes's hands shake when he's not looking. Why I can tell that Gray's anger isn't really at us—it's at himself for not being here when Bree needed him.
But this feels bigger than individual patterns. Bigger than just the five of us trying to figure out our own changes.
The mist still lingers in the hallway, faint but persistent. Like it's waiting for something. Like it knows we're not done yet.
I think about Bree's face when her scars lit up—not just shame, but recognition. Like some part of her had been expecting this. Like she's been carrying the weight of what we're becoming long before any of us understood what was happening.
"She's been protecting us," I say quietly. "From the beginning. Even when she didn't know what she was protecting us from."
Rhett looks up. "What do you mean?"
"Think about it. She's been pulling away, trying to keep distance between us and whatever she thought she might do to us. But we've been doing the same thing to her." I meet each of their eyes in turn. "We've been so afraid of what we're becoming that we forgot the most important thing."
"Which is?" Gray asks.
