"Stellan," Bree warns, her voice small but sharp.
He raises his hands in mock surrender, but his expression has shifted completely now. Not teasing anymore. Something more serious. More unsettled. "She didn't build this with intention," he says quietly. "The Ether did it for her. Which means it knows her." His voice drops even lower. "And it believes she'll let herself be loved."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Bree stands by the bed, and I watch something flicker across her expression as she takes in its size, its implications. Not fear—something closer to wonder. Or disbelief. Like the room saw every piece of her heart—every hurt, every hope—and decided to make space for all of them. Even the ones shaped like us.
Her shoulders dip—just slightly. Like she's waiting to be told it's a mistake. Her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, trying to hold herself small inside a moment that keeps asking her to take up space.
I cross the room without thinking, drawn by the need to ground her when she's spiraling. "They're just trying to catch up with what the Ether already knows," I say gently.
When I reach her side, she starts to speak.
"It's too much," she begins, voice small.
I stop her with a gentle touch at her wrist. "You don't have to earn this."
She looks up at me, green eyes wide with something between gratitude and disbelief. Like no one's ever told her she deserves good things just for existing.
I rest my hand on the edge of the bed, and the Ether responds immediately. It flows from around Bree's ankles toward my touch, pulses once—warm and welcoming and somehow approving. Silver script on the walls flares brighter for a moment, then settles into a gentle glow.
"You don't have to know what comes next," I tell her. "Just know that we're not afraid of it."
The others slowly find their places in the room. Rhett enters last, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But he doesn't leave. Just takes his position in the loose circle forming around the bed, around her.
Stellan doesn't sit with us, but he doesn't leave either. He leans against the far wall, unreadable, watching everything. Not judging. Just... observing. Like he's cataloging every gesture, every glance, every breath.
Around us.
Bree sits on the edge of the massive bed, and the fabric seems to welcome her, adjusting to her weight like it's been waiting centuries for this moment. We form a half-circle around her—not reverent, not afraid, just present.
I settle into a spot that feels like it was made for me, and realize with a start that it probably was. The visions never showed me this part—the quiet after the revelation, the simple rightness of being together in a space that finally feels like home.
But as I watch the Ether flow gently between us all, connecting and choosing and strengthening, I understand something the dreams never revealed.
This place wasn't built for power.
It was built for her.
And somehow... for us.
The circle holds. Not just the room. Not just the bed. But us.
Chapter 26
Bree
I stand in the doorway of the bedroom—my bedroom—looking back at the circular chamber we walked through to get here.
It's different now. The same curved walls rising to the domed ceiling, the same silver script pulsing like a gentle heartbeat. But something has changed while we were inside. Seven doors now stand around the perimeter, spaced along the curved walls where before there was only smooth stone. Each one glows faintly with something warmer than light. More personal.
I walk slowly across the polished floor, drawn by wonder and something deeper. Something that makes my chest feel full in a way I've never experienced.
The first door pulses with steady heat, warm stone framed with symbols that look like flames frozen mid-dance. Rhett's door. The sanctuary somehow knowing he needs a space that won't burn under his touch.
Next to it, another door practically vibrates with restless energy. Pale wood carved with flowing lines that suggest wind and movement. Jace'sdoor, for someone who needs space to move and think and probably throw knives when the world gets too loud.
A door of polished dark wood catches my eye—no ornamentation, just smooth craftsmanship that speaks of quiet competence. Gray's door. For someone who finds peace in steady, reliable things.
