"How did you find us?" I ask.
"The Ether led us," Torn says simply. His voice is quiet, gruff with disuse. "Started a week ago. Felt like... like coming home."
"We packed everything we owned," Kellan adds, excitement making his voice crack. "Mom said we might be walking into nothing, but the pull was too strong to ignore."
I glance back and find Thane standing just inside the threshold, his expression carefully neutral. Watchful. Guarded.
And beside him, Stellan—still and silent, his gray eyes fixed not on the house, but on me.
"Stellan," I say softly, moving toward him. "They said they wanted to help. I couldn't say no."
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks between me and the family, then to the house that appeared from mist and will alone. He watches Mairen’s tears, the boy’s awe. The miracle of it—unasked for, undeserved.
"No," he says finally, his voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. "Of course you couldn’t."
There’s no mockery in it. No edge. Just something quiet. Measured. Like he’s observing something he never expected to witness.
The family begins moving toward the house, their footsteps soft on the garden path. Mairen talks gently to Kellan as he runs ahead, Torn following behind them, head bowed. Like they’re giving us the moment. Or maybe the Ether is.
I want to say more—to explain, or maybe to ask—but the words don’t come.
So I walk with them instead, silver mist rising gently around my feet in response to their joy. And as the sun dips toward the trees, I turn back toward the sanctuary.
The mist curls up through the light like breath.
And for once, I don’t flinch.
For the first time in my life, I’m building something that lasts.
Chapter 27
Bree
I wake up alone in the circular bed, and for a moment, I forget where I am.
The room is soft with morning light filtering through the dome above. The walls still hold their gentle glow, silver script pulsing faintly like a sleeping heartbeat. The bed itself seems to exhale around me.
When I sit up, I notice things that weren't there last night.
A mug on the bedside shelf—my favorite mug, the chipped blue one from the apartment I don't want to remember. Soft slippers beside the bed that I definitely didn't pack. Rhett's sweatshirt draped over a chair, though I don't remember him leaving it there.
The Ether is still building for me. Still paying attention to what I need before I know I need it.
It should be unsettling. Instead, it feels like being held.
I pad across the room in the gifted slippers, pulling on Rhett's sweatshirt from where he left it draped over the chair. It's perfectly oversized, perfectly soft, and smells like him—cedar and warmth and something indefinably safe.
It hangs low on my thighs, brushing just past the tops. I know I'm wearing shorts underneath, but it doesn't exactly look like it. And I don't bother fixing that.
The old me would've covered up. I'm not sure I feel quite like old me anymore.
The sanctuary hallway opens before me as I walk, doorways revealing themselves with warm light. I don't question it anymore. This place knows me, and I'm starting to know it back.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the polished metal panel by the hall—bare legs, Rhett's sweatshirt, hair still sleep-tousled. I should go back and grab pants. I don't.
Let them look. I don't think my scars are meant to be hidden anymore.
The kitchen, when I find it, steals my breath.
