And that's the problem, isn't it? None of us are who we were.
Jace paces near the window, flipping knives in a steady rhythm that betrays his restless energy. Rhett stands silent in the corner, fists clenched, jaw tight with the kind of self-blame I recognize because it's eating me alive too.
Theo sits in the chair near the bed, calm but reading the room with that deeper insight of his. His eyes keep flicking between Bree and Thane, noticing something, though I have no idea what.
And Wes—
Wes leans against the doorframe beside me, arms crossed, tension radiating from every line of his body. But it's not the same tension the rest of us carry. His feels... hungrier. More aware.
Our eyes meet briefly, and something flickers between us. Heat. Recognition. The memory of the woods, of his mouth on mine, of the confusion that followed.
It hasn't come up again. We haven't talked about it.
But it's there. Waiting.
I look away first, focus on Bree instead. She's adjusting Thane's pillows with careful hands, and he's letting her. Actually letting her. The same man who as far as I can tell barely tolerates being touched is accepting her attention like it's oxygen.
That's when I notice it—the way Wes tracks her movements. It's not casual observation. Something deeper. His gaze follows the curve of her neck as she leans forward, the way her hair falls across her shoulder. When she laughs at something Stellan says, Wes's body goes still like he's listening to music.
But then his eyes flick to me, and there's something like fear in them. Like he knows I'm watching. Like he knows something's changing and he can't stop it.
The hunger. It's getting stronger.
I file the observation away, another piece of a puzzle I don't have all the pieces to yet. But I can feel the shape of it forming. The way magic pulls at all of us now. The way Bree's presence amplifies everything we thought we understood about ourselves.
The way none of us fit in our own skin anymore.
"I need some air," I say suddenly, pushing off from the doorframe.
"Gray—" Rhett starts, but I'm already moving.
I make it three steps down the hallway before Wes follows.
"Hey." His voice is quiet, careful. "You okay?"
I stop, hands flexing at my sides. Turn to face him.
He looks different in the soft light filtering through the sanctuary windows. Sharper somehow. More present. Like he's been sleepwalking for years and is finally starting to wake up.
There's something else too—something I can't quite put my finger on. His features seem more defined than they were weeks ago. The line of his jaw a little cleaner. His cheekbones a touch more pronounced. Still Wes, but like someone took an eraser to the softer edges and left behind something that catches the eye.
"Are you?" I ask instead of answering.
Something flickers across his expression. Uncertainty. Want. Fear.
"I don't know," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I feel... different. Like something's crawling under my skin. Like I'm hungry for something but I don't know how to feed it."
The honesty hits me harder than I expect. Because I understand. Maybe not the hunger, but the feeling of being unmade. Of watching pieces of yourself you thought were fixed start to shift and change.
"It's the magic," I say. "It's changing all of us."
"Is it?" His eyes search mine. "Or is it just showing us what was already there?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications I'm not ready to examine. Because if he's right—if this is who we've always been, just buried under years of denial and fear—then everything I thought I knew about myself is wrong.
"The woods, the stairs" I say suddenly.
Wes goes very still. "Gray—"
