How Bree’s absence feels like a missing piece of myself.
I pad down the hallway toward the kitchen, bare feet silent on cool stone. Pancakes and explanations, Bree said. So here we are, heading toward the conversation none of us want to have but can’t avoid.
The scent hits me before I reach the doorway—vanilla, butter, something warm and sweet that makes my mouth water.
I round the corner and stop.
Jace is at the stove, still in the clothes we wore to the chamber, hair disheveled from the trek back, but his hands move with the practiced confidence of someone who’s done this a thousand times. A stack of golden pancakes sits on a plate beside him—perfectly round, fluffy, the kind he’s been perfecting since we all met.
He flips a pancake with the theatrical flair I’ve come to expect, shoulders relaxing slightly when he sees me. “Right on time for the grand unveiling.” He gestures at his work with mock ceremony. “Behold—Sanctuary Supremes. Patent pending.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “Sanctuary Supremes?”
“Golden perfection. Fluffy clouds of breakfast joy. The antidote to cosmic horror.” He finally glances at me, and there’s something different in his expression. More settled, maybe. Less like he’s performing and more like he’s just… here. “Want one?”
“Yeah.” I settle onto one of the stools, watching him work. There’s something soothing about the ritual of it—the precise pour of batter, the patient wait for bubbles to form, the satisfying flip. Normal. Human. Safe.
“So,” Jace says, not looking at me. “That was a thing that happened.”
I snort. “Understatement of the century.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I consider that. The chamber. The mirrors. The way Bree looked when she spoke Riley’s name—like she was seeing something the restof us couldn’t. The ash under our feet and the feeling that we were standing in a place that remembered choices that had gone wrong.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admit. “It felt like… like we weren’t supposed to be there. But also like we had to be.”
Jace nods slowly. “Yeah. Like the place was waiting for her specifically, but it wanted witnesses.”
“The way it responded to her…” I shake my head. “That wasn’t just magic. That was recognition.”
“Recognition of what?”
Before I can answer, the sound of footsteps echoes from the hallway. Jace immediately goes rigid, hand tightening on the spatula.
“Don’t touch my pancakes,” he says without turning around. “I’m serious, Wes. These are art.”
I look over my shoulder. “It’s not me you need to worry about.”
Gray appears in the doorway, hair damp like he just got out of the shower. He takes in the scene—Jace at the stove, the stack of pancakes, my position at the counter—and something shifts in his expression. Not quite a smile, but close.
“Pancakes and explanations,” he says, echoing Bree’s words from earlier.
“That was the deal,” I confirm.
He moves closer, and I catch the scent of soap and something uniquely him. My awareness sharpens, that new hunger stirring to life. It’s not uncomfortable exactly, but it’s… noticeable. The way he moves, the quiet strength in his presence, the way he glances at Jace with something soft in his eyes.
“Need to use the bathroom,” Jace announces suddenly, setting down the spatula carefully because he’s someone who takes his cooking seriously. “These are at a critical stage. Do. Not. Touch. Anything.”
He points at both of us with mock severity, then disappears down the hallway.
Gray and I look at each other. Then at the pancakes.
“He’s very serious about his breakfast today,” Gray observes.
“Apparently they’re Sanctuary Supremes.”
“Patent pending?”
