Page 39 of Waking Her Dragon

“You are a total idiot, you know that?”

It was a voice. It wasn't visual, and it didn't come with a face, but the frequency of the sound resonated straight through the depths of his soul.

Garrett didn't try to struggle upward toward the surface. He listened, letting the sound anchor him. With every syllable that drifted down into the dark, a tiny, brilliant spark of gold light ignited in the space around him.

“I was so angry at you…”

Another spark flared to life.

“So incredibly terrified…”

More lights bloomed in the dark, multiplying with every phrase she spoke, forming a fragile, glowing constellation in the abyss of his mind. The words were a lifeline. Each one was a microscopic stitch repairing a torn neural pathway, a gentle hand guiding his mind back to health.

“You don’t have to remember me today… but tomorrow would be nice.”

It wasn't enough power to wake him. The catastrophic trauma required weeks of profound, uninterrupted hibernation to fully heal. But the Light was enough to start the slow, steady process of rebuilding the foundation. It gave his spirit a direction to grow toward.

As the voice grew quieter, fading into a comforting, steady hum that promised she would wait, the scattered sparks of gold light suddenly shifted. They swirled together, condensing down into a single, crystal-clear, incredibly stubborn image floating right at the center of his sleeping mind.

A pair of light blue Converse tennis shoes.

He didn't know who he was yet. He didn't know where he belonged. But in the deep, quiet dark of the Healing Sleep, Garrett smiled.

The morning light broke softly through the tall arched windows of the room, painting the stone floor in quiet shades of amber and gold. The chaotic hum of the previous day had completely settled. The room was profoundly still.

Sydney had fallen asleep right there in the plush armchair beside the bed. Her cheek was pressed against the mattress, her untamed blond curls a wild, tangled mess across the white sheets. She was still wearing her dirty, dust-streaked clothes from The Abyss. Even in deep exhaustion, her fingers remained tightly, unyieldingly interwoven with his.

Garrett’s eyelids fluttered, a long, deep breath expanding his chest without the rattling agony of before. He blinked against the morning sun, his lavender eyes completely clear. He was weak. His muscles felt like lead, and his core was entirely drained, but the heavy, suffocating fog of trauma had lifted.

The silence was welcoming, not suffocating. There were no chains, no iron and silver shackles. There was no screaming, wailing, or gnashing of teeth.

Birds were singing outside the window. Coffee was brewing somewhere in the house.

Nobody was hurting him. He was… safe.

Slowly turning his head against the pillow, he smiled. She was there.

Then he waited, half convinced that if he blinked, she'd disappear like every other beautiful thing Leviathan had tried to use against him.

She didn't.

She stayed exactly where she'd promised she would– right by his side.

He didn't have every single detail back yet. The dates and specific memories were still assembling themselves in the quiet corners of his mind. But his soul was entirely awake. He remembered enough.

With a slow, agonizing effort, Garrett managed to push himself halfway up against the pillows. His muscles groaned, but he ignored them, keeping his eyes locked on her sleeping face. Slowly, tenderly, he reached his free hand forward, his fingertips carefully brushing a stray blond curl away from her tear-stained cheek.

Sydney stirred, her blue eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at him, her gaze focusing on his upright posture and his clear, lavender stare.

Total silence filled the room. No grand declarations. No heavy explanations.

“Hi,” Sydney whispered, her voice rough with sleep.

A genuine, warm smile finally touched Garrett's lips. “Hi.”

Sydney sat up straight. He could hear her heart hammering against her ribs as she searched his face, her white-knuckle grip on his hand tightening. She couldn't help the immediate, desperate question that slipped past her lips.

“How much do you remember?”