Page 18 of Saving Her Dragon

By mid-afternoon, Carrick had dragged him into the tactical office he’d set up after moving in with Ginnie. He wasn’t about to throw Garrett off the deep end and into a dangerous field mission, but he gave him some real Guard business to unwind. The table was covered in high-resolution maps, old Clan records, and scrambled communication logs from recent patrols out in the Chihuahuan Desert. They were trying to track a series of anomalous movements around the Ice Caves that had the Trackers baffled.

Sydney stood by the open doorway, pretending to review a supply list, but her eyes were entirely on her Mate.

Garrett leaned over the main map, a pencil held loosely between his fingers. His eyes scanned the topography lines, his mind moving with a rapid, terrifying efficiency. He wasn't deteriorating. He was terrifyingly sharp.

"Look at the timeline again, Carrick," Garrett said, his voice dropping into his authoritative, commanding tone. He tapped three distinct points on the map. "You’re treating these three perimeter breaches as separate incidents because of the twelve-hour gaps. They aren't."

Carrick frowned, leaning in. "What do you mean? The distance between point A and point B is too wide for anything crawling out of the ice to cover in that window."

"If they're on foot or still partially frozen, yes," Garrett countered smoothly, drawing a sweeping arc across the ridge line with the pencil. "But they aren't either, and they aren’t going over land. They're using the underground tunnels. It covers their scent and bypasses the wards. It’s a standard pattern. The target is scouting your blind spots, and they’re doing it mathematically. Look at the coordinates. It’s a Fibonacci sequence layout."

Carrick stared at the map. He blinked once. Twice. Then he looked up at Garrett, a look of profound, quiet reverence and deep approval shining in the Elder’s eyes.

"Son of a bitch," Carrick whispered, a proud grin breaking across his face. "You’re right. We completely missed the pattern."

Across the room, Sydney felt a heavy, emotional lump form in her throat. She gripped her notebook a little tighter, her heart swelling with an overwhelming surge of pride.

“There he is,” she thought fiercely, watching the confident, brilliant tactician handle the data effortlessly. That is my Mate. He’s coming back.

During the day, Garrett was undeniably getting better. His mind was an absolute steel trap. He was sharper, faster, and just as useful as he had ever been.

Which made the terrifying black void of his nights impossible to reconcile. It made Sydney’s heart ache thinking about it.

Shaking off all doubt, she went on with her day. Later that afternoon, the tactical room emptied out, leaving Sydney alone with Star in the hallway. The bustling sounds faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the house.

Star leaned against the wall, watching Sydney slide her notebook onto a shelf. "How are you doing, Syd?"

Sydney smoothed down her shirt, offering a practiced, tight smile. "I'm fine. Garrett had a great day today. You saw him in there. He’s sharp."

Star didn't move. She just leaned her head back, leveling Sydney with the ‘Star stare’ –a heavy, unblinking look that meant she wasn't buying the defensive front for a single second.

Sydney’s shoulders slumped. The heavy armor she had been wearing all morning cracked, and she let out a long, exhausted breath. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Star."

She looked down at her hands, the frustration raw in her voice. "I can rescue him from the Abyss. I can blast Demon Lords out of existence. I can wield White Dragon Magic without breaking a sweat. But how the hell am I supposed to protect my Mate from something as ordinary as sleepwalking? I don't know how to fight a blank void in his head."

Stepping forward, Star wrapped a warm, grounding arm around her shoulders. "You don't have to solve it, Syd. You don't have to fix his subconscious. Right now, you just have to stay beside him. Let him figure out the protocol, and just be there when he wakes up. You're his anchor. That's enough."

The quiet warmth of the moment of friendship settled over Sydney, giving her a fragile sense of peace as she headed upstairs to get ready for dinner.

Standing in front of the bedroom vanity, she pulled her hair back and scanned the cluttered surface for her favorite blue hair ribbon. It wasn't valuable, and it wasn't Magical, but it was intensely personal– a soft silk piece of fabric that she’d carried since her adopted mom, Sam, gave it to her all those years ago. She distinctly remembered leaving it right next to her jewelry box before her shower.

It wasn't there. It wasn’t anywhere on the top of the dresser. She lifted a perfume bottle. Checked under a stack of books. Nothing.

"Garrett?" she called out as he walked into the bedroom, buttoning a clean shirt. "Did you move my blue ribbon?"

Garrett paused, blinking. "No. Haven't touched it."

Walking over, his sharp eyes scanned the top of the dresser alongside her. They spent two minutes flipping over small items, opening drawers, and looking in all the little cubbies, but the blue ribbon was simply gone.

Eventually she shrugged, letting her hair fall loose. "Whatever. I'll find it when I'm looking for something else."

It was a normal, completely forgettable domestic moment. A tiny blip in a busy day.

By evening, a comfortable exhaustion settled over the house. She could tell that Garrett was genuinely tired, but it was a healthy, satisfying fatigue from spending hours analyzing maps and working his brain. It made perfect sense, and eased a little more of her worry.

Before heading to the bedroom, he walked to the heavy back door, gripped the handle, and ensured the deadbolt was in place. Turning away, he took three steps and then stopped. Walking back, he checked the lock a second time.

Sydney caught him from the foot of the stairs and snickered, "It's locked, Garrett."