Page 29 of Saving Her Dragon

Carrick paused, his thick eyebrows knitting together as he looked over. "How do you know? The shell company matches the database perfectly."

"The pattern is wrong," Garrett countered, his finger tracing a line on the screen. "Leviathan is an egomaniac, but he is structurally a ghost when he's vulnerable. When he’s injured, he doesn't move heavy freight under a known signature, even an old one. He burrows. He would have used a single, unmarked transport, changed the drop location three times mid-transit, and executed the team who moved it the moment the crate hit the floor. This is too loud. If it's connected to Leviathan at all, it's bait. Something meant to draw patrols away from the coast– make us show our hand."

Carrick stared at the screen, then slowly looked back at Garrett, a profound, heavy nod of agreement settling into his shoulders. "You're right. It's too sloppy for him."

Garrett kept his gaze fixed on the monitor, but for a single, fleeting second, a cold, uncomfortable sensation brushed against his ribs. He hadn't used Magic to figure that out. He had used pure intuition, along with all his training and personal experience. He knew they weren’t looking at anything to do with Leviathan because he had survived the Demon Lord.

Garrett knew the exact, twisted cadence of the Lord of Envy’s tactical brain because he had lived within its horror for many years. It was an empowering realization. Using the worst experience of his life as a weapon to hunt the monster down felt right– it felt just.

However, it left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. He knew Leviathan very, very well. It didn’t sit well in Garrett’s conscience.

He forced the thought down, refusing to let it linger.

"Alright, that's enough war council for one morning," a bright, commanding voice interrupted from the doorway.

Standing there, looking as gorgeous as ever, Sydney had her hands planted firmly on her hips, a playful smile lighting up her face. Not waiting for an invitation, she marched straight across the room and stepped between Garrett and the digital terminal. "You've had my Mate long enough, Carrick. I'm taking him back."

Offering the renowned Guardsman a wry, helpless smirk as Sydney snagged his arm, Garrett chuckled, "I believe I am being kidnapped."

Carrick didn't even look up from his tablet, though a faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Try to survive, Lad. She's faster than you are."

Dragging him out into the bright afternoon sun, Sydney led him toward a quiet, grassy knoll near the southern orchard where she had set up a quick lunch. The tension from the tactical office melted away the moment they sat down. It was replaced by the effortless warmth of spending time alone with the woman the Universe made for him.

As they ate, Sydney leaned against his shoulder, her eyes wide and excited as she steered the conversation toward something entirely removed from Guardsmen’s business. "So, I was thinking about the Mating Ceremony. Since we're finally getting some breathing room, I want to start mapping out the layout. I was thinking we could do the part where we get our Mating Marks and Blessing from the Universe near the valley ridge…"

"No," Garrett interrupted playfully, chewing on a piece of fruit.

Batting her impossibly long eyelashes, Syd looked up at him. "No? What do you mean, no?"

"History and Clan protocol explicitly state that the Dragon Guardsman must plan the entire Mating Ceremony for the woman the Universe made for him," Garrett stated, his tone thoroughly solemn but his eyes dancing with mischief. "You don't get to touch the layout, Syd."

"But I'm a Dragon too," she protested, throwing her hands up in mock offense. "I share my soul with Drakara. Surely the rules have a loophole for a literal Dragon soulmate?"

"Nope," Garrett smiled. He reached over, playfully booping her nose with his finger, before leaning in to press a quick, lingering kiss to her lips. "Strictly forbidden. Don't make me call Shavon to come down here and quote the Ancient Law to you."

"Okay, okay, okay," Sydney relented, a soft laugh escaping her as she raised her hands in a sign of surrender. "I yield to the protocol officer. But... can we at least have white and pink roses? They are Kara's absolute favorite. She’s been muttering about them in my head all morning."

"I might have already known that," Garrett murmured softly, his gaze turning incredibly tender as he looked down at her. "But you and the Dragon Queen are both just going to have to wait to be surprised."

"So not fair," Sydney pouted, though she was smiling. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small, glossy printout. "Fine. But just so you don't mess up the specific breed, here are pictures of the exact ones she loves. She made me print it for you."

Garrett chuckled, taking the small photo from her fingers. Without thinking about it, he slid his hand down and shoved the picture deep into the right pocket of his cargo shorts.

Sydney caught the movement and let out a soft snort of amusement. "You know, you're going to become one of those men who carries half the world in his pockets."

Garrett raised an eyebrow, a defensive smirk on his face. "I am a Scout, Sydney. Tactical readiness requires utility." To prove his point, he systematically reached into his left pocket. He began pulling out random objects, setting them on the picnic blanket: a small, sturdy folding pocketknife, a silver challenge coin from his dad’s Force, a random length of heavy-duty twine, and a stray metal washer.

Laughing, Sydney shook her head as he stuffed the items back away. “You shouldn’t laugh,” he teased. “I have things you might need right here in my pocket. You’ll thank me one day.”

“You are so right, Mo ghràdh,” she winked. “Whatever you say.”

By late afternoon, the heat of the day began to break, and Garrett headed back to the cottage to wash off the dirt from the orchard walk. He took a long, hot shower, letting the steam clear the remaining tactical data from his head.

Dressing in the quiet bedroom, he realized they were supposed to meet the rest of the family at the main house for a formal dinner in an hour. Walking over to the closet, he looked for something a bit nicer than his usual work shirts or a T-shirt. His eyes landed on a dark, heavy denim jacket hanging on the far hook. It was a piece he hadn't touched in days—not since before he had mounted the security camera, before the clean nights, before the long walk down to the gray clay of the creek bed. It had sat entirely undisturbed in the dark corner of the closet.

"Garrett?" Sydney called out from the bathroom, the sound of her hair dryer turning off. "Can you grab my lip balm from the pocket of that denim jacket? I think I left it in there when we walked the perimeter last week."

"Yeah, got it," Garrett called back.