5. Following the Evidence #2
Something heavy and cold dropped straight into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a theory anymore. It wasn't an uncomfortable story told in the morning light. It was an empirical, physical truth.
“I did this,” he thought, his chest tightening as he stared at the shape of his own heel in the dirt. “My body stood right here.”
He looked down the line of the creek. The tracks didn't wander randomly. They didn't show the clumsy, staggering gait of a confused sleepwalker. They were clean, purposeful, and spaced with the uniform stride of a man marching directly towards a specific destination.
Garrett led the way as they all followed the line for another fifty yards until the tracks stopped at an old, twisted oak tree jutting out from a steep rock outcropping along the creek bank.
Garrett's eyes scanned the terrain, looking for anomalies.
"You stopped here," Grey observed, pointing to the base of the oak.
The footprints were clustered tightly together in the clay. Garrett had stood in that exact spot for a significant amount of time. His feet had been planted firmly, facing directly towards a dense, unremarkable thicket of woods.
Stepping into the cluster of his own prints, Garrett turned his body to match the exact direction he had faced the previous night. He stared into the trees.
There was nothing. No shimmering portal. No creepy occult symbols carved into the bark. No lingering scent of Sorcery. Just empty woods and the quiet chatter of morning birds. The absolute normalcy of it was infinitely creepier than finding a monster.
Reaching out, Garrett’s mind went completely blank as he pressed his bare palm against the rough ridges of the old oak tree's bark.
The morning light vanished…
It was suddenly pitch black…
The forest was only illuminated by a harsh, silver splash of moonlight.
Garrett saw his own hand. His fingers, long and pale, extended in front of him. Wrapped tightly around his knuckles, fluttering softly in the night wind, was a thin strip of vibrant blue silk.
Then, like a camera shutter snapping shut, it was gone.
Garrett jerked his hand away from the tree. Stumbling backward a half-step, his breath caught sharply in his throat.
"Garrett?" Sydney was instantly at his side, her hand gripping his elbow, her eyes searching his face. "What is it? What did you see?"
Staring down at his open palm, Garrett found it completely empty.
The image of the blue fabric had felt so vivid, so entirely real, that he could still almost feel the phantom whisper of silk against his skin.
But it had lasted less than half a second.
He wasn't even sure his own eyes hadn't tricked him.
"Nothing," he murmured, forcing his voice to remain steady as he slipped his hand into his pocket. "Just... a sudden wave of vertigo. I'm fine."
Closing his eyes, Garrett focused inward, his mental voice echoing into the deep spaces of his psyche. “Han, did you see that?”
The Dragon King stirred. His great golden eyes blinked in confusion. “See what, Lad?” Han asked. “I see only the tree and the mud through your eyes. There is nothing else there.”
A cold trickle of sweat ran down Garrett’s spine. The flash hadn't bridged their shared consciousness or their bond. It hadn't triggered Han's Ancient Dragon senses. Whatever the memory was, it belonged exclusively to Garrett’s human mind.
He didn't…couldn’t tell the others. Not because he wanted to keep dangerous secrets from his family, but because he couldn't even begin to rationalize it himself.
Blue silk. Why the hell had he been holding blue silk? Whatever his mind was trying to give him, he wasn't ready to call half a second of blue silk a memory.
Back at the cottage, Garrett didn't let himself sit and stew. He added to the system he was building.
Locating a blank, leather-bound notebook in the desk drawer, he laid it open on the kitchen island. Beside it, he placed the smartphone Sydney had insisted he carry. If his own mind was going to leave him in the dark, he would rely on empirical data.
He wrote down the time. He documented exactly what he was wearing.
He noted the security status of the deadbolts and the bell.
Then, using the phone’s camera, he systematically took photos of the room – the clean boots by the door, the locked deadbolt, the neat arrangement of his clothes on the chair. He was creating a tactical baseline.
Sydney stood in the bedroom doorway, watching him quietly log the details.
The gentle, encouraging smile she had worn earlier was entirely gone.
He could see that she recognized that tight, efficient look on his face.
The whole damn thing wasn't a strange family joke anymore. It was an active security threat.
Later that evening, the house grew still. Garrett sat on the edge of the mattress, staring down at the notebook resting on his knees, his thumb tracing the edge of the paper.
Sydney walked in, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat down beside him.
Garrett didn't look up immediately; he just started talking.
"I've spent my whole life trusting my instincts, Syd.
" Swallowing hard, he finally turned his head to meet her gaze.
"I don't know what to do if I can't trust myself.
" His voice dropped into a low, quiet register that held a dangerous amount of raw vulnerability he knew he could only share with his Mate.
The admission hung heavily in the quiet room. It was the first small crack he’d felt in his armor since coming home. It was a terrifying seed of doubt he had never had to face in all his years.
Thankfully, Sydney didn't offer a hollow platitude. She simply reached out and took his face in both of her hands. Her touch was warm, loving, and fiercely grounding. "Then trust me."