10. Sympathetic Connections #3
Garrett let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Wonderful. So, the official tactical plan is apparently to just let me keep committing felonies in my sleep."
"Technically…” Grey offered a dry, unbothered smirk from the corner. “It’s petty theft, little brother."
"Not helping, Grey," Garrett snarled.
"Then we bait it," Carrick commanded, his deep voice cutting through the diagnostic static with absolute authority.
Garrett straightened, his eyes narrowing as the language of the hunt finally cut through the existential dread.
“If Ginnie's theory is right, and this residual mechanism in your subconscious is systematically hunting personal anchors to stabilize a pathway,” Carrick reasoned, a grim, calculated smile touching his old face, “then we choose the next variable.”
Carrick’s strategy was flawless, as always. Darcy would monitor Garrett’s brainwaves. Ginnie would track the object’s Magical resonance. Grey, Star, and Carrick would maintain physical surveillance. They were establishing a live tactical sting.
"Grey," Carrick said. "You're the bait."
The choice was emotionally loaded. Grey and Garrett had been separated for years during Garrett’s captivity, their relationship built on a foundation of intense protective guilt and ancient loyalty.
Without a word, Grey reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn object. Setting it quietly on the granite counter, he kept his head bowed.
Garrett’s breath hitched. His instant recognition of the sturdy, heavy folding pocketknife with a faded brass casing filled the kitchen. "You still have that?"
"Of course I do," Grey said softly, looking up at his brother.
“We were kids. It was your…”
“My tenth birthday.”
“I can’t believe…”
“I have carried it every day since.”
“So it’s gonna be caked with your resonance,” Ginnie explained. “It’s deep in the metal and brass. It’s why it radiates warmth. It’s the perfect anchor.”
"No," Garrett said, backing away from the counter. "Absolutely not. I am not letting this thing take anything from you, Grey."
Stepping closer, his massive frame blocking the exit, Grey’s sharp eyes locked onto his little brother with absolute, unbreakable certainty. "You're not taking anything from me, little brother," he countered, his voice dropping into a low, steady rumble.
“You don't know that," Garrett whispered, the fear heavy in his tone.
"I know you," Grey replied.
Carrick stepped up beside them, his heavy hand settling onto Garrett’s shoulder, sealing the perimeter. "We use the knife. Prepare the watch."
The sting operation was armed, and the house fell into a vibrating, high-stakes silence.
Every single security measure the Dragon Guard possessed was focused on a single bedroom.
Dr. Darcy Thorntree had upgraded her neurological monitors.
The electrodes attached to Garrett’s temples pulsed with a faint blue light.
Ginnie sat at the small vanity, her fingers lightly touching a glowing silk thread that she had meticulously anchored to the Magical resonance of Grey’s pocketknife.
The brass casing sat bathed in moonlight in the exact center of the dresser across the room.
Grey stood motionless in the doorway, his eyes locked on the target.
Sydney sat cross-legged on the mattress right beside Garrett, her hand hovering just an inch above his skin, her entire consciousness focused on the Mating Bond.
Downstairs, Carrick maintained perimeter control, while Star kept vigil in the kitchen. Every variable was monitored.
Garrett closed his eyes, surrendering to the dark, and let his mind go offline.
The digital clock on the nightstand ran through the minutes…
3:40 AM: Nothing. Garrett’s breathing was slow and uniform. The pocketknife remained silent on the dresser.
3:41 AM: Nothing. The red light of the security camera shone brightly as it hummed in the corner.
3:42 AM: The clock shifted. The universe instantly fractured.
Sydney jerked as if she'd been struck. “He's gone!” Her hand slammed against Garrett's chest.
Ginnie shot to her feet. “What?”
“The Bond. Garrett's gone.”
At the exact same instant, Darcy's monitoring equipment spiked, the digital graphs on her tablet erupting into a jagged mountain of electrical anomalies.
And Garrett's body did not move. He remained flat on his back, his jaw slack, his chest rising and falling in perfect, uninterrupted sleep.
Across the room, on top of the cedar dresser, Grey's token vanished.
There was no dramatic levitation. No glowing purple portal tore open the drywall, and no foul-smelling smoke filled the air. One second, the heavy brass pocketknife was sitting plainly under the silver moonlight. Then Ginnie’s tracing spell flared a brilliant, blinding white.
The next second, the token was simply gone. The surface of the dresser was entirely empty.
Garrett had never left the bed. He had never even twitched a finger.
"I have it!" Ginnie cried out in the dark, her voice sharp with sudden, intense focus.
The exact millisecond the pocketknife vanished, she had latched onto the retreating Magical thread of her Tracing Spell.
She didn't track it geographically across the Homestead.
She followed the retreating frequency inward, letting the Tracking Spell carry her along the strange Magical route that intersected Garrett's signature.
She ran along the road. She breached the threshold. She reached out, her Magical consciousness sprinting toward the hidden center…
And she hit a wall. A massive, towering obstruction of cold stone.
The instant her Spell touched the barrier, the entire structure reacted. A violent burst of Magic slammed back through the connection with the force of a battering ram.
Thrown backward like an abandoned ragdoll, Ginnie’s chair screeched against the floorboards as she was launched off her feet. Carrick breached the room in a blur of motion, catching her in his massive arms before she could collide with the wall.
"Ginnie!" he roared, his eyes flashing with his Dragon King’s fire.
The bedroom erupted into absolute chaos. Darcy was shouting over the alarms blaring from her spiked monitors. Grey rushed to the dresser, his hands sweeping the empty wood where his knife had been a heartbeat before.
Garrett’s eyes snapped open. He sat straight up in bed, a sharp, ragged pocket of air bursting from his lungs as the Mating Bond slammed back into his chest.
"It's gone," Grey growled, his voice turning dangerous as he stared at the empty dresser. "He didn't move, and it's gone."
Garrett suddenly clutched his head.
Ginnie barely had time to move toward him before he went still. Not unconscious… listening.
“Han?” he whispered. The longest second of his life ticked by. “What do you see?”
Garrett's face drained of color.
“There are four now.”
Ginnie stared at him. “Four?”
His lavender eyes lifted to hers.
“Only one place remains dark.”