6. False Security
False Security
Garrett didn’t panic.
He didn’t drop the pen, and he didn’t slam the notebook shut. Instead, the cold, clinical fury of a Guardsman on a mission surged through his veins, burning away the last remnants of morning warmth. He wasn’t afraid. He was profoundly angry, and Garrett despised a compromised asset.
Boots: bone-dry and perfectly aligned. Deadbolt: thrown entirely to the right. Brass bell: resting flush against the upper molding. His silver watch with the worn leather band: sitting exactly parallel to the notebook on the bedside table.
Garrett turned on his heel, navigating the small cottage kitchen like a scout sweeping a hostile sector.
He checked the physical evidence against the digital baseline.
Nothing had changed. The boots were immaculate.
The deadbolt was firmly locked. The brass bell hadn’t been disturbed.
His jacket rested completely untouched on the hook.
At 3:42 AM, Garrett had apparently risen from bed, uncapped a pen, written down the precise time of his own awakening, and gone back to sleep. The clinical neatness of it was infinitely more frustrating than a trail of mud.
"Garrett?"
Sydney’s soft voice broke the heavy silence of the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, her blond curls tumbling over her shoulders. He felt her eyes instantly tracking the rigid, military posture of his shoulders, and the anxiety she was trying to suppress.
Garrett didn’t answer immediately. He kept his eyes locked on the fresh ink, considering all the reasons he might have written the exact time while he was asleep.
Sydney crossed the hardwood floor, her bare feet almost completely silent as she stepped directly beside him. Her gaze dropped to the leather-bound notebook. The quiet, relaxed expression on her face shattered, her jaw tightening as she read the numbers.
"I didn’t go anywhere," Garrett said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"How do you know?" Sydney asked quietly, her fingers gripping the edge of the granite island.
"Because every single security baseline is exactly where I left it," Garrett explained, tapping the screen of his phone to show her the photos.
"The boots are clean. The door is locked from the inside.
The bell never rang." He took a deep, steadying breath, his tactical brain instantly shifting the variables to find a strategic advantage. “Maybe this is actually progress."
Sydney looked at him as if he had completely lost his mind. "Progress? Garrett, you wrote down a timestamp while you were completely unconscious."
"Think about it, Syd," he pressed, the words coming faster now as he constructed the theory.
He desperately wanted to believe it, to accept that his training was stronger than whatever anomaly was disrupting his psyche.
"My subconscious responded directly to the protocol I established yesterday. Somewhere inside my head, the soldier remembered the order: ‘Document what happens.’ I woke up, I followed the routine, and I went back to bed. If my unconscious mind is starting to take orders from my conscious mind... that’s a structural victory. "
It was a phenomenal theory. It was logical, comforting, and perfectly aligned with a soldier’s psychological recovery.
Sydney let out a slow, cautious breath. Through their Bond, he felt the first tentative flicker of relief. She wanted his theory to be right almost as badly as he did.
Inside his mind, however, Han was far less convinced. The Dragon King was huffing and scoffing and blowing steam, trying to get Garrett’s attention without directly calling for it.
Reaching inward, needing to hear what Han had to say, Garrett used his mind’s eye to look the Dragon King right in the eye. “Han? Did you feel the shift at 3:42? Is that what you’re trying to tell me without telling me?”
The Winged Warrior shifted within their combined psyche, a low, unhappy rumble vibrating through their unique Bond. Han wasn't screaming about Black Magic or sensing external malevolence, but the Ancient Dragon King's pride was deeply wounded, and he damn sure wasn’t hiding any of that.
“I remember nothing, Lad.” His voice was deep and grumbly, almost a growl. “And I most assuredly do not appreciate holes in my own mind.”
“Neither do I,” Garrett replied grimly.
“Then we fill them,” Han rumbled, his golden eyes flashing with a shared, stubborn determination. They were going to solve the conundrum together, as partners, treating the blackouts like tactical blind spots that needed to be systematically eliminated.
Garrett opened his eyes, closing the notebook with a decisive snap. It was time to upgrade the protocol. He wasn't going to turn the cottage into a high-tech surveillance bunker, but he wasn't going to rely on a brass bell anymore either.
A sharp knock rattled the front door, and Carrick walked straight into the kitchen without waiting for an invitation. The Elder looked between the two of them, his sharp gaze instantly landing on the open notebook and the lack of brewed coffee on the counter.
Without a word, Carrick reached into his heavy canvas jacket and pulled out a small, sleek black device, setting it down on the counter with a solid click.
Pointing at the compact, indoor security camera, still in its original packaging, he explained, "Got that for the tactical office last month and never mounted the damn thing.
" Leaning his hand on the counter, he went on, “I just had a feeling y’all needed it more than I did.”
Nodding as he looked at both of them, he continued, "Runs on an independent battery loop. Saves everything straight to a local memory card. No backup network required.”
Garrett picked up the box, a wave of profound gratitude washing over him. "Thanks, Carrick. I really appreciate it."
Ten minutes later, after reading the instructions, Garrett was upstairs in the bedroom, stepping onto a chair to mount the small black lens into the far corner of the ceiling molding.
He adjusted the angle with practiced, military precision, ensuring the frame captured the entire bed, the bedroom door, the nightstand, and the path to the hallway.
Stepping down, he synced the feed to the app he’d downloaded onto his phone.
Watching the clear, crisp digital image of the room lock into place, he used his enhanced vision to examine every detail.
For the first time since the mud had appeared on his boots, he felt a genuine sense of control return.
He finally had a weapon against the missing time.
He would collect irrefutable evidence. He would get the answers he needed– the answers everyone needed.
If his body rose again during the night, the lens would catch every single movement. There would be no more guessing, no more comforting theories, and no more holes in the dark. If he got up, they would finally know exactly what he did.
Over the next four days, the ranch slipped into a beautiful, normal rhythm. Garrett’s world slowly stopped being measured in hours of missing time and began being measured in times of peace.
The first morning after installing the camera, the recording showed eight hours of undisturbed, motionless sleep.
On night two, the camera feed captured nothing but the quiet rise and fall of the blankets and the sounds of crickets flirting in the moonlight.
The third night was much the same—total silence.
No caked clay on his boots and no mysterious writing in his notebook.
With every clean morning, the heavy atmosphere began to melt away. Sydney stopped searching his face for shadows when he woke up. Grey stopped appearing at sunrise and hovering around their cottage as they made plans for the day.
Even Han had grudgingly accepted that trauma remained the most logical explanation. Everyone decided the glitch was exactly what they had hoped: a final, chaotic aftershock of a healing mind.
As the mystery receded, Garrett’s wellbeing skyrocketed. His physical strength returned in leaps and bounds, but it was his mind that gave him the greatest victories.
One afternoon, while working in the yard, a sudden, vivid image burst into his mind out of nowhere. He let out a sudden, roaring laugh that brought his brother to a halt.
"What?" Grey asked, eyebrow raised.
"You cut your own hair," Garrett gasped, wiping a tear from his eye as the memory locked into place with absolute clarity.
"You were twelve. You made such a horrific mess of it that Mom had to shave your head. She was furious because she’d warned you three times to put the scissors down.
" Bending at the waist and gasping to catch his breath, he looked up and added with a wheeze, "And the other kids had so much fun teasing you.
It was hilarious. Your cheeks were bright red when Shelley Keller, the girl you had a crush on, laughed and pointed, then ran off with her girlfriends. "
Grey groaned, rubbing his temple. "I’d forgotten about that. Thanks for the reminder, little brother."
“No problem,” he chuckled. “Isn’t that what little brothers are for?”
“Yeah, that and being a good punching bag.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it, alright,” Grey grunted before giving in to a smile and a laugh.
Later, during a tactical briefing, Carrick casually mentioned an old defensive maneuver he wanted to try along the southern border. Before he could even pull up the file, Garrett rattled off the exact sequence of defensive shifts, flanking positions, and retreat coordinates.
His life wasn’t just coming back– it was locking into place with military precision. The look on Carrick and Grey’s faces said they saw it too, and that filled Garrett with more than a little pride.
And the greatest reward of all wasn’t the strength or the memories—it was Sydney. The dark mystery of his memory and his nighttime maneuvers had threatened to consume them, but with things looking up, the open Texas sun belonged entirely to their love.