7. Collateral Damage #3
"I don't know," he murmured, the cold dread locking around his throat. "I don't know."
Sydney walked out of the bathroom, a smile on her lips, but it vanished the instant she saw him.
Standing by the closet, his posture stiff, Garrett’s eyes were entirely fixed on his open palm. The ambient light in the bedroom seemed to dim around him, casting sharp, severe shadows across his face. "Garrett?" she asked, her voice dropping into a quiet, alert register.
He didn't speak. He simply turned his hand over, extending his palm toward her.
Resting in the center of his skin was the heavy gold mount, its deep red Dragon scale catching the afternoon light like an open wound. Sydney froze. He knew the exact second that she recognized it from Carrick's frustrated description that morning.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the bedroom. It was like a wet, black blanket covering everything and everyone.
"Where did you find that?" Sydney whispered, her eyes lifting from the glittering red scale to meet his dark, hollow gaze.
Garrett looked over his shoulder at the dark denim jacket hanging on the closet hook. "My pocket."
Sydney’s face changed. The comforting warmth, the desperate hope, the protective shields she had built over the last week– all of it shattered in an instant. The reverberations traveled through their Mating Bond and echoed through Garrett’s mind.
She didn't offer an explanation. No sleepwalking. No trauma. No healing brain was mentioned.
Through their Bond came a sharp wave of fear– not of him, never that– but of what neither of them could explain. The whole situation had officially crossed an invisible, terrifying line.
"When did you wear that jacket last?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she stepped closer.
"Before the camera went back up," Garrett replied, his voice flat, stripped entirely of emotion. "I mean, before the first time the camera was on, before I turned it off. I haven't touched the jacket in days."
The implication hung in the air like a physical weight. They had absolutely no idea when he had taken it. It could have been last night, or it could have been a week ago, buried deep in his clothes before they ever thought to track his movements.
Garrett looked down at the tie tack, his jaw tightening so hard the bone felt ready to snap. His immediate instinct wasn't to ask why he had taken it. He didn't ask what it meant.
Instead, he looked up at Sydney, a sudden, devastating clarity filling every fiber of his being. "What else have I taken?"
Those five words hit the room like a localized earthquake. In an instant, Garrett’s entire worldview shifted.
The ribbon, blue silk, muddy boots, the tie tack– How many things had he dismissed because they hadn't seemed connected? How much of his missing time had left evidence behind?
"Garrett..." Sydney said, reaching her hand out toward him.
Instantly taking a sharp, jagged step backward, Garrett retreated into the shadow of the closet. He wasn't backing away out of fear of her. He was backing away to protect her.
"Don't," he commanded, his voice raw and harsh.
Sydney froze, her hand still hovering in the empty air between them. "Don't what?"
Garrett looked at her, his breathing turning shallow, his pulse hammering visibly against his throat. "Don't come closer."
For the first time since he had been rescued from the dark cells of Leviathan, Garrett was genuinely, deeply terrified.
Not of the monsters in his past, and not of the void in his mind.
He was afraid of himself. Whatever his body was capable of in the dark...
Consciously, he loved her more than his own life.
But asleep? He didn't know what he was capable of anymore.
Sydney didn't hesitate. “Look, Dragon Man,” she huffed. “I don't play by your tactical rules.” Coming closer, she kept going. “And I absolutely refuse to let you retreat into the Darkness alone.”
Taking the last step with purpose and determination, she scoffed when Garrett warned, "Sydney."
But she didn’t stop. He stumbled backward so quickly that his back pressed against the closet wall. “I said…”
Looking him right in the eye, she matter-of-factly interrupted, “I heard you." Her voice was fierce, steady, and entirely unyielding.
She stepped right into his space. She overrode all his defenses. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she reached up and took his face firmly in both of her hands. Her skin was warm against his icy jaw, her touch a powerful, anchoring force that demanded his absolute attention.
"You are not afraid of me," she said, her blue eyes locking onto his with absolute, unwavering intensity.
Garrett swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides to keep from grabbing her. "No."
"Then I am not afraid of you."
"Sydney, you should be," Garrett whispered, a desperate, broken plea bleeding into his eyes. "Look at what is happening to me. Look at what I'm doing. I don't know who I am when the lights go out."
Sydney squeezed his jaw, forcing him to look deep into her soul, letting him feel the absolute, unbreakable weight of the Mating Bond thrumming between them.
"I am afraid for you, Garrett," she said, her voice striking the quiet room like a bell. "I will never, ever be afraid of you."
Garrett didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hide the evidence, and he didn’t construct a tactical retreat to buy himself time. Ten minutes later, he walked straight back into the main house, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor.
Carrick, Grey, and Ginnie were still gathered in the kitchen, the remnants of the morning's casual banter lingering in the air.
Without a word, Garrett stepped up to the table. He opened his hand, letting the heavy golden mount clatter against the wood. The brilliant red Dragon scale caught the overhead light, glittering like a dropped coal.
Carrick went entirely rigid. His recognition was immediate and obvious.
A dense, suffocating silence fell over the kitchen.
"Where did you find it?" Carrick asked, his rough voice dropping into a dangerous, low register.
"In my jacket pocket," Garrett said. He stood perfectly straight, his shoulders square. He didn't flinch, and he didn't look away from the Elder’s sharp gaze. "I think I took it."
"We don't know that for sure—"
"I held it before, Sydney."
He didn't tell them about the flash of darkness, the scent of cedar and old leather, or the ghostly memory of a metal pin pricking his thumb. But he knew the empirical truth. He had held it before. That was enough for him.
Carrick stared at the tie tack resting on the wood. His thick eyebrows knit together. For a fraction of a second, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. But the renowned Guardsman didn't become suspicious. He didn't tighten his posture or glare at Garrett with doubt.
He knew exactly who Garrett was. He knew the absolute loyalty that was caked into the younger Guardsman’s soul. He knew Garrett would cut off his own hand before ever betraying the Golden Fire Clan, Dragonkin, or humankind.
Lifting his head, Carrick’s wizened gaze locked onto Garrett with absolute, unwavering trust. "Do you remember why?"
"No."
"Then we find out."
There was no accusation. There was no fear. It was pure, unadulterated leadership. He wasn't tracking a thief. He was working a strategic anomaly with one of his own men.
Stepping closer, Ginnie’s eyes were dark with concern as she looked at the golden mount. "Emma made that from Alastair's scale," she murmured softly, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. "Carrick would never have simply left it lying around."
"We change the protocol," Carrick commanded, turning his head to look at Grey. "Garrett doesn't sleep alone anymore."
Garrett’s jaw tightened. "I haven't been alone, Carrick. Sydney is right beside me."
"I mean somebody who stays awake," Carrick countered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
The words hit Garrett like a physical blow to the chest. The escalation was official. The variables had shifted from a private, digital camera feed to an active, physical guard rotation.
"I'll take the first watch," Sydney immediately volunteered, her grip tightening on Garrett’s arm as she looked around the room.
"I've got the second," Grey nodded, his expression turning entirely serious as his training took control of the house parameters.
They called it a watch. Garrett knew what it felt like. His family was now staying awake because nobody knew what he might do when he wasn't.
He had become the threat.
Hours later, the deep, heavy dark of the Texas night settled over the cottage. The cicadas chirped outside the window, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air.
Garrett lay perfectly still on his back, his eyes staring wide into the absolute blackness of the bedroom ceiling. Beside him, Sydney was asleep, her breathing a soft, rhythmic whisper against the quiet of the cottage.
Outside the partially open bedroom door, the hallway was silent– but Garrett was a trained Scout. He could hear the faint, occasional creak of a heavy wooden chair down the hall. He could hear the subtle, deep shift of Grey’s weight as his brother sat vigilant in the dark, watching the exit.
And for the first time since he had returned home, Garrett could not sleep.
The exhaustion was heavy in his bones, a dull ache pressing behind his eyes, but his mind refused to surrender to slumber. He was terrified to close his eyes. He was terrified of what his body would do the second he went offline.
“You need rest, Lad,” Han’s deep voice rumbled quietly within his psyche, a heavy wave of Draconic concern washing through their Bond. “Your mind cannot heal if you force it to stay awake.”
Garrett didn't move. He kept his eyes locked on the empty dark above his head.
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," he whispered into the silence.