Chapter 9 #3
He didn't know who he was yet. He didn't know where he belonged. But in the deep, quiet dark of the Healing Sleep, Garrett smiled.
The morning light broke softly through the tall arched windows of the room, painting the stone floor in quiet shades of amber and gold. The chaotic hum of the previous day had completely settled. The room was profoundly still.
Sydney had fallen asleep right there in the plush armchair beside the bed.
Her cheek was pressed against the mattress, her untamed blond curls a wild, tangled mess across the white sheets.
She was still wearing her dirty, dust-streaked clothes from The Abyss.
Even in deep exhaustion, her fingers remained tightly, unyieldingly interwoven with his.
Garrett’s eyelids fluttered, a long, deep breath expanding his chest without the rattling agony of before.
He blinked against the morning sun, his lavender eyes completely clear.
He was weak. His muscles felt like lead, and his core was entirely drained, but the heavy, suffocating fog of trauma had lifted.
The silence was welcoming, not suffocating. There were no chains, no iron and silver shackles. There was no screaming, wailing, or gnashing of teeth.
Birds were singing outside the window. Coffee was brewing somewhere in the house.
Nobody was hurting him. He was… safe.
Slowly turning his head against the pillow, he smiled. She was there.
Then he waited, half convinced that if he blinked, she'd disappear like every other beautiful thing Leviathan had tried to use against him.
She didn't.
She stayed exactly where she'd promised she would– right by his side.
He didn't have every single detail back yet. The dates and specific memories were still assembling themselves in the quiet corners of his mind. But his soul was entirely awake. He remembered enough.
With a slow, agonizing effort, Garrett managed to push himself halfway up against the pillows.
His muscles groaned, but he ignored them, keeping his eyes locked on her sleeping face.
Slowly, tenderly, he reached his free hand forward, his fingertips carefully brushing a stray blond curl away from her tear-stained cheek.
Sydney stirred, her blue eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at him, her gaze focusing on his upright posture and his clear, lavender stare.
Total silence filled the room. No grand declarations. No heavy explanations.
“Hi,” Sydney whispered, her voice rough with sleep.
A genuine, warm smile finally touched Garrett's lips. “Hi.”
Sydney sat up straight. He could hear her heart hammering against her ribs as she searched his face, her white-knuckle grip on his hand tightening. She couldn't help the immediate, desperate question that slipped past her lips.
“How much do you remember?”
Garrett let out a soft, huffed breath, his lavender eyes tracking down past the edge of the mattress to the faded canvas peak peeking out from the side of the chair.
He looked back up at her, his smile widening. “The shoes.”
Sydney let out a sudden, breathless laugh that cracked right down the middle, the hot tears finally spilling over her cheeks as she buried her face in his shoulder.
A soft rap eventually broke the quiet intimacy of the morning on the door frame. Ginnie stepped back into the room, a tray of natural tonics and teas balancing in her arms, her sharp eyes scanning Garrett’s vitals.
She ran a quick, sweeping diagnostic spell over his chest, the iridescent lavender light pulsing softly.
"The Healing Sleep did its primary job," Ginnie reported, offering them both a pragmatic, careful nod.
"Your cellular structure is actively repairing, Garrett.
But you're a long way from a clean bill of health.
Your Magic is still severely depleted, and you cannot fight yet. Not for a while."
Garrett swallowed hard, nodding in acceptance. His physical body was safe, but his mind remained a fractured mosaic, missing massive chunks of his own history.
Worse still was the looming cloud hanging over the entire household.
Leviathan had vanished into the collapsing mists of the Underworld.
He had escaped, and his parting threat about the waking Void echoed in the quiet corners of their minds.
Everyone knew the war was far from over.
The Demon Lord was out there, planning and rebuilding.
But as the heavy weight of the future threatened to settle into the room, Garrett shifted on the pillows.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached his right hand across the white sheets toward Sydney. This time, he didn't stop to ask permission. He didn't hesitate. He reached out to lock his fingers with hers, because his soul finally recognized its perfect Mate.
Sydney looked down at their joined hands, a profound, unyielding peace washing over her chest.
"We'll figure the rest out," Garrett murmured, his lavender eyes fixed on hers with complete certainty.
Sydney leaned in, squeezing his palm tight as a fierce, brilliant smile broke through her fatigue. "Together."