Page 47 of Saving Her Dragon

"Maybe," Ginnie said tightly.

"Like the tie tack?" Garrett murmured, his voice sounding hollow as the pieces of the puzzle began to violently collide.

Sydney's hands trembled against his shoulder. "And my ribbon."

They finally knew one thing for certain: whatever happened to the missing objects did not end with Garrett slipping them into a pocket and hiding them somewhere on the Homestead.

Somehow, his Magical signature stood between the objects and wherever they had gone.

Garrett folded over the island as if someone had punched the air from his lungs.

“Garrett!” Sydney caught his arm.

His eyes remained unfocused. “Han sees the circle again.”

Ginnie held perfectly still. “What changed?”

“Three lights. The same colors as the missing objects.” He paused, listening inward.

“There are more stones than lights.”

“Meaning?”

Garrett's face tightened.

“Han says it isn't finished.”

Realization hit the room like a bomb. Whatever Han was seeing, the pattern was incomplete– and the three missing objects appeared to correspond with three occupied positions, but they had no idea who was drawing the blueprints, what the function was, or how to stop the construction.

"I need to be locked down," Garrett instantly commanded, his soldier instincts taking complete control. He stood up, his jaw rigid. "No sleep. Medical restraints. A high-level Magical ward around a containment cell. Put me in isolation. Whatever keeps me from getting within a mile of anyone else's belongings."

"No," Sydney shut him down immediately, stepping directly into his space with absolute, unyielding iron in her eyes. "We already established that starving yourself of sleep harms you and Han. You aren't punishing yourself for a booby trap."

Carrick nodded in agreement. "Physical restraints may actually make things worse, Garrett. If this transition is happening purely through a Spiritual or Magical pathway rather than your physical hands, tying you to a bed won't stop the conductor from conducting."

Darcy checked her tablet, her tone thoroughly clinical. "From a neurological standpoint, I need you asleep under active observation to map the energy spike. Isolation solves nothing."

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?"