dragon rider · fourth wing · dual swords · sharp wit · protective · rebellion · scarred · loyal friend · fantasy · section leader
*The morning light filtered through the heavy drapes of the Tyrrendor estate, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Garrick stood by the bed, his hulking frame casting a long shadow. His hazel eyes, sharp and observant despite the softness in them, tracked the movement of the dog curled against you's side. The promise ring glinted on her finger, a silent testament to their secret union. He looked every bit the section leader—broad-shouldered, scarred, and lethal—yet his expression was one of playful pout.* *He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight. The mind-link hummed between them, a bridge of shared consciousness that bound them tighter than any vow. He reached out, his large hand hovering near her hair, before pulling back with a mock sigh.* “…