A soft knock echoed on Y/n’s door just as she was about to climb into bed. She paused, blinking toward it.
Another knock, a bit louder.
She padded over, tugging her sleeves down, and opened the door to find Garrick standing there, casual as ever in his cadet blacks, hair slightly mussed from the patrol wind. His eyes searched hers immediately, like he’d been holding something in all day.
“Oh,” she said, caught off guard. “Wait here.”
Before he could even speak, she vanished inside.
Garrick stood there, blinking, until she returned — arms full of sweaters. His sweaters.
He furrowed his brows, watching her hold them out toward him like a peace offering. “...What are you doing?”
“I figured,” she said quietly, eyes on the floor, “I should give these back.”
Instead, he just stared at her. “Why?”
Y/n bit her bottom lip, clutching the pile closer to her chest. “I don’t want to ruin your chances.”
His frown deepened. “What chances?”
She finally looked up, her gaze wary. “With Imogen.”
Garrick blinked, startled. “What?”
Y/n took a deep breath — and the words came pouring out in a breathless ramble.
“I accidentally heard your argument with her the other night, okay? I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was going to ask her something and I just—heard it. And I didn’t know you two had, like, a thing. I’m sorry if I came off too familiar with you or made anything complicated or if it ever made you uncomfortable because I didn’t mean to—”
“Y/n,” Garrick interrupted with a breathless laugh, stepping forward and pushing her gently back into her room. “Stop. Just—stop.”
She stumbled a step back, blinking at him.
He closed the door behind him and tossed the sweaters right onto her bed. “Imogen and I were never a thing.”
Y/n narrowed her eyes, uncertain. “You sure?”
He smirked. “Pretty damn sure.”
“You flirted with her. A lot.”
“Yeah, and I flirt with everyone. She and I have been friends since we were kids. There was never anything more than that.”
She studied him for a beat, still unconvinced. “So… we’re cool?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Cool as hell.”
Y/n let out a sigh of relief and glanced toward the pile of sweaters now half-sprawled across her bed. “So… can I keep these then?”
Garrick, mid-folding one of them, grinned. “Be my guest.”
She plucked the one from his hands — a black one with a small tear near the sleeve cuff — and tugged it on. “Good,” she said. “Now give me my sweater back.”
Garrick laughed. “Your sweater?”
She smiled smugly at him and nodded. He bit his lip to stop the grin threatening to spread.
“Can you stop ignoring me now?” he asked, voice quieter, almost teasing but there was something beneath it.
Y/n tilted her head. “Mmm… I’ll think about it.”
He chuckled again, eyes on her, expression softer than before. “You did amazing today,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
The warmth of the words hit her harder than she expected.
She blinked, then gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thanks.”
A silence fell between them — not uncomfortable, just charged. They stood there, facing each other, so many unspoken things hovering in the air between them.
Both of them opened their mouths at the same time — then stopped, laughed quietly, looked down.
Garrick gathered the nerve, stepped forward slightly. “Would you—”
“Are we still friends?” Y/n blurted.
She gave a small shrug. “I just… wanted to know.”
He swallowed the words he’d almost said and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Of course.”
She nodded back. “Great. Friends.”
He cleared his throat. “Teammates.”
They both smiled, but neither of their hearts were in it. Too much between the lines. Too much unsaid.
“Goodnight,” Garrick said softly, opening the door.
Y/n smiled again, quieter this time. “Goodnight.”
As soon as the door shut behind him, Garrick leaned against it, head tilted back with a frustrated sigh, eyes closed.
Inside, Y/n flopped back onto her bed with a groan, her face buried in the collar of his sweater, her heart thudding loud in her ears.
They both exhaled, unaware they’d done it at the same time — each convinced they’d just been firmly planted in the other’s friendzone.
Each absolutely, hopelessly wrong.
The air above Aertia was cold and crisp, the kind of cold that crept under the collar of your uniform and settled in your bones. Garrick adjusted his grip on the scales as Chradh coasted along a thermal current, scanning the horizon automatically.
The flap of massive wings drew his attention. A moment later, Sgaeyl slid into formation beside them, her dark shape cutting through the clouds like a blade. On her back, Xaden Riorson sat as calm and unbothered as ever, one hand on her scales, the other resting lazily on his thigh.
Garrick already felt the headache forming.
“You’re quiet,” Xaden called, smirking. “That’s usually my job.”
Garrick rolled his eyes. “It’s called brooding. I learned it from watching you.”
Xaden’s smirk widened. “Impressive. I almost believed that.”
They flew in silence for a minute before Garrick saw the way Xaden was looking at him.
“What,” Garrick said flatly.
“You tell me.” Xaden’s voice was all innocent amusement. “You’ve been flying like someone shoved a lance up your ass since we took off.”
Garrick gritted his jaw. “Just tired.”
“Oh, sure. Definitely not anything to do with the fact that Y/n's been avoiding you like you’ve got venom seeping out of your pores.”
That got Garrick to flinch.
Xaden grinned. “So, it is about her.”
“I could, but this is way more fun,” Xaden said. “Considering the months you spent making comments every time I so much as breathed in Violet’s direction—”
Garrick groaned. “Okay, okay. I get it.”
“I had a conversation with Y/n earlier,” Garrick muttered, steering Chradh a little left as they passed over the eastern perimeter. “She heard me and Imogen arguing.”
Xaden didn’t say anything, but Garrick could practically feel the way the other male perked up with interest.
“She thought there was something between me and Imogen,” Garrick went on. “I told her there wasn’t. Which is true. It was never anything real. But right when I was about to ask her out, Y/n asks me if we’re still friends.” He scoffed. “And what did I do? I said yes. Like a moron.”
Xaden whistled low. “Ouch.”
“You had one shot,” Xaden drawled. “And you missed.”
“Thank you for that very helpful commentary.”
Xaden shrugged. “I’m just saying… you’ve been circling each other for months now. Either you’re going to do something about it or you’re not.”
Garrick blew out a breath. “She’s Ridoc’s sister. She’s… Y/n. And now she probably thinks I’m hung up on Imogen. Or worse — that I’m playing both of them.”
Xaden shot him a look. “Didn’t you clear things up?”
“I did. I think. I told her Imogen and I were just friends. That there was never anything romantic.”
“Then make her believe it,” Xaden said simply. “And show her why you’d be the best candidate.”
Garrick raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you did with Violet?”
Xaden huffed. “Violet had Dain sniffing around her. It was a little more complicated.”
Garrick cracked a reluctant smile. “Fair.”
Xaden leaned forward slightly, gaze turning serious. “Just don’t half-ass it. You like her, right?”
“More than I probably should.”
“Then show her. Respectfully, obviously. We both know Ridoc would tear your spine out if you so much as looked at her wrong.”
Garrick smirked. “Please. Y/n would tear my spine out herself.”
They both laughed, because they knew — she would.
Sgaeyl let out a low, almost amused huff, and Chradh mirrored it, both dragons sensing the emotional tension between the two riders with something like exhausted patience.
Xaden shook his head. “Just go for it, Garrick. We’re not guaranteed anything in this life. If she’s what you want, you fight for her.”
Garrick glanced down at Aretia's twinkling lights far below.
He just had to make her believe it. That she wasn’t second to anyone. That she was it.
And he was done being passive about it.
“Thanks, man,” he muttered.
Xaden just smirked again. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until she either punches you or kisses you. Then we’ll talk.”
Garrick grinned. “I’ve seen her punches. I’ll take my chances.”
They angled their dragons back toward the main gates, the tension eased but the fire in Garrick’s chest brighter now.
The dining hall buzzed with its usual controlled chaos — clinking silverware, bursts of laughter, the hum of a dozen conversations layered over each other. Garrick sat with one boot kicked up on the bench opposite him, his tray mostly ignored as Bodhi and Quinn argued animatedly over some combat technique.
“—you pivot after the first strike,” Quinn said, flicking a carrot at Bodhi, who ducked and shot her a mock glare.
“And get your kneecap shattered by a follow-up hit?” Bodhi countered, incredulous.
“Not if you’re not slow as a mountain wyrm.”
Xaden, sitting to Garrick’s right, didn’t even look up from his food. “Please, keep bickering. Maybe you’ll confuse the enemy into surrendering.”
Garrick smirked, only half-listening, his eyes drifting to the other side of the table where Y/n sat with Sloane, Violet, and Rhiannon. She was laughing, something soft and genuine, the kind that made Garrick’s chest twist in that same annoying way it always did lately.
She’d been distant. Friendly, sure — hell, they still flew together at dawn, Ailith and Chradh twining in perfect tandem. But she was guarded now. Measured. Like she was trying really hard to remember that they were just friends.
He was just about to finally say something to her, maybe crack a joke across the table to break the weird new wall between them, when Sloane leaned in.
“So…” Sloane began, teasing. “You decided what you’re doing with your hair for tomorrow night?”
Y/n blinked, still chewing a bite of roll. “Haven’t decided yet,” she said after swallowing. “I might braid it or leave it down. Depends.”
Garrick’s brow creased. Tomorrow night?
Violet, ever the curious one, tilted her head. “What’s tomorrow night?”
Y/n shrugged casually. “Got a date.”
Garrick didn’t hear anything for a full second — because Ridoc choked on his drink.
“What?” Ridoc coughed, slamming his mug down and immediately looking at Garrick — who looked just as blindsided.
Garrick’s fingers tightened around his cup before he could stop them. He didn’t say anything — didn’t trust himself to.
Rhiannon perked up with interest. “Wait, with who?”
Y/n reached for her water, calm as anything. “Rowan. He asked me after combat yesterday.”
Rowan. A flyer. Gryphon rider. Blonde, tall, always grinning like the skies belonged to him.
Garrick didn’t move, but he felt the heat prickle at the back of his neck. Across from him, Xaden turned toward him slowly with a look that screamed are you serious right now? Garrick gave him a look back that basically said don’t start.
But Xaden just sighed. Loudly.
“Interesting,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Garrick to hear. “Very bold strategy. Not sure it’ll work.”
Garrick shot him a side glare. “Shut up.”
Meanwhile, Y/n carried on her conversation, now chatting animatedly with Rhiannon and Violet, completely unaware of the emotional minefield she’d just dropped in the middle of the table. Ridoc was still trying — and failing — to interrogate her without getting ignored.
“Rowan?” he echoed again. “Like, that Rowan? Gryphon-rowan?”
Y/n didn’t even look at him. “Don’t start, Ridoc.”
Sawyer, grinning like the troublemaker he was, nudged Ridoc. “You should tail them. Just in case.”
“Don’t give him ideas,” Rhiannon said, rolling her eyes.
Across the table, Imogen watched everything quietly, gaze flicking between Garrick’s clenched jaw and Y/n’s light laughter. She said nothing, but something in her expression turned thoughtful. Sharp.
Quinn leaned toward Bodhi and whispered, “Did he know about this?”
Bodhi gave a tiny shake of his head, glancing at Garrick. “Not a chance.”
Garrick sat back slightly, trying to look like the news didn’t hit him like a punch to the ribs. But his grip on his cup hadn’t relaxed.
She was going out with someone else.
He’d let her believe they were just friends. That Imogen mattered more. That he didn’t want her.
Xaden muttered beside him again, amusement and a hint of warning in his voice. “Hope you’ve got a plan, dumbass. ‘Cause that flyer sure as hell does.”
But he was already forming one.
The hall outside the library was quiet, the usual buzz of Basgiath reduced to the low murmur of dragons breathing in the distance and the occasional boots echoing against stone. Y/n stepped out from behind the towering oak doors, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, a book tucked beneath her arm.
She was halfway down the corridor when she spotted him — Garrick, heading toward the outer gates, his black uniform partially unzipped at the collar, flight harness slung low over one shoulder. His stride faltered the moment he saw her.
“Hey,” she greeted softly, her voice warm but cautious.
He slowed to a stop. “Hey yourself. You’re out late.”
“Returned a book before bed.” She held up the slim volume and offered a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He nodded, eyes scanning her face, her eyes, trying to read her like he always did. “You, uh… got plans tomorrow night?”
Y/n tilted her head, unsure if he forgot or if he was trying to be subtle. “Yeah. I’ve got that drink with Rowan.”
He nodded once, jaw tightening. “Right. The flyer.”
Y/n blinked. “Yeah… the flyer.”
Garrick gave a short, dry chuckle. “Just saying, gryphon riders are cocky as hell. You know how they are — always showboating, trying to prove they can keep up with dragons.”
Y/n’s smile flattened. “Rowan’s not like that.”
Garrick raised a brow. “Really? Guy talks about his wingspan more than his actual strategies.”
Y/n furrowed her brow. “That’s not fair. He’s smart. And kind. And… he asked.”
That one hit harder than it should have. Garrick’s fingers flexed around the strap of his harness.
“You deserve better,” he said, quietly but firmly.
Y/n crossed her arms, book pressed to her chest. “Oh yeah? Any suggestions?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Bit his tongue.
And that pause — that pause — was everything.
Y/n’s lips tightened. She nodded once, and he saw it — the flicker of sadness in her eyes before she pulled her walls back up.
“Mhmm,thought so,” she whispered, more to herself than him, and turned to leave.
“Y/n—” Garrick started, stepping forward.
But she didn’t stop. “If you can’t be happy for me,” she said over her shoulder, “then don’t bother at all.”
She disappeared down the corridor, boots hitting the stone faster than before. Garrick stayed rooted where he was, groaning under his breath and dragging a hand down his face.
How the hell do I keep screwing this up?
His dragon would’ve told him to stop being a coward.
And for once, he was starting to think Chradh was right.
The evening air was warm inside Riorson Estate, lanterns casting a cozy golden hue across the common room where half the crew had gathered. The furniture was mismatched —a charm only exhausted riders bring— but the energy was all too familiar: sprawled limbs, snarky banter, and a healthy dose of passive-aggressive tension.
Garrick sat sunk into an armchair, legs spread obnoxiously wide, hands behind his head, his expression unreadable as Quinn and Bodhi argued over a deck of cards.
“Wonder how Y/n’s date is going,” Ridoc mused from the edge of the fireplace where he was tossing a dagger lazily into the wood.
Sloane, flipping through a book on the nearby couch, didn’t look up. “She didn’t look that excited when she left.”
Violet, curled beside Xaden, murmured under her breath, “I wonder why…”
Just then, the front door creaked open and Y/n’s voice drifted through, clear as a bell. “Thanks, Rowan. I’ll see you around.”
A chorus of eyes snapped toward the hallway.
Y/n entered, cheeks pink from the cold and… maybe from something else. She peeled off her scarf and jacket with nonchalance.
“Well?” Ridoc demanded, all eyes now shamelessly on her.
Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the sudden attention. “It was fine. Good, actually. Better than I thought.”
That earned some surprised looks.
She turned, beckoning to Sloane. “C’mon, help me grab something from my room?”
Sloane popped up quickly and followed, the two disappearing down the hall, giggling as the door clicked shut.
A beat of silence followed.
Then Ridoc’s head snapped to Garrick, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Well?”
Garrick didn’t even flinch. He leaned back further, stretching, voice flat. “What?”
Ridoc threw his hands up. “You’ve spent months flirting with my sister — borderline seducing her — and now, this? Nothing?! Absolutely nothing?!”
Garrick raised a brow, lazily. “I thought you didn’t want me to seduce your sister.”
Ridoc scoffed like it personally offended him. “Since when do you listen to me?!”
Garrick opened his mouth to answer, but Ridoc pointed a sharp finger. “No. Don’t you even try. You—you fix this. I already told my father about the situation, and I REFUSE to have my sister dating a flyer. Absolutely not.”
That earned a bark of laughter from Bodhi.
“And he’s not even hot!” Ridoc added, like that was the final nail in the coffin.
Violet gave him a flat look. “Ridoc…”
“Well, not hotter than Garrick. My sister should have some decorum. Some standards!” Ridoc jabbed a finger toward Garrick. “Get your ass moving and do something about it!”
The room exploded into laughter.
Rhiannon nearly choked on her drink. “Wait, you’re okay with this now?”
Ridoc threw up his hands. “I would rather her date Garrick, who I know isn’t a total toolbag, than someone I don’t even know. At least Garrick only occasionally pisses me off and hasn’t tried to mansplain strategy to her like Rowan did.”
Sawyer grinned, elbowing Garrick from across the coffee table. “That’s the closest thing to approval you’re ever gonna get, man. Don’t waste it.”
Garrick stared at the ceiling for a long second, sighed like a man being dragged by fate, and finally stood. He cracked his neck and muttered, “I’m going.”
“Atta boy!” Ridoc shouted after him. “And remember — if you break her heart, I will break your nose.”
Quinn winced. “Romantic.”
Xaden, deadpan as ever, looked over at Violet. “I miss when we were the dramatic ones.”
Violet smirked. “No you don’t.”
Y/n flopped back onto her bed with a dramatic sigh, her curls spilling over her pillow. Sloane sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching her friend with amused curiosity.
“So?” Sloane asked, voice sing-song. “Tell me about the date.”
Y/n shrugged, her voice muffled into the pillow. “It was… actually nice.”
Sloane’s brows rose. “Nice?”
Y/n rolled over, face now turned up to the ceiling. “Yeah, I mean… Rowan’s decent. He was sweet. Polite. He made me laugh a couple of times. Didn’t talk over me or act like I didn’t know what I was talking about. this time.”
Sloane gave a thoughtful nod. “So… from zero to Garrick — how good was it?”
Y/n groaned, throwing her arm dramatically over her eyes. “You suck.”
Sloane cackled. “Come on! Be honest.”
Y/n sat up, pointing a finger at her. “That’s an impossible standard. No one compares to Garrick.”
Sloane raised a brow, already grinning. “Oh? How so?”
Y/n scoffed and threw her hands up. “First of all — no one has ever gotten close to how HOT Garrick is. Like, objectively. Statues should be modeled after that man.”
“Statues of war, maybe,” Sloane muttered. “He’s a wall of muscle and barely-contained violence.”
“To everyone else maybe,” Y/n shot back, “but to me? He’s—he’s such a sweetheart. He’s smart. Like, really smart. And he listens. He actually listens to me. He pushes me to be better, but never makes me feel small. He makes me laugh when I feel like the world is falling apart. And I feel safe with him. Like… actually safe.”
Sloane gave a slow whistle. “Damn. Poor Rowan doesn’t even stand a chance. You’ve built Garrick up to be the golden standard of men.”
Y/n groaned again, dragging her hands down her face. “I wish I wasn’t so stuck in the friendzone.”
Sloane tilted her head. “You might not be as stuck as you think.”
Y/n blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Sloane said, flopping back beside her, “Garrick’s been a wreck since he found out about the date. Pissy as hell when you left. Avoiding eye contact. Grinding his teeth like he wanted to fly to the outpost just to bodycheck Rowan.”
Y/n shook her head. “It’s not possible. He told me himself that we’re just friends. Partners. Teammates, even.”
Sloane snorted. “Yeah? And Xaden once said he didn’t like Violet. Sometimes men lie to themselves.”
Y/n bit her lip, looking away. “I don’t know…”
But before she could spiral further, their conversation drifted toward softer topics — boots, braids, and battle strategy.
Neither of them noticed the shadow shifting just outside the cracked door.
Garrick stepped back, heart hammering against his ribs.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d just come to knock. To apologize. Maybe to explain why he’d acted like a complete idiot the night before.
Now he had a whole different problem: she wanted him. Almost as bad as he wanted her.
He exhaled a breath through his nose, dragging a hand over his jaw. Shit.
Looks like he was going to need a better plan.
Preferably one that involved sweeping Y/n off her feet — and keeping Rowan the Flyer far, far away.
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