PROJECT: CAYRO

Sue Bracton:

October 18, 2025

07:36 EST

The Bracton House

Hampton, VA.

Lying in bed, the night before played on a loop in my mind. I could still feel the burn of the Jameson sliding down my throat. It was the least I could do—if drinking helped me support my grandson and Star, then so be it.

“They shot us with tranq darts. I felt my legs go numb before everything went limp. Cayro caught me,” Star explained, her voice tight with the memory.

“Shot!” my husband shouted, as if he could fend off the weight of her words with a toast.

He poured us all another round, and I tipped it back, feeling the burn spread through my stomach like a slow fire. Star kept talking, her voice trembling.

“I have hazy memories of a medical bay. Doctors, nurses... they were examining me. It’s all too muddled. I woke up later in a room, stripped of my clothes, wearing only a medical gown. There was a bandage on my elbow. They took my blood.”

“Shot!” my husband interrupted again, loud and proud, trying to chase away the discomfort settling over the room.

It went on like that for over an hour—drinks, broken pieces of memory, and trauma disguised as war stories. It wasn’t until Cayro started to speak that I stood up and grabbed the good bourbon. This wasn’t a Jameson kind of moment. I placed two bottles of Taylor on the table and poured out fresh shots.

“Star had just finished her challenge,” Cayro slurred, his voice thick with alcohol, “and everyone was cheering when gunfire rang out. Cameron Balfour jumped in front of us, took a bullet.”

“Shot!” Star added quickly. “It nearly hit his heart.”

“Shot!” I declared, trying to keep up with the madness.

We all downed the bourbon in one swift motion, slamming the empty glasses onto the table. I watched as Cayro swayed in his seat, but he kept going.

“We made it back to the mansion. Star and I suited up, armed to the teeth. She wasn’t letting us run.”

“Damn straight!” Star shouted, excitement leaking into her voice despite the heavy conversation.

“We flew in on our skyboards,” Cayro continued. “Spotted Lyra and her group. I took the lead, and we charged the line.”

“He had the first kill!” Star cut in, her words tumbling out. “Shot the bastard right between the eyes!”

“Shot!” my husband roared, pride in his voice, though I couldn’t tell if he really understood what they were saying anymore.

I lifted the glass one last time and felt the burn sear its way through me. This time, the tears I’d been holding back broke free. I couldn’t do this anymore. My grandson had killed three people already. I didn’t want to hear about the others.

“I think I need to head to bed,” I said, my voice cracking as I stood up. I hugged everyone before heading for the stairs, moving slowly to make sure I didn’t lose my balance.

I thought I was out of earshot, but Cayro’s next words caught me halfway up the stairs, and they shattered me.

“By the time we hit the battle line,” his voice was quieter now, heavy with shame, “I lowered my rifle and formed claws with my nanites. I tore into the men with no remorse. I ripped out one man’s throat. I shredded another’s face.”

I felt the world tilt, but I kept moving. I had to get to my room, had to close the door before I heard anything more. My grandson—my Cayro—was slipping away, becoming something unrecognizable.

Once I was in bed, I plugged in my phone, and sleep took me before I had time to process what I’d heard.

The month Cayro was gone had been complete chaos. Whatever had happened to him shook him so badly that he shut down completely. He locked himself in his room and shut us all out, except for Star. No matter how much his grandfather or I tried to get through to him, we couldn’t break his silence. Even the new A.I. they brought back with them refused to talk about it.

Grumbling, I rolled out of bed and got dressed. As I made my way downstairs, my phone buzzed in my pocket. With a sigh, I pulled it out, swiped in my passcode, and scrolled through the notifications. Over a dozen text messages from my neighbor. What the hell could she want this early?

Opening the messages, I quickly realized they were all about last night. Great.

I damn near tripped down the stairs when I saw what my neighbor had sent me. My eye twitched as I scrolled through the pictures and video. They told me everything I needed to know about what happened after I went to bed. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and continued down the stairs. I was definitely going to need coffee this morning. A strong cup of coffee. No ifs, ands, or buts...

Most of the information we had before last night came from Star, and she was only giving us part of the truth. Then there was Lyra—a girl in her mid-twenties who came with Star and Cayro from SkyTeam. Cayro insisted she needed to stay with them, but wouldn’t explain why. When Cayro finally opened up last night, we all got drunk. The stories... the things they went through... I couldn’t take it anymore and was the first to head to bed, unable to listen to more horrors.

I made my way downstairs slowly before stepping into the living room, where I found Cayro passed out cold on the couch. Shaking my head, I leaned down to check on him. Soft snores, his body curled up tightly into the cushions, the blanket wrapped snug around him. I nearly tripped over a pallet of blankets and pillows at the foot of the couch.

Bending down, I began to pick them up. Star must have slept down here with him. Over the past month, she’d shown me just how much she cared for my grandson. Cayro told us they were officially an item now, and Star had proven it by standing by him during the darkest period of his life. They were adults; I wasn’t about to tell them they couldn’t be together.

Standing up, I carried the bundle of blankets to the loveseat. I noticed another set on the smaller couch. Hmm... Lyra must’ve slept down here too. That girl was such an oddity. She trailed after Cayro and Star like a lost puppy, like she had to be with them at all times. Tossing the blankets onto the loveseat, I sighed. Kids and their messes. I taught Cayro better than this...

I’d cornered Star about Lyra at one point, asking what the deal was. Star explained that Lyra was their guard. I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around how a five-foot waif of a girl was supposed to guard two superhumans, but Star had insisted that she could.

I finally made my way into the kitchen. I saw a demoness pouring herself a glass of orange juice, yawning as if she’d just rolled out of bed. The long, baggy grey t-shirt she wore did little to cover her black, scaly tail that swayed lazily behind her. Her sharp, angular features resembled Star’s—enough that I could tell they were related. Two small horns poked through the top of her head, and her fangs glinted under the overhead light. Her arms and legs were covered in the same black scales.

Next to her, a hulking silver-furred beast stood at the stove, its wolf-like snout hovering over a frying pan. It wore grey sweatpants, it’s long, bushy tail poking out the back, wagging lazily as the smell of frying eggs filled the kitchen.

I glanced over at the kitchen table. There was my husband, fully immersed in whatever he was reading on his tablet. But what caught my attention was his outfit. He had on his usual dark blue sweatshirt and sweat shorts, but perched on top of his forehead were royal blue motocross goggles. Wrapped around his neck was his old Air Force scarf, positioned dramatically with the tail sticking out over his shoulder, as if it was caught in the wind. He was also wearing his favorite black and red motorcycle gloves. In front of him sat a bottle of Tin Cup whiskey and a glass of dark amber soda.

Huh... A demoness drinking orange juice, a werewolf making eggs, and my husband... well, he was dressed as some sort of superhero motorcycle racer.

I turned back to the counter and started making a pot of coffee. As I poured the grounds into the filter tray, I stopped. Slowly, I turned around, and for the first time, really looked at the scene in my kitchen.

No, I wasn’t hallucinating. A demoness, a werewolf, and a wannabe superhero motorcycle racer. All right here, in my kitchen.

I turned and stared at my husband, who was now adjusting his goggles like he was prepping for a race.

“What the fuck is going on?!” I blurted out, louder than intended.

Without missing a beat, he replied in that calm, unbothered tone, “Just another day on the farm, honey.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts. I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me now, waiting.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bracton,” a deep, gravelly voice said to my left.

I turned and looked up at the werewolf. I blinked, trying to process what I was hearing. “And who are you?” I asked calmly, though the tension was already creeping into my voice.

“It’s me... Lyra,” the wolf said cheerfully.

I turned my gaze toward the demoness—Star, I assumed. Her eyes were wide, almost as shocked as mine. I looked back at the werewolf, then back at Star, pointing as if this back-and-forth would make things clearer.

“That... is Lyra?” I asked her, incredulity creeping into my tone.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Star replied, her voice small and shy.

“You’re telling me that the five-foot waif of a girl turns into a six-and-a-half-foot tall werewolf?” I said, my voice rising with each word.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she answered again, just as shyly.

I closed my eyes again and slowly turned back toward the coffee maker, putting the coffee container down. Forget coffee—I was going to need something stronger. Reaching up into the cabinet, I pulled out a bottle of Blanton’s bourbon, popped the cork, and took a long, slow gulp straight from the bottle.

Placing the bottle back on the counter, still uncorked, I turned to face everyone in the kitchen. “Alright, who wants breakfast?” I said loudly, determined to regain some sense of normalcy.

Every hand in the room shot up. I quickly shooed the werewolf—Lyra—away from the stove, telling her and Star to go sit at the table. I scraped the now overcooked eggs into the trash and pulled out fresh eggs, bacon, sausage, and hashbrowns. The next forty-five minutes passed in silence as I cooked breakfast for this odd bunch, all while trying to push away the reality of what was sitting at my table.

As I cooked, it dawned on me that I had never seen Star eat eggs since she’d been here. Curious, I turned to her. “Do you eat eggs?”

My husband gave me an incredulous look. “She’s a dragon. Of course she eats eggs,” he answered, as if I was asking the dumbest question in the world.

I shot him a glare. “Did I ask you?” I snapped, before adding, “And by the way, you look utterly ridiculous.”

“When in Rome, do as the Romans,” he snarked back.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Star, waiting for her answer.

“Yes, I eat eggs,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said curtly, turning back to make plates for everyone.

Once I handed out forks and set the plates in front of them, I sat down to eat my own food. As we all dug in, I couldn’t help but stare at the sight of a massive werewolf carefully using a fork to eat her breakfast. Mind you, I’ve seen some pretty crazy things in my lifetime, but this? This was on another level entirely.

I waited until everyone had nearly finished before speaking again. “Can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?” I asked, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the table.

There was a grunt from the living room. I turned to see Cayro slowly sitting up on the couch. His hair stuck out in all directions, and his bloodshot eyes—glowing amber—peered at us. He looked like he’d had a wild night. As he yawned, I caught a glimpse of his elongated canines, almost an inch long. I blinked once, then twice, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Cayro... get your ass over here and eat some breakfast,” I huffed.

He sluggishly made his way over to the table and sat down next to Star, not even pausing when he noticed her appearance. No one said a word as we all waited for an explanation.

“Don’t all speak at once,” I grumped, glaring at the lot of them.

“Well, obviously, honey, it’s a Dungeons and Dragons campaign,” my husband chimed in, cheerfully snarky. “We’ve got the dragon. We’ve got a werewolf. And obviously, Cayro’s the barbarian.”

“Joseph, I’m being serious,” I grumbled.

“And so am I,” he shot back.

“Yeah? What does that make you, then?” I asked, eyeing him skeptically.

“I’m The Streak! Leader of this formidable group!” He exclaimed proudly, puffing out his chest.

“Uh-huh... And speaking of which, how do you know that Star’s a dragon?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Simple... scales, talons, horns, fangs, glowing eyes, and a tail with a barb on the end. Deductive reasoning, darling: Dragon.” He replied, his voice dripping with smugness.

“Okay, smartass, that still doesn’t explain what the hell is going on,” I said, my patience wearing thin as I stared at him.

“It’s better than being a dumbass,” he quipped before getting up and leaving the kitchen.

I rolled my eyes again and turned back to the table. The remaining three sat there, still silent, still waiting. I gave them the look only a mother could.

“Don’t make me ask again,” I said firmly.

I watched Star swallow her food before she finally opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes dropped back down to her plate as she nervously shuffled the remaining bits of food around with her fork.

“The augmentation that my father, Captain Clark, and Captain Bracton created used supernatural DNA to turn Cayro and me into superhumans. Specifically, werewolf DNA,” she explained quietly.

I arched an eyebrow, shifting my gaze to Cayro, who sat silent and withdrawn.

“Well, that explains some of Cayro’s oddities, but it doesn’t explain why you’re a dragon. And it certainly doesn’t explain why there’s a werewolf in my house,” I said, my tone just a touch sharper than I intended.

“I...” Star began, her eyes flicking toward Cayro. He still hadn’t touched his food, and I noticed he was holding Star’s hand under the table, a subtle gesture of comfort. They were both nervous, and it was starting to wear on my patience.

“Alright,” I said, setting my fork down more forcefully than I meant to, “enough with the timid attitudes. I’m not mad at any of you. I just want to know what’s going on and what caused all of this. I’ve lived a long life, and I’ve never come across real supernatural beings before. So this? This is new territory for me.”

Star took a deep breath and finally looked me in the eye. Her posture straightened, and her hands moved to rest in her lap.

“I’m not a dragon,” she said quietly.

“Okay, then what are you? Because you’re definitely not a werewolf,” I replied, leaning forward a little, wanting real answers.

She squared her shoulders and spoke more confidently. “Cayro is human, but he’s been genetically modified with werewolf DNA. It gives him the strength and abilities of a werewolf, but he can’t shift into one. I was supposed to have the same abilities, but... well, that wasn’t the case. I’m not fully human. As you can see, I’m half-human, half-draconian. My mother was human, and my father is draconian.”

I heard the sound of a fork scraping across a plate and glanced over. Lyra was politely cutting her sausage into bite-sized pieces, carefully placing each one on her fork before eating. At least she had table manners, unlike my husband.

Star continued, “From what I understand, draconians are humanoid dragon-like beings. We have features similar to dragons, but we aren’t dragons. We’re something else. Because I’m half-draconian, my DNA almost killed me. My father incorporated werewolf DNA to stabilize me, but... my augmentation didn’t go as planned.”

Her voice trailed off as she stared at her plate again, pushing her eggs around absently. She finally picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled on it. Meanwhile, I shot a quick glance at my grandson. He still hadn’t touched his food.

“You need to eat,” I snapped at him, “I didn’t slave over this meal just for it to go to waste.”

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes.

“Well, get hungry,” I growled.

Turning back to Star, I gestured for her to continue.

“Anyway,” she said, clearly struggling to keep her composure, “my werewolf DNA became active while I was growing up. I had most of the traits of a werewolf, just not the ability to shift. Once the augmentation was complete, it triggered my dormant draconian DNA, which is why I look like this now. I don’t know why I can’t shift back at the moment. It’s... frustrating.”

I nodded slowly, taking in everything she’d said. “Alright, that explains a lot. But what about Lyra? Was she bitten to become a werewolf? Was it her DNA that was used for your augmentation? And why is she guarding you?”

“Oh, no,” Lyra said, her gravelly voice cheerful as ever. “I was born a werewolf. It’s actually a myth that a bite can turn humans into werewolves—well, mostly a myth. A werewolf can use magic to change a human if they’re bonded, but it takes time. And no, my DNA wasn’t used for their augmentation. Someone else’s was.”

The piece of egg on my fork slipped off and landed back on my plate with a splat. Well, that was a relief—I didn’t have to worry about being bitten and turned into a hairy beast. Before I could recover my fallen egg, Lyra kept going.

“Oh, and I’m not their guard,” she added. “I’m their beta. They’re my alphas.”

I stopped mid-chew, fork halfway to my mouth. “I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that, Lyra,” I said, pointing my fork in her direction as if to end that line of conversation immediately.

I had some idea of what Lyra meant by the alpha and beta comment, but now wasn’t the time to get into it. I managed to rescue the dropped egg and quickly popped it into my mouth.

“To answer my Luna’s concern about why she and I can’t shift back,” Lyra began without prompting, “it’s because of the amount of alcohol we consumed last night. Our bodies shifted to our stronger forms to help us burn the toxins out.”

“Your Luna?” I asked after swallowing.

“Star. She’s a female alpha. We call female alphas Luna,” Lyra explained.

“Ah... I see.” I paused. “And how much alcohol did the three of you drink last night?”

“Well, let’s see,” came my husband’s voice from behind me. “Cayro drank an entire bottle of Apple Crown Royal. Star killed a whole bottle of your Taylors, and Lyra here downed a bottle of Tito’s—and shared a bottle of Tin Cup with me,” he added with far too much enthusiasm.

Before I could even react, Joseph threw something toward the girls. They both caught what he tossed with lightning reflexes. The looks on their faces were priceless—absolute disgust.

Star was holding a bottle of lotion. Lyra held a bottle of flea shampoo.

He didn’t... I turned to Joseph, dismay written all over my face.

“Seriously, Joseph! Now is not the time for jokes!” I snapped, barely holding back my irritation.

“No joke,” he said, deadpan. “I don’t want fleas in my house. And I sure as hell don’t want to find scales all over the carpet.”

I pressed my lips together, resisting the overwhelming urge to strangle my husband. If I didn’t kill him, the women at my table might. Honestly, a jury wouldn’t convict me.

“I don’t have fleas, thank you very much,” Lyra growled, her gravelly voice edged with offense. Star, however, just stared at him, holding the bottle of lotion with an odd glint in her eye.

“Grandpa,” Cayro finally chimed in, speaking for the first time since the conversation began. A huge grin stretched across his face. “You’ve done fucked up.”

He knew something—something neither I nor Joseph understood. And I had a sinking feeling I was about to find out what that secret was.

Before things could escalate, I stepped in.

“Alright, girls,” I said firmly, cutting through the tension. “Go upstairs and get cleaned up for the day. Cayro, help me clean up the kitchen and the living room.” My tone left no room for argument, and I was not in the mood for one.

They nodded, and I stood, grabbing Joseph by the arm as I dragged him upstairs. He needed a serious talking-to about his manners, my prized bottle of Taylors, and—most importantly—why he thought it was a good idea to ride his Kawasaki KX 500, which sounded like a swarm of angry bees trapped in a tin can, down the neighborhood street at two in the morning.