PROJECT: CAYRO

Star Zaraki

October 22, 2025

15:46 EST

Lyconotu Mansion

Pigeon Forge, TN

Lyra, Aura, Mrs. Bracton, and I were huddled around the kitchen, knee-deep in wedding talk. Well, they were talking. I was doing my best to nod and act like I wasn't planning a hit on half the guest list. Mrs. Bracton, still fuming after Cayro laid down the law, was practically vibrating with indignation. Not that I blamed her—Cayro’s little speech had set a very different tone for this wedding. Honestly, it was the kick in the ass we all needed. Simplified the whole damn mess. Zak was right, we had to make our own traditions, and starting with actually laying down ground rules seemed like a damn good tradition.

Lyra was mid-sentence, asking Aura about venues around Pigeon Forge when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, icy and stiff. That could only mean one thing: trouble. Slowly, I turned, nostrils flaring as I caught the unmistakable smell of ozone. The same smell that hit you right before a laser cannon fired on the Autumn.

Oh, hell no.

I bolted from the kitchen and skidded into the living room. My boots squeaked against the hardwood as I came to a jarring halt. And there, stepping out of an amethyst-colored portal, was a massive black reptilian beast. Tall. Dangerous. And—oh fantastic—it was glaring at Cayro like he owed it money. Its long black talon pointed directly at my fiancé, a talon disturbingly similar to my own. Recognition slammed into me like a freight train.

“Dad!” I squeaked out in shock, before I could help myself.

The beast’s head snapped toward me, those glowing eyes locking on mine, and the kitchen brigade finally caught up, screeching to a halt behind me. My father’s expression was something between feral rage and absolute bewilderment. For the first time ever, I had called him Dad. The shock on his face would’ve been hilarious if the situation wasn’t so damn serious.

I folded my arms over my chest and leveled a death glare at him. “Seriously? Did you really have to show up like this? It’s not like Cayro and I don’t have enough crap going on—oh, and we’re trying to plan a wedding in the middle of it, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

He just stood there. Frozen. Speechless. Staring at me like I’d punched him square in the gut. And, honestly, the idea of actually punching him wasn’t sounding too bad right now.

Before I could follow through on that impulse, Mrs. Bracton stepped up beside me, hands on her hips like a general about to take command of a battlefield. “Alright! Family meeting, dining room. Now.”

She didn’t give a damn that my father could rip her limb from limb. Her tone left no room for argument. None of us had ever dared defy that tone—not even the giant pissed-off Draconian standing in front of me.

Everyone started shuffling toward the dining room. I turned on my heel, ready to follow, but I stopped short. My father was still standing there, rooted to the spot, still in his beast form. Apparently, the concept of "family meeting" hadn’t quite reached him yet.

Mrs. Bracton wasn’t having it. Without missing a beat, she lifted a frying pan—a freaking frying pan—and pointed it directly at him. Her glare could have melted steel. "That includes you, Mr. Dragon Thing!"

The frying pan seemed to do the trick. My father blinked out of his trance and finally shuffled toward the dining room like a kid sent to the principal’s office. The amethyst portal snapped shut behind him with an audible pop. With a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips, I followed them in.

We all took our seats at the long dining room table. I settled next to Cayro while Mrs. Bracton sat beside her husband, Lyra on the other side. My father, looking ridiculously out of place, sat at the far end, directly opposite Mr. Bracton, who eyed him like he was deciding whether to reach for a shotgun or a whiskey bottle.

"Shift back," I commanded, giving my father a pointed look.

He gulped. And then, in a move that could only be described as pitiful, he obeyed. His towering, reptilian form melted away, leaving behind a slumped, dejected figure that looked more like a sulking teenager than the fearsome Draconian. Good. He needed a serious attitude adjustment.

"Now," Mrs. Bracton started, her voice filled with a lethal mix of authority and exasperation, "someone, please tell me what the hell is going on. We’re supposed to be planning a wedding, not dealing with dragon-things storming into my house demanding where my idiot son is!"

Cayro was the first to break the awkward silence. “I don’t have any earthly idea. Dr. Zaraki just popped out of that weird portal and demanded to know where my father was.”

Mrs. Bracton, always one for subtlety, let out a sharp, irritated snort. “Who gives a shit where he is? He’s supposed to be dead!” She shot my father a look that could strip paint. “Now, we’ve got a wedding to plan, and since you’re here Dr. Zaraki, are you planning to help?”

The entire room shifted their focus to my father, who, for the second time today, looked like he’d been slapped with a frying pan. The confusion on his face was almost comical. I crossed my arms, already expecting his usual response—throw some money at the situation and disappear into the shadows.

“Uh… um…” He stammered like a malfunctioning droid before he managed, “I would like to help. I’d like to be involved… please.”

I felt my jaw hit the floor. I blinked, certain I hadn’t heard him right. My father, involved? He wasn’t exactly the ‘be there for the family’ type. My gaze locked with his, and to my shock, I saw something raw behind his eyes. He was serious. He wanted to make up for lost time. My chest tightened at the thought.

Before I could process it all, Cayro, ever the diplomat, leaned in. “Star, are you okay with your father being involved in the wedding?”

Now, everyone was staring at me, waiting for my answer like it was the final verdict in a high-profile court case. No pressure, right? I bit down on the inside of my cheek, buying time to gather my thoughts. I wasn’t even sure I knew what I wanted. Sure, I wanted the Captain and Ms. Tiffany here with me, but they were stuck in Australia with the repairs on the Autumn.

“Yes, he can be involved,” I finally said, the words tasting strange in my mouth. Even as I said it, I wasn’t entirely convinced. I wanted the people who raised me, not this man who seemed to have appeared out of thin air, looking to pick up the pieces he left behind.

Leaning back in my seat, I took Cayro’s hand, grateful for his steady presence. My father, meanwhile, looked like he was pulling himself together after the emotional body slam I had just delivered. The once defeated figure began to straighten up, regaining that intimidating presence I had grown up fearing and, somewhere deep down, admiring. Taking a deep breath, he met everyone’s gaze before finally settling on mine.

“Star,” he began, voice soft but steady, “I’ve missed so much of your life because of this mess we’re all in. I’d really like to be part of this—your wedding. If you’ll let me.”

If he had said that to me before all this chaos, I’d have told him to get bent. But now? Now that I’d seen a glimpse of just how much he actually cared? I found myself at a loss. The anger and hurt were still there, gnawing at the edges of my heart, but… there was something more. A part of me that still wanted his approval. Still needed it, no matter how much I hated to admit it.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He had a long road ahead if he thought he could just waltz back into my life like nothing happened. “It was your own damn choice not to be in my life,” I snapped. “You chose to leave me with the Captain and Ms. Tiffany.”

His face fell, and I could practically feel the weight of my words hit him. “I made—” he started, but I cut him off before he could launch into his excuses.

“I know you think you made the right choice. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, Dad.” The word ‘Dad’ felt like gravel in my mouth. “I needed you. More than you seem to realize. Sure, Andrew and Tiffany stepped in, but you were supposed to be my father—the one person I looked up to.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, much to my annoyance. As much as I wanted to drive the knife in deep, the truth of my words stung me just as much. I had wanted him there. I had wanted his presence, his approval. And for some infuriating reason, it mattered more than anything else he could ever give me.

“Honey—” he started again, but I held up a hand to cut him off.

“Look,” I continued, taking a shaky breath, “in light of… everything, I’ve realized that, yeah, you’ve been trying. Even if you weren’t there physically, Ms. Tiffany explained it all. How you were working behind the scenes. How you made sure I had a home, whether it was aboard the Autumn or at SkyTeam. And, as much as I’m still hurt and angry, I want you here. I want you involved.”

His face lit up, but I wasn’t done.

“But,” I emphasized, making sure he heard me loud and clear, “you’ve got a long road ahead of you, Dad. Don’t mess this up. Don’t let me or Cayro down.”

He looked at me with wide eyes, speechless. For the first time in what felt like forever, I saw something behind that hardened, steely exterior: vulnerability. He knew I wasn’t giving him a free pass. He had work to do. And for once, I saw a man who was ready to do it.

There was a deafening silence hanging in the air, the kind that crawled under your skin and made you acutely aware of every single heartbeat. Everyone just sat there, frozen in their seats, eyes bouncing between me and my father, as if they were waiting for the next explosion. Cayro, sensing the hurricane of emotions storming through me, gently squeezed my hand. He didn’t need to say anything—he could already feel the emotional war raging inside me. My father. This man. The one who should have been there, who I had wanted to be there, was finally standing in front of me, asking to be part of my life again.

Then, without a word, he stood up and walked over to me. Before I could react, he plucked me out of my chair and wrapped me in his arms, tight and unyielding, like a man trying to hold onto something he thought he’d already lost. For the first time in what felt like forever, I hugged him back, the dam breaking as hot tears streamed down my face, soaking into his shirt. His voice was a soft whisper against my ear, filled with the kind of pain only years of absence could create.

“I’m here now, Star,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ll do my best to help you and Cayro.”

His words weren’t just for the wedding—they were a promise. A desperate attempt to bridge the canyon between us. And in that moment, I felt it deep in my soul—he wanted this. He wanted this as much as I did. Maybe even more. For years, I had been the one shutting him out, building walls around the hurt. Now, I realized I needed him more than I had ever admitted to myself.

I let my arms drop, and he pulled back just enough to wipe the tears from my face with his thumbs. When our eyes met, I saw the impossible—he was crying too. The once untouchable man, reduced to tears in front of his daughter. His amethyst eyes, the same ones I had inherited, were raw with emotion.

The question burned in my chest, clawing its way to my throat before I could stop it. “Do you approve of my chosen partner?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. My heart pounded with the weight of it. I wanted—no, needed—his approval. More than anything, I needed to hear him say that Cayro was the right choice. For both of us.

But instead of answering, my father gave me a look that sent a shiver down my spine. “Forgive me for this, Star,” he said quietly, his voice full of regret. Before I could process what he meant, his hand shot up, placing his index and middle fingers on my temples, closing his eyes.

Click.

It felt like someone had unlocked the heaviest, most ancient lock in my brain. The rush of memories was instantaneous—everything came flooding back. My childhood. Cayro. The Bractons. The day the massive black lockers came aboard the Autumn. The move to the ship. My mother. The hospital. The constant sickness. The pain... It all hit me at once, crashing through the mental blocks like a tidal wave.

I stumbled, nearly hitting the floor, but Cayro—my best friend, my partner, the only person I had ever truly loved—caught me before I could fall. He gently set me back into the chair, his hands never leaving mine. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong. He already knew. I could feel him in my mind, sifting through the same memories my father had just unlocked, piecing together the fragments that had been kept from us both.

I took a shaky, stuttering breath and met his eyes. He wasn’t just my partner now—he was the boy I had fallen in love with when I was just a child. The missing pieces of our connection clicked into place, and for the first time, I remembered. We weren’t just bonded by circumstance. We had been bonded from the beginning.

I craned my neck to look at my father, whose face was now a mask of concern, his own fear evident. My eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you just do?” I demanded coldly, my voice sharp as glass.

He let out a breath, tension leaving his shoulders. “I unlocked your childhood memories,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

My anger flared to life, red-hot and dangerous. “Why were they locked away from me?” I growled, my voice slipping into a draconian snarl. The very air in the room seemed to tremble with my fury, the glass on the nearby cabinets rattling from the force of my emotions.

But my father didn’t flinch. He stood there, calm in the face of my rage. “To protect you,” he answered evenly, “and to keep you from going after Cayro.”

What?! “Why!” I roared, my fury pouring off me in waves, shaking the entire room. Cayro’s hand tightened on mine, a quiet anchor in the storm.

My father’s voice softened, the weight of his words heavy. “You and Cayro…” He hesitated, but I wasn’t going to let him stop there.

“Me and Cayro, what!” I growled again, the tension coiling like a viper, ready to strike.

His gaze softened, his expression almost… sad. “You and Cayro were bonded at birth. The two of you are a matched set, Star. You’re inseparable.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. “Look into your memories, and you’ll see the day you nearly ran away from the Autumn with a skyboard to find him.”

At his words, the memory surfaced like an oil slick on water—clear and undeniable. I had been nine. Miserable. Missing Cayro with a desperation that only a child could feel. I had packed a bag, stolen one of Andrew’s skyboards, and jumped off the Autumn, determined to find him. I had made it ten miles before Andrew caught up to me in a skycar. Ms. Tiffany had dragged me off the board, and I had thrown a fit like the world was ending. They had no idea why I was so desperate, and I hadn’t told them. It wasn’t my first attempt. I had planned multiple escapes, each one thwarted by the crew.

I clenched my jaw, the anger boiling just beneath the surface. My father… had known. He had locked those memories away to keep me from running after Cayro, from realizing what we were.

It was when I was eleven that everything changed. My father had come to visit, and we had one of those rare movie nights together. It was during that night, when I was relaxed and unsuspecting, that he took the opportunity to lock away my memories. I looked up at him now, seeing him for the man who had made that choice, and I watched as he swallowed hard, eyes lowering in dismissal. He knew what he had done, and somewhere deep down, I knew too. It wasn’t as black-and-white as I’d once thought.

“You knew Cayro was my fated mate, didn’t you?” My voice had lost its edge, the anger retreating to the background, at least for the moment.

“Yes,” he admitted softly, and it was the most solemn 'yes' I’d ever heard.

“That’s why he reminds me of home, isn’t it?” I pressed, trying to untangle the mess of emotions inside me. I needed clarity—on this bond, on what Cayro truly meant to me beyond the obvious.

“Yes,” my father answered again, this time with a flicker of warmth in his voice. “He’s the one person who will always be there for you. No matter what.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed what was left of my rage, letting it dissolve into something quieter. There was no need to ask why my father had locked my memories away anymore. I already knew the answer. The project, the bond—it was all part of the same twisted, carefully laid-out plan.

“Thank you for giving my memories back,” I said softly, the words slipping out before I could fully decide if I meant them. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.

He simply nodded, wordless, and began to turn away, but I stopped him before he could take more than a step.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dad.” I wasn’t letting him off that easy. “Do you approve of my choice? Of Cayro?”

He paused, turned back toward me, and gave me the kind of smile I had only seen a handful of times in my life—genuine, warm, and... proud. It threw me off.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, his voice almost tender. “I approve of Cayro as your husband and mate.”

For a moment, the room was still, the weight of those words sinking into everyone like an anchor. And then, with perfect timing, Mr. Bracton broke the silence with a drawl that could cut through steel. “Well, damn, this turned into an emotional mess. Who needs a drink?”

Without hesitation, every hand in the room shot up, including mine. Yeah, I needed a drink. A strong one. It wasn’t long before Mr. Bracton came back with several beers in hand, distributing them like a bartender at closing time. Taking the hard cider he handed me, I popped the lid off and took a long, grateful sip. The cool, tangy sweetness was a welcome distraction from the emotional hurricane that had just passed.

But I couldn’t stay distracted for long. Too many questions were piling up in my head, and I needed answers.

“Dad,” I began, lowering my bottle, “how the hell did you get here? You’re supposed to be in Australia with the crew.”

He took a sip of his Guinness, setting the bottle down with a thoughtful twist, his expression guarded. “I have the ability to… how should I say it… portal travel.”

Every eyebrow in the room shot up. That was definitely a unique ability.

“Do I have that ability?” I asked, more curious than anything. Hell, if I could portal around, it’d make life a whole lot easier.

My father’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he took another sip. “Possibly,” he answered, “but before you even think about trying it, we need to train you. You need to understand your power first.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my lips. I couldn’t help myself. With a flick of my wrist, I conjured a skyboard, sending it zipping around his head like an eager dog chasing its tail. I heard Cayro chuckle under his breath as my father eyed it suspiciously, his drink halfway to his mouth.

“When do we start?” I asked, not bothering to hide the excitement in my voice.

It caught him so off guard, he nearly choked on his drink. Coughing slightly, he set his bottle aside, pushing it away as if he needed space to process. “Well, before we dive into any training, there’s… someone I need to deal with first. That takes priority. And then, of course, there’s the wedding.”

“Speaking of which,” Mr. Bracton chimed in, setting down his now half-empty bottle, “why are you looking for our bastard of a son in the first place?”

My father’s expression darkened slightly. “Let’s just say… it’s personal. I’ll leave it at that.” His tone was cool, calculated. He wasn’t giving up anything more than that.

Both Cayro and I exchanged glances, eyebrows raised in perfect unison. There was more here—way more—and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that whatever my father was planning involved us.

But before we could push for more answers, Aura spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Well, if finding Dr. Maddox means you’ll stick around and help with the wedding, then I know where he’s at.”

The entire room turned to look at Aura like she had lost her damn mind. There wasn’t a single person here who wanted that man anywhere near us. The very thought of my father and Dr. Bracton being around each other was enough to make my skin crawl. I glanced at my father, and the look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He had that glint in his eye—the same one I had when I was planning something particularly devious.

Oh boy. This was about to get ugly.

“What?” Aura asked, looking genuinely confused at our collective horror.

“Are you insane?” Cayro asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

Aura gave a noncommittal shrug, holding up her hand and rocking it back and forth. “Eh.”

Yep. This was about to turn into a disaster.

Turning back to my father, I narrowed my eyes. “What exactly are you planning?”

He gave me a thin-lipped smile that sent a chill down my spine. “I plan to give that man a piece of my mind,” was all he said, his voice cold and steady as he stood up from the table.

Both Cayro and I bolted from our seats, chasing after my father as Aura led him outside to her matte black 2025 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500, complete with the Metallica logo blazoned across the back glass.

I froze for a second, just staring at the car. It screamed Aura. A beast of metal and power, perfectly fitting her attitude. By the time I snapped out of it, my father was already climbing into the passenger seat. Cayro and I weren’t so lucky. There was no way the two of us could cram into that backseat without risking bodily harm.

“Skycar,” Cayro said, already moving.

We scrambled into our skycar, diving into our seats. I wasted no time switching to manual control and setting it to street mode. The machine roared to life just as Aura’s Mustang peeled out of the mansion’s driveway, leaving a thick cloud of smoke behind her. I threw the skycar into gear, gripping the joysticks tightly. As we shot forward, Scuzball’s face popped up on the screen, his expression nothing short of murderous.

"Wait... why the hell is this thing in street mode? This is a skycar, not a glorified sedan! Who the hell put this thing on the ground? Star, what are you—"

I cut him off by tearing out of the driveway, the skycar howling in response. Cayro, with a quick flick of his wrist, threw on his seat harness, bracing himself as I banked a corner like a bat out of hell.

"Are you seriously trying to outdrive a Mustang on the ground?" Scuzball's voice dripped with indignation.

“Yes,” I replied flatly, eyes glued to the road as Cayro gripped the oh-shit handle with a white-knuckled grip.

"Fantastic. Just what I always wanted—my skycar turned into a glorified street racer. You do know this thing has wings, right?" Scuzball huffed, his tail flicking in visible irritation.

I swung the skycar hard into a turn, sending Scuzball flying off the screen with a loud "umph!" His claws scrambled for purchase as I heard him tumble out of sight.

"Ugh! Really?! I designed this thing for precision, not for you to drive like you’re auditioning for a demolition derby!" He reappeared on the screen, fur thoroughly disheveled, his eyes narrowing into laser-focused irritation. "You know, if we survive this, I’m upgrading the safety protocols to include driver competency tests."

I couldn’t help but snicker, taking another sharp turn, sending him flying in the opposite direction with another "umph." “You do that, buddy. I’ll just remove it.”

"Oh, of course you will. Just delete my perfectly reasonable safety measures like you always do!" he snapped back, his fur even more ruffled than before. "You drive like you’re on a mission to take out the curb population. Are you trying to make me malfunction, or is this just how you show affection?"

“Shut up, Scuzball, you’ll be fine.” I didn’t have time for his complaints as Aura’s Mustang shot out onto the main road. I cut off another car, the skycar’s hydrogen engines screaming in protest as I floored it, chasing after her. It was like she didn’t care about traffic laws at all.

"Oh, yeah, sure, I’ll be fine—just casually watching you turn this skycar into a street-legal wrecking ball. No big deal!" Scuzball griped, glancing at the chaos unfolding behind us. "And speaking of traffic laws... Clearly, Aura’s taken ‘queen of the wolves’ to mean ‘queen of the road,’ because she’s treating these laws like suggestions."

“Yeah, she tends to be a bit of a reckless driver,” Cayro muttered, still holding on to the oh-shit handle like his life depended on it. “Honey, maybe try not to kill us today?”

"Yes, Star, could we maybe not die in a fiery wreck while trying to outdrive a Mustang? Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer not becoming digital roadkill." Scuzball shot a glance at Cayro, who was clinging to the handle for dear life. "See? Even Cayro’s not loving this. And he’s not a fan of that handle."

I rolled my eyes at both of them. “You two sound like a couple of old grandmas. I’ve got this. It’s not my first time in a high-speed chase, you know.”

I jerked the skycar to a jarring stop right in front of the NAWC clinic, the tires screeching as we half-parked on the sidewalk.

"Under control? Sure, if by ‘under control’ you mean actively shortening my lifespan by the second!" Scuzball groaned, his fur puffing up from the sudden stop. "Next time, remind me to install airbags for my sanity. And by the way, ‘not your first chase’ doesn’t exactly inspire confidence when we’re parked half on the sidewalk."

I rolled my eyes and adjusted the vehicle, neatly fitting it into an actual parking spot. “Better?”

"Oh, much better. Now we look like responsible citizens instead of fugitives from the Fast and Furious franchise." He flicked his tail with irritation, his eyes narrowing at me. "But seriously, next time, can we avoid turning my skycar into a glorified bumper car? My circuits can only take so much abuse."

“Noted,” I muttered, scrambling out of the skycar. I made it halfway to the clinic before I realized Cayro wasn’t following. Turning back, I found him still sitting in the passenger seat, looking a little dazed.

“You coming?” I called, raising an eyebrow.

He took a deep breath before climbing out. “Babe, next time, can we fly instead? That was terrifying.”

“Oh, don’t even start with me,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “You scared the living hell out of me on that motorcycle ride back in Virginia. Think of this as payback.” Just as I finished speaking, the sound of something crashing echoed from inside the clinic.

Bursting through the clinic doors, we were greeted by pure chaos. My father stood in the middle of the waiting room, a splintered table in two pieces on either side of him. He tilted his head with a satisfying crack as he flexed his shoulders, eyes locked on Dr. Bracton. The grin on his face was downright wicked.

Dr. Bracton, for his part, looked entirely unfazed. He stood calmly in the doorway to the back of the clinic, his cold smile matching the glowing pendant around his neck. The same pendant from the Bracton house, still pulsing ominously.

“Well, that’s one way to greet an old friend,” my father said, his voice low, practically oozing menace.

"We both know you're not here for pleasantries, Howling Mad," Dr. Bracton replied coolly, stepping into the waiting room as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“No, Jacob. I’m not here to chat,” my father growled, his eyes narrowing. “You crossed a line. I’m here for my pound of flesh.”

Dr. Bracton’s smirk didn’t falter. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’ve crossed a lot of lines.”

“The one where you used my DNA in your little project,” my father snapped. “Without my consent.”

“Oh, that line,” Dr. Bracton said, with a casual shrug. “I needed it to make the project work. Besides, I saw how well it worked with the other DNA’s we had. It was logical. No harm done.”

That was it. My father lost all composure and charged. He closed the distance in an instant, throwing a right hook aimed for Dr. Bracton’s smug face. The punch slammed into an invisible barrier just inches from Dr. Bracton’s nose, but the force was still enough to send him flying down the hallway, landing with a solid thud.

Before Dr. Bracton could even think about standing up, my father was on the move again, closing in fast. He was a man on a mission, and Dr. Bracton was the target.

A lightbulb flickered on in my brain.

Grabbing Cayro’s arm, I dragged him into the receptionist’s office. “What are we doing?” he asked, clearly confused.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said, rummaging through the desk drawers until I found two whiteboards and dry erase markers. Grinning, I quickly scribbled down my father’s name and Dr. Bracton’s, then marked an eight under my father’s name and a four under Dr. Bracton’s. I stuck the board out the door, letting them see the score.

Cayro caught on immediately, snickering as he grabbed the other board. He gave my father a nine and—snorting with laughter—put a negative two under his dad’s name.

“Really?” My father’s exasperated voice carried through the room. I popped my head out just in time to see him reach down for Dr. Bracton, only to be blasted backwards by a burst of energy from the pendant. He flew across the waiting room, crashing into a group of chairs with the sound of wood and metal screeching.

I quickly erased the previous scores and updated them: four for my father, six for Dr. Bracton. I held the board up again as my father stood, brushing himself off and rolling his shoulders. He looked at the scores, huffed in annoyance, and stalked back toward Dr. Bracton like a predator ready to pounce.

“If I score a ten, you owe me a hug,” he called over his shoulder with a smirk.

“Deal!” I shouted back. “But it better be damn impressive to earn a ten!”

Cayro laughed beside me, flipping his whiteboard around to reveal a big, bold ten for ‘epic landing and recovery.’

I glared at him. “Traitor.”

He grinned shamelessly. “What? I’m on Team Zaraki all the way.”

Rolling my eyes, I peeked back out just in time to see my father grab Dr. Bracton by the arm and slam him into the wall with enough force to leave a dent. Dr. Bracton dropped to the floor face-first, only to push himself up, dazed but still in the fight. Cayro’s board flashed again—eight for my dad, negative six for his father.

At this rate, Dr. Bracton’s score was going to end up in the negatives for good.

Holding up my whiteboard, I marked a seven for my father and a six for Dr. Bracton with a cheeky “good face plant” added underneath. Dr. Bracton shot us both a look of pure incredulity, clearly not amused by our impromptu scoring. Meanwhile, Cayro held up his own board: a nine for “wicked wall smack” for my father and an eight for “awesome face landing” for his dad.

Dr. Bracton’s expression hardened, and without warning, he launched himself to his feet, throwing a flurry of punches—one square to my father’s jaw, another to the solar plexus, and finally a well-placed kidney shot. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, and I heard my father grunt before dropping to one knee.

"BOOOO!" Cayro and I heckled in unison, both of us giving Dr. Bracton the kind of look usually reserved for sore losers. The man, now royally pissed off, didn’t appreciate the feedback. His face darkened, and before we could react, he hurled a glowing ball of energy directly at us.

“Shit!” We ducked behind the receptionist’s desk just as the wall next to us exploded into dust and drywall.

Wide-eyed, we cautiously peeked out. The two men were still locked in a tense standoff, both brimming with barely contained rage. I raised my whiteboard again: negative one for Dr. Bracton, and under my father’s name, “You’re doing great, Dad!” Cayro, on the other hand, skipped the board entirely, opting instead to stick out his tongue, cross his eyes, and flip Dr. Bracton off with both hands.

I snickered, watching as Dr. Bracton’s face went icy cold, his expression like something straight out of a horror movie. Uh-oh.

Leaving my father behind, Dr. Bracton started marching toward us, an unhinged smile stretching across his face. He didn’t make it three steps before—WHAM—he was yanked off his feet and slammed face-first into the wall. My father had shifted into his draconian form, towering over the room, and he was pissed. His scales glistened, and the power radiating off him made the entire room feel like it was about to implode.

What followed was a one-sided ass-beating of royal proportions.

Dr. Bracton, to his credit, didn’t give in easily. He threw everything he had at my father—energy blasts, defensive shields, physical attacks. None of it mattered. My father broke through each defense like it was made of tissue paper. Energy balls ricocheted off him harmlessly, and every punch Dr. Bracton landed seemed about as effective as a mosquito bite. If anything, it was becoming less of a fight and more of a very slow, very deliberate dismantling.

“Jeez, your dad’s a tank,” Cayro muttered, clearly impressed.

“I know, right?” I replied, watching as Dr. Bracton went flying past the reception window and crashed into a pile of chairs. My father stalked after him, eyes blazing, like a predator savoring his prey. I flipped my board to reveal a big, bold ten for my dad. He caught a glimpse of it and grinned—clearly enjoying the approval.

Cayro, however, was still pondering something. “You think my father’s gonna remember any of this?” he asked, not bothering to hide his lack of sympathy.

“Honestly? I’m not sure Dr. Bracton’s gonna live through this, let alone remember it,” I quipped, just as my father grabbed Dr. Bracton by the leg, swung him around, and tossed him through yet another set of chairs and tables. Dr. Bracton, now bloodied and battered, lay in a heap, looking like he was one hit away from oblivion.

Pushing himself up, Dr. Bracton met my father’s rage-filled gaze, surprisingly unfazed by the beast looming over him. My father reached down, claws wrapping around Dr. Bracton’s throat, and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. Dr. Bracton’s feet dangled uselessly, and I could practically hear the tension crackling in the air.

“This is where you die,” my father growled, his voice deep and dangerous. He pulled his arm back, then thrust it forward, straight into Dr. Bracton’s chest.

Instead of blood or gore, my father’s arm phased through Dr. Bracton’s chest, as if his body wasn’t even there. Dr. Bracton remained very much alive, if barely, but the eerie lack of damage froze the entire scene.

But something was wrong.

The look on my father’s face was pure confusion. His grip loosened as he stared at his own hand, then at Dr. Bracton.

Dr. Bracton let out a low, menacing chuckle—an eerie, unsettling sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Heh, heh, heh…”

My father yanked his arm back and narrowed his eyes. “Where is your soul?” His voice was quieter now, but no less terrifying.

Dr. Bracton grinned wider, his teeth gleaming. “Heh, heh, heh… Not so different, are we, Howling Mad? Remember... I used to work for them. Did you really think they wouldn’t know exactly who and what you are?”

Cayro and I exchanged baffled glances. Where is your soul? What the hell did that mean? And what did Dr. Bracton mean by not so different? What was going on between them?