Star Zaraki:
October 18, 2025
09:22 EST
The Bracton House
Hampton, VA.
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I stepped out of the shower, feeling much better. Last night had easily been one of the weirdest nights of my life. It was my first time getting drunk, and, to my surprise, I hadn’t woken up with a hangover. Instead, I woke up still in my draconian form. I’d shifted shortly after Mrs. Bracton went to bed. Not long after that, Lyra shifted too.
The embarrassing part? We both shifted right in front of Mr. Bracton.
And what did he do? Didn’t miss a beat. Just grinned, stood up from his seat, and walked straight to the downstairs closet. A few minutes later, he emerged... wearing random motorcycle gear. Nothing matched. It was like watching a kid dress up in the dark. Meanwhile, Cayro just sat there, shaking his head in silence, watching his grandfather with the kind of weariness that said, This is my life now.
Cayro had gone quiet again after telling his grandparents about what happened during his time away. The weight of it all hung in the air, unspoken but thick.
It wasn’t until Mr. Bracton finished dressing himself, threw his hands up, and loudly proclaimed that he was The Streak! that things really went off the rails. I didn’t think werewolves could laugh, but last night, I found out exactly what that sounds like.
It’s something like a deep, raspy growl mixed with a cat coughing up a hairball. Haunting. Unsettling. Lyra’s laughing will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Of course, being the drunken comedian that she was, Lyra had to make a comment. She told Mr. Bracton he looked like a slow old man who got lost in a kid’s clothing store with all the random colors he was wearing. His response? A wicked grin, followed by a threat: You’d better be housebroken, or I’ll have you sleeping in the dog kennel in the garage.
By that point, Cayro and I were both laughing, drunk enough not to care. The look Lyra shot us should have made us cower in fear, but we were too far gone to be fazed. She sulked back into her seat and went quiet.
Then, Mr. Bracton—because why stop there?—pulled out an ironing board, an old grey scarf, a can of spray starch, and an iron. The next thing I knew, one end of that scarf was standing stiff and erect like some ridiculous flagpole. I thought I was going to die from laughter. And there he was, standing proud, proclaiming he was not slow and would prove it.
At some point, Scuzball, our A.I., decided to intervene, suggesting in his usual snide tone that proving anything was a horrible idea. Mr. Bracton wasn’t having it. He called Scuzball a two-bit piece of junk and said if he wanted an opinion, he’d ask the Microsoft Paperclip. Clippy, of all things.
Scuzball did not take that well.
For the next thirty minutes, Mr. Bracton and Scuzball exchanged a series of insults that had all three of us on the floor, tears streaming down our faces. One insult in particular has been seared into my memory forever. Mr. Bracton declared, “My left testicle has more brainpower than that shitty holographic calculator speaking to me! Whoever designed you should’ve been swallowed instead!”
Dead silence. Cayro and I just stared at each other, our laughter gone. And then Scuzball, without missing a beat, gave Mr. Bracton that Cheshire grin of his and replied, “It was your son, Cayro’s father, who created me.”
Mr. Bracton’s mouth clicked shut. He turned and walked straight to the garage.
Cat: One. Mr. Bracton: Zero.
It wasn’t long before we heard the deafening roar of Mr. Bracton’s Kawasaki KX 500 as he peeled out of the garage. We ran to the front door just in time to see him pop a wheelie, flying down the street on that obnoxiously loud dirt bike. He’d bought it while Cayro was gone—something about wanting “more power.” The bike was loud as hell, and of course, it was the middle of the night, when normal people were trying to sleep.
Cayro and I had to practically beg Scuzball to intercept any outgoing calls to law enforcement. The last thing we needed was the cops getting involved. Begrudgingly, he hacked the local police database and monitored for any complaints. It still took us a while to get Mr. Bracton off the bike, and in the end, it was one of the neighbors who finally convinced him to call it a night.
While I was in the shower, I managed to shift back to my human form. Now that I know getting drunk can cause me to shift involuntarily, I definitely wouldn’t be drinking that much again. Lesson learned. I walked past Lyra’s room and knocked lightly on the door, letting her know the shower was free. She gave me a nod, though her attention was still on the bottle of flea shampoo in her hand. Mr. Bracton’s comment must have really bothered her. She hadn’t shifted back to her human form yet.
I stepped into the room and gently took the bottle from her. “Don’t take what Mr. Bracton said seriously. He’s still drunk from last night,” I said softly, trying to reassure her.
“It’s not just that,” she murmured, her voice low and gravelly. “This isn’t the first time someone’s done that to me. My old pack used to play mean jokes like this. It got to the point where I felt like an outcast. That’s why I left. That’s why I joined the SkyTeam rogue pack.”
Damn. I hadn’t expected that. The thought of being treated so poorly that she felt the need to leave her pack—her family—hit hard. That couldn’t have been an easy choice.
“Well,” I said, giving her a grin, “how about we make plans to get back at Mr. Bracton?”
Her eyes lifted, curious. “What do you mean?”
“I have a bit of a reputation,” I explained, leaning in conspiratorially. “When the crew ticks me off, I always find a way to get revenge. And trust me, I always live up to that reputation. Just ask Cayro.”
“Oh! What do you have in mind?” Her voice brightened, her earlier sadness fading as the idea of payback piqued her interest.
We spent the next half hour huddled together, brainstorming revenge plans. I could see the spark returning to Lyra’s eyes as we laughed over increasingly ridiculous ideas. It felt good to lift her spirits. By the time Mrs. Bracton poked her head in, we were back to our human forms, our plotting interrupted.
“Oh good, you two are human again. Have you gotten cleaned up yet?” she asked, her tone patient but expectant.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied.
“Not yet,” Lyra added sheepishly.
“Well, hurry up. I’m taking you two shopping today,” Mrs. Bracton ordered, leaving no room for argument.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Lyra said, standing up to head for the shower. As she passed Mrs. Bracton, she was handed a bottle of fancy body wash and a bottle of expensive shampoo.
“Don’t mind my husband,” Mrs. Bracton said gently. “He was trying to be funny, but I had a talk with him about his manners. He won’t be rude to you anymore.” With that, she turned and headed downstairs.
Lyra stood there for a moment, staring at the gifts in her hands like she didn’t know what to do. Her expression wavered, as if she were about to cry. Without a word, she turned and quickly walked into the bathroom, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.
Right. Okay, then. So now, I’ve got an emotionally damaged werewolf and a mentally broken boyfriend to take care of. If my life wasn’t already chaotic enough, here I am, playing therapist for a whole supernatural support group.
I huffed to myself, leaving Lyra’s room and heading downstairs. I needed to find Cayro.
I searched the entire downstairs, but he was nowhere to be found. Mrs. Bracton finally stopped me as she came in from the backyard, letting me know that Cayro had gone with Mr. Bracton to the shop. Apparently, now that Cayro had opened up to his grandfather, Mr. Bracton thought it would be a good idea to get him out of the house for a bit. Honestly, that wasn’t a bad idea. Cayro hadn’t been to work since we arrived, and maybe getting out of the house would help him clear his head.
Satisfied, I dropped onto the couch, deciding to wait for Lyra to finish getting ready.
“You said we were going shopping?” I asked Mrs. Bracton from where I sat, watching her move around the house, watering her plants.
“Yes,” she called back. “Tomorrow is Cayro’s birthday. And besides, you and Lyra don’t have many clothes to wear. You’ve both been rotating through the same five outfits for the past month. It’s time for some new clothes.”
I blinked in surprise. “Oh... Tomorrow is Cayro’s birthday?”
I hadn’t known that. A questioning look crossed my face as I processed her words. My birthday own was in two days—how had I not known his was tomorrow?
“Yes,” she replied from Mr. Bracton’s office. “And yours is the day after.”
That stopped me cold. I jumped out of my seat and quickly made my way to her. “How do you know when my birthday is?” I asked, my voice serious.
She turned, raising an eyebrow at my tone. “Star, you and Cayro were born only a few hours apart. I was there.”
“You were?” I asked, my confusion deepening.
“Yes. Your mother and Cayro’s mother were very close friends. She had no family to support her, so Mr. Bracton and I stepped up for her.”
I stood there, stunned. “I didn’t know that.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said gently, continuing to water a plant near Mr. Bracton’s desk. “You’ve spent most of your life on the Autumn, away from those who knew your past.”
I nodded, trying to make sense of it all. “I would have thought the Captain would have told me.”
She paused, giving me a thoughtful look. “I doubt he would have. His job was to keep you safe. The last thing they wanted was for you to try and leave, searching for your past.” She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Do you not remember how you and Cayro used to run around the house together? Or play outside?”
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Her question hit me like a brick. I tilted my head, completely confused. “What do you mean Cayro and I used to play together?”
Mrs. Bracton smiled softly, as though she were remembering something sweet. “Yes, I used to watch you and Cayro all the time while your parents were at work. You two were inseparable, always getting into mischief.”
I shook my head, trying to grasp what she was saying. “I don’t remember that...” I closed my eyes, searching my memory for any trace of those times, but all I got was a black void. And a sharp pain in my head. “I can’t remember any of that,” I said quietly, opening my eyes again to look at her.
She placed her watering can down and turned toward me. “After you left, Cayro spent months asking about you, trying to find you. He missed his ‘Tabitha.’ We used to call you Troublesome Tabitha because you had a knack for getting into trouble.”
The name—Tabitha—struck something inside me, though I didn’t know what. I felt my legs grow weak, and I quickly sat down in one of the chairs by the desk. Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to make sense of what she was telling me. I had known Cayro existed before he came aboard the Autumn, but I had no idea we’d been so close. I wished—desperately—that I could remember.
“Why didn’t he remember me when he came on board the Autumn?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Bracton’s expression softened. “Star, thirteen years is a long time. You both grew and changed so much. But I’m sure if you ask him to try, he’ll remember. The memories are probably buried, like yours.”
I nodded, still feeling that strange hollowness inside. “That explains why you didn’t question me when I showed up with Cayro,” I said, finally understanding.
“That’s right,” she confirmed. “I knew who you were the moment you walked through our door. It did throw me off when Cayro introduced you as ‘Star’ and not ‘Tabitha,’ but I knew it was you.”
“I don’t like going by Tabitha,” I said softly.
She smiled knowingly. “I know. Cayro told me when I accidentally called you that during one of our talks after you arrived.”
“I told him that if he ever called me Tabitha again, he’d be sleeping alone,” I added with a wry smile.
Mrs. Bracton’s grin widened, a toothy, playful expression. “I’m glad someone’s keeping him in line. If not, I don’t know how much trouble he’d get into,” she said with a chuckle before picking up her watering can and heading out of the office.
I sat there for a few more moments, absorbing everything she’d said. It was strange—learning all of this about my past, about Cayro. I had no idea we had been so connected. And now, I was realizing that I had no clue what to get him for his birthday.
A new problem crept in: I didn’t have access to my money. Scuzball was still setting up an untraceable account for both of us, but until then, our funds were tied up. I sighed and stood up, heading downstairs to find Mrs. Bracton.
I found her at the base of the stairs, talking to Lyra.
“Mrs. Bracton, I can’t buy Cayro a present, nor can I buy myself clothes. I don’t currently have access to my funds,” I said quickly, a bit of panic creeping into my voice.
“Don’t worry about that. I already know,” she replied with a grin, pulling out a black credit card and handing it to me. I took the card and glanced down at it. Cayro’s name was imprinted across the bottom.
I looked back up at her, concern written across my face. “Will he be okay with me spending his money?”
“It’ll be fine. Trust me,” she said, a knowing look in her eyes. “Plus, he’s got more than enough. We’ve been putting most of his earnings into a trust for him. The amount he thinks he has isn’t anywhere near the actual figure.”
“How much does he have?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.
“With the combination of his mother’s and father’s death benefits and his earnings from the shop... close to three-quarters of a million dollars,” she said nonchalantly.
I felt my eyes nearly bug out of my head. Cayro was set up for life, and they’d made sure of it. I mean, I had my own million-plus stashed away from years of well-paid jobs, but still...
“Alright,” I muttered, pocketing the card, still wrapping my head around it.
Not long after, we were all packed into the Bracton’s Honda Civic, backing out of the driveway. Lyra was in the back seat, jamming out to the music playing on the radio, while I took the front passenger seat. To be honest, the car felt claustrophobic compared to the spacious interior of the skycar I was used to. Mrs. Bracton’s driving wasn’t helping matters—she was weaving in and out of traffic like she was in a high-speed chase, and my stomach was starting to protest.
Lyra, on the other hand, was having the time of her life, bobbing her head to the beat. I, however, focused on Mrs. Bracton shifting gears in the old car. Manual transmissions fascinated me. Skycars had continuous variable transmissions, so the act of shifting gears manually was a novelty. It reminded me of when Desiree and I spent an entire week rebuilding the Captain’s skycar transmission after he over-revved the thing during a competition. That had been one hell of a project. From that point on, we agreed to stop showing off the skycar’s capabilities.
Lost in thought, I hadn’t even realized we’d pulled into a parking lot until I saw the sign: “Bracton Kawasaki.”
I turned to Mrs. Bracton, confused. “We’re going shopping here?”
“No, silly,” she replied with a laugh. “I just need to grab something from my husband.”
“Oh...” I replied, feeling a little dumb.
“Come on, you two,” she said, hopping out of the car. “Let’s go find Cayro and my husband.”
Lyra and I climbed out and followed her into the building. As soon as we stepped inside the showroom, the familiar scent of exhaust, engine oil, and grease hit me. The smell was stronger here, and I realized it was Cayro’s scent. This was where he spent so much of his time. No wonder the smell had practically embedded itself into his very being.
We approached the counter where a tall redheaded man with tattoos stood, flipping through a catalog. He glanced up when he spotted us.
“Oh! Hey, Mrs. Bracton!” he greeted with a wave.
“Hey, Eric. Have you seen my husband?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s in his office,” Eric replied, pointing toward an office behind the counter. Above the door hung a sign that read: “Lair of HDIC.”
I furrowed my brow, trying to decode the acronym. HDIC? What the hell did that stand for?
“And who are these two?” Eric asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“This is Lyra,” Mrs. Bracton said, gesturing toward her, “and this is Star—Cayro’s girlfriend.”
I felt my face flush instantly as Lyra simply smiled and waved. Eric raised an eyebrow, and a huge grin stretched across his face. Oh no... I could see exactly where this was going, and it wasn’t going to be good.
“Really now... The boys in the back are going to love hearing this,” he said, chuckling.
Oooh, this is bad. This is very bad. Cayro is not going to handle this well. My eyes darted to Lyra just as she opened her mouth.
“Actually...” she began.
I elbowed her in the side, giving her a firm look. She shot me a questioning glance, but I shook my head. The last thing we needed was to explain our mate bond to Eric, or anyone for that matter.
Mrs. Bracton cleared her throat. “Eric, why don’t you show Lyra around while I find my husband?” she suggested, quickly diffusing the situation. “Star, you can head into the maintenance shop. Cayro’s back there somewhere,” she added, pointing toward a door behind the counter.
I nodded and headed in that direction as Eric led Lyra off to show her the motorcycles. As I walked through the door, I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that this whole thing was going to blow up in my face sooner or later.
It didn’t take me long to find Cayro. He was sitting on a low mechanic’s stool next to a newer Kawasaki motorcycle, struggling with the back swing arm. From the look of things, he was having a hard time getting a stubborn bolt out. A can of lubricant and a torch sat beside him as he worked, his hands and forearms covered in dirt and grime from the bike. He wore a well-used pair of coveralls, stained with years of oil and grease. The top half was rolled down and tied around his waist, the sleeves knotted at his beltline.
I watched in fascination as he eyed the bolt like he could will it out with sheer determination.
Just as I was about to say something, a deep, booming voice spoke behind me.
“And who might you be?” the voice asked.
I spun around, coming face to face with a tall, burly man with dark skin and crossed arms. He was massive, easily as big as Mr. Bracton—maybe bigger. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his coveralls, and he stared down at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I… I… I...” I stammered, caught completely off guard.
“My girlfriend, Rick. Leave her alone,” came Cayro’s voice from behind me.
“Really?” Rick called out, his voice rising in amusement. He turned to the rest of the shop, bellowing, “Hey boys! Cayro got himself a girlfriend! A really cute girlfriend!”
Heat flushed my cheeks as a wave of embarrassment hit me. From across the shop, I heard someone shout, “Well, it’s about damn time, Boss!” A chorus of cheers and clapping followed, echoing through the space.
Amidst the noise, I caught the faintest growl—the kind that sent a shiver down my spine. Cayro was not happy. And then I heard it—the unmistakable snap of a bolt head breaking off.
“FUCK!” Cayro roared, his voice reverberating through the shop. Instantly, the laughter and clapping died.
I turned quickly, and sure enough, his eyes had shifted from their usual emerald green to that eerie, dangerous yellow. He was on the edge of losing control. Without thinking, I moved toward him, placing my hand firmly on his chest. His eyes locked onto mine, blazing with intensity, and I turned his head just enough so no one else could see the change.
Using the link we shared, I wrapped my presence around the void inside him. That black emptiness where his presence should have been—it had terrified me at first. But after weeks of watching him wake up screaming in the night, I’d learned something: wrapping my presence around that void helped calm him.
Gently, I placed my left hand on his cheek. His skin was warm, rough with frustration. “It’s okay,” I whispered softly. “They’re happy for us.”
His chest heaved as he tried to regulate his breathing. His eyes remained locked on mine, the yellow slowly beginning to fade. I could feel my presence moving across the void within him, searching... and then I found it—a crack. Small, barely noticeable, but there. I pushed a little more of myself into that crack, sending it into the depths of his presence.
Slowly, the green of his eyes returned. The tension in his shoulders eased, and the rage that had flared only moments ago seemed to subside. I slid my right hand from his chest down to his hand, still clutching the wrench with a white-knuckled grip.
“Let me have the wrench, babe,” I said softly.
He released the tool into my hand, the metal still warm from his grip. “Go take a break for a bit, okay?” I added gently, guiding him toward an empty workbench nearby.
Without a word, he walked over, slumping onto the stool. He looked exhausted, both physically and mentally, but at least the storm had passed. For now.
I turned back toward Rick, who was watching with a look of deep concern. “Where’s his toolbox?” I asked, my voice steady.
Rick didn’t say anything at first, but then he nodded toward a large Kawasaki-green toolbox with a hutch. Impressive—it rivaled my own.
I made my way over to it, opening the drawers with ease. Cayro’s organization was meticulous, something I hadn’t expected but admired. I quickly found the tools I needed to remove the broken bolt and returned to the bike.
Rick knelt down beside me, watching as I worked. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice cautious but patient.
“Yeah,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the task at hand. “This isn’t my first time dealing with a broken bolt.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’re a mechanic?”
“Yep,” I said, grabbing the vise grips and clamping them onto the bolt shaft. The owner of the bike had made the rookie mistake of using a steel bolt on an aluminum frame, causing corrosion. I shook my head—this would take some patience.
Using the torch to heat the area and a generous spray of lubricant, I began working the bolt back and forth, slowly loosening it. The key was to be patient, letting the lubricant seep into the threads while the heat expanded the metal. Inch by inch, I worked it loose.
Rick watched, impressed. “Cayro’s lucky to have you,” he said after a while, his tone softer than before.
I didn’t respond immediately, my focus on the task. But inwardly, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of that statement. Lucky to have me? I wasn’t so sure. We were both broken in our own ways, and the void inside him still scared me.
But right now? Right now, I was the one holding it together.
“We were all wondering what happened to the Boss and where he went,” Rick commented, still kneeling beside me. “Mr. Bracton said he was on vacation, but wouldn’t specify.”
“You could say that,” I replied, keeping my voice casual. “He stayed with me and some old family friends of his father.” I kept the explanation vague enough to avoid further questions, but clear enough to satisfy Rick’s curiosity.
Rick nodded, processing that, before asking, “What has him so worked up then?”
I hesitated for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “Let’s just say... things didn’t go as planned, and he’s having a tough time coming to terms with it.”
Rick studied me for a moment, then asked, “Will he be okay?”
I met his gaze, then lifted the vise grips, showing him the remains of the broken bolt still clamped in their jaws. “It’s going to take time and patience, but yes, he’ll be okay. He has me to look after him now.” I offered him the vise grips with a small smile.
He took the pliers from me, his expression softening. “You do that for us, Ma’am. We don’t like seeing the Boss like this.”
“You can call me Star,” I replied, standing up and brushing off my hands. Rick stared down at the vise grips, nodding slightly, as if absorbing everything that had just happened.
I walked over to where Cayro sat, still watching me from the workbench. His eyes carried the weight of everything he was feeling, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration etched into his features.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I approached him.
“I think so,” he replied, just as softly.
I crouched down in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. “You’re going to need to start walking away when you get frustrated. You won’t be able to control your temper until we start working through your trauma.” I kept my tone gentle but firm. Scuzball had been helping me understand how to deal with PTSD, and while it was a slow process, I knew we’d get there.
Cayro looked down at me, then gave a small nod. “Alright,” he said quietly, the tension in his voice fading.
“Tonight,” I said, “I want to try something with you. It might help.”
He hesitated for a second, then nodded again. “Okay.”
I smiled softly and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before standing up. “I’ll go find Mrs. Bracton and Lyra.”
Cayro watched me for a moment longer before giving me a faint smile in return. It was small, but it was progress.