The bar was alive with its usual midday rhythm, the polished wooden counter gleaming under the warm overhead lights, sticky patches from spilled drinks catching the occasional glint as I wiped them down with a rag that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old beer. A few months had passed since the twins' birth, and Caz and Ava were finally settling into a more predictable routine—their cries less frequent at night, their days filled with curious explorations that allowed Miko and me to breathe a little easier. With them less demanding, I'd returned to work at the bar, the familiar clink of glasses and hum of conversation a welcome anchor amid the chaos of new parenthood. Viktor had grunted his approval when I came back, slapping my shoulder with a calloused hand. "Good to have you, kid. Place was too quiet without your ugly mug."
I served the usuals with practiced ease: the old timers nursing their rakia at the corner table, their gravelly voices reminiscing about pre-war days over clinking glasses, smoke curling from their cigarettes in lazy spirals; the lunch crowd downing frothy beers while debating local politics, foam clinging to their mustaches like forgotten snow. The air was thick with the mingled scents of distilled spirits, fresh-baked bread from the kitchen out back where the cook whistled tunes, and the faint, underlying tang of polished brass from the taps. It was comforting, this routine—pouring shots with a steady hand, chatting about the weather or the latest hybrid festival, my mind occasionally drifting to home: Miko playing with the twins, their giggles echoing through the house, Caz's dark tuft of hair tousled from crawling adventures, Ava's golden eyes wide with wonder.
That's when the door swung open with a creak of hinges, letting in a gust of cool autumn air that carried the crisp scent of fallen leaves and distant rain from outside. A few guys entered—three of them, their builds rough and imposing, dressed in worn leather jackets that bulged oddly at the sides as if concealing something heavy, faces shadowed under low-brimmed hats pulled down low. They looked sketchy, out of place in the cozy, familiar bar: one with a jagged scar slicing across his cheek like a lightning bolt, his eyes darting suspiciously; another with faded tattoos peeking from his collar, inked symbols that looked like gang marks or old prison art; the third scanning the room with cold, calculating eyes that missed nothing, his posture tense like a coiled spring. They moved with deliberate purpose, not the casual stroll of regulars seeking a pint, but a predatory prowl, splitting up to approach different tables with low, murmured questions.
I couldn't hear the details over the bar's ambient noise—the laughter from a group in the corner, the clatter of glasses being set down—but I caught snippets: low voices probing for names, faces leaning in close with intent stares, patrons shaking their heads or shrugging uncomfortably, glances flicking my way as if sensing trouble brewing. Tension rippled through the room like a subtle wave on the river's surface, conversations dipping in volume, eyes darting toward the newcomers with wary caution.
They eventually made their way to the bar, pulling up stools with scrapes of wood on the scuffed floor, their presence heavy and oppressive like a storm cloud rolling in, casting shadows over the counter. "Three beers," the scarred one grunted in accented Bulgarian, sliding a wad of cash across the sticky surface, his voice rough like gravel under boots.
I poured the drinks with steady hands, the foam rising perfectly in the glasses, golden and frothy, sliding them over with a neutral nod. "That all?"
As they drank—slow, measured sips, their eyes still scanning the room like hawks—I wiped the counter nearby, keeping an ear out, the rag moving in circular motions over the wood. The tattooed one leaned in after a moment, his breath sour with cheap tobacco. "You know anyone called Lilly?" he asked casually, but his tone was probing, eyes locking on mine like he was reading for any flicker of recognition or lie.
"Lilly?" I echoed, frowning as I polished a glass, the cloth squeaking softly against the rim. The name rang a distant bell—something Miko had mentioned way back when we first met, roommates in that victorian house, sharing stories late into the night about family and origins. It was fuzzy, the details blurred by time and the whirlwind of our life since, but I kept my face blank. "No, doesn't ring a bell. Why? Looking for someone specific?"
The third guy looked around the bar cautiously, ensuring no eavesdroppers leaned too close amid the murmur of conversations, then leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She was one of the first hybrids from Project Chimera. Important figure in that world. You sure? No whispers in these parts about her?"
Project Chimera—that jogged it clearer. Miko had told me about it back then, in those early days when we were just roommates, opening up over cheap takeout and shared secrets after sex. It was the shadowy program that birthed the first hybrids 50-60 years ago—government experiments or corporate black ops, blending human and animal DNA in labs hidden from the world, creating the first generation like Lilly. The details were fuzzy now, buried under layers of our own escapes and survivals, but the name stuck. Still, I shook my head, feigning ignorance. "Nah, sorry. Haven't heard of her or that project. Sounds like old history—hybrids have been around a while, but nothing like that comes up here."
They exchanged subtle glances, a silent communication passing between them like a coded message, then shrugged dismissively, finishing their drinks with final gulps and leaving without another word, the door swinging shut behind them with a jingle of the bell. The bar relaxed almost immediately, conversations picking up volume, laughter returning like the sun after a brief cloud, but the encounter nagged at me like an itch I couldn't quite scratch, a puzzle piece out of place in our carefully rebuilt life.
After work, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and deep purples that reflected off the river like a mirror of flames, I returned home—the house welcoming with its sturdy stone walls and porch overlooking the water, wildflowers still blooming defiantly in the yard despite the cooling autumn air. Inside, the living room was alive with the sounds of play: Miko on the soft rug with the twins, Caz crawling toward a colorful block tower with determined grunts and giggles, his dark tuft of hair tousled from his adventures, his tiny tail swishing behind him like a flag of triumph; Ava batting at a stuffed toy nearby, her golden eyes—mirrors of Miko's—wide with fascination, her little hands reaching out with chubby fingers, cooing softly as the toy jingled.
"Hey," I said, dropping my bag by the door and kneeling to kiss Miko's cheek, inhaling her lavender scent mixed with the powdery freshness of the babies. "Busy day with the explorers?"
She smiled up at me, scooping up Caz before he could topple the tower with a crash. "The usual chaos—these two are escape artists now, always finding new hiding spots. What's up? You look thoughtful, like something's on your mind."
I hesitated, sitting beside her on the rug, Ava crawling into my lap with a happy gurgle, her tiny tail brushing my arm. "Who's Lilly? And what's Project Chimera all about? I remember you mentioning it way back when we met—as roommates, sharing stories. It's fuzzy now, but... it came up today."
Miko froze mid-motion, her tail stilling as she set Caz down gently, the blocks clattering softly as he grabbed one. Her golden eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and concern crossing her features. "Lilly... that's our mom—mine and Akira's. Project Chimera was the program that created the first hybrids, back 50-60 years ago—government experiments or something shady, blending DNA in secret labs. Why? Where did you hear that from? It's not something that comes up casually."
"Some sketchy guys at the bar," I said, recounting the encounter in detail—their rough appearances, the probing questions, the way they'd scanned the room like hunters on a trail. The twins played on obliviously, Caz stacking blocks with wobbly hands, Ava chewing on a toy with gummy enthusiasm.
Miko's face paled further, her ears drooping as she glanced toward the stairs. "We need to talk to Akira. Now."
We gathered in the living room, the twins continuing their play on the rug—colorful wooden blocks stacking and tumbling with gleeful crashes and babbles, their tiny tails swishing in sync as they explored. Akira sat on the couch, legs crossed, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern as Miko explained. "Lilly? Mom?" she echoed, frowning deeply, her tail flicking restlessly against the cushions. "From what I remember, she should be in the US—last contact was around the Louisiana area, before everything fell apart. But she talked about moving to Latvia—had some distant family ties there or something, dreamed of the colder climate, away from the swamps. Why now? If people are asking... it can't be good. Chimera's old secrets—maybe hunters digging up the past, or something worse chasing the first generation."
The question hung heavy in the air—where was Lilly now? But with the twins' laughter filling the space, their innocent play a stark contrast to the shadows creeping in, answers felt distant and elusive, the past resurfacing like an uninvited guest at our door, threatening the fragile peace we'd fought so hard to build.