Just outside the venue loading bay, 30 minutes to showtime

The echo of slamming cases and tuning guitars faded behind the heavy service door. Outside, the alley behind the venue was dim and quiet, the only light coming from a flickering overhead bulb and the distant glow of a nearby gas station sign.

Thane sat on a concrete ledge by the dumpster, elbows on his knees, claws laced together. The night air was cooler here—damp with the scent of rain and alley grease. His chest still rose and fell just a little too quickly.

The door creaked open and closed again. Mark walked out, carrying two bottles of water. He handed one to Thane without saying a word and leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed.

They sat in silence for a long minute. Then Thane finally broke it.

“I almost lost it, Mark.”

Mark took a slow sip of water, then nodded. “Yeah. You almost did.”

“I hate that. That side of me.” His claws tightened around the bottle, the plastic crinkling. “I don’t want to be the guy everyone’s afraid of.”

“You’re not,” Mark said. “Not to us.”

Thane scoffed quietly. “Rico might disagree.”

Mark glanced at him. “Rico will get over it. He poked the wolf. You growled. That’s life. But you didn’t bite. That’s what matters.”

Thane stared down at the ground, then let out a breath. “I’ve worked so damn hard to stay in control. To not be that walking threat everyone expects. And then one dumb comment and I’m back on edge like it’s instinct.”

Mark’s tone softened, which was rare for him. “You’ve got every right to be tired. You pulled the van back from the grave, kept us from missing the gig, and still haven’t gotten a second to yourself.”

There was a pause, then:

“You’re not dangerous, Thane. You’re exhausted.”

Thane blinked and looked sideways at him. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” Mark said with a shrug. “It’s supposed to make you go take five minutes and breathe before you turn into a cautionary tale in a backstage safety handbook.”

That actually got a soft laugh from Thane. He leaned back against the wall, letting his eyes close for a second.

“I appreciate you stepping in,” he said.

“You always step in for me when the world’s on fire,” Mark replied. “Figured I’d return the favor.”

Another beat of silence, warmer this time.

“Besides,” Mark added with a smirk, “I wasn’t about to carry your ass offstage in handcuffs. That’s Gabriel’s job.”

That earned a full-on laugh from Thane—tired but real.

“Remind me to write ‘Don’t kill the band’ on the setlist,” he muttered.

Mark deadpanned, “Already embroidered it on a pillow. It’s on your bunk.”