The sun was barely high enough to warm the rooftop HVAC units when Thane spotted him: the “promoter.” A wiry man in his late 50s wearing a wrinkled polo with a lanyard that said ALL ACCESS and JERRY in Comic Sans. He was nursing a Big Gulp and barking into a walkie-talkie that definitely wasn’t connected to anything.

Thane approached with that special look on his face—the one Mark quietly referred to as pre-murder neutral.

“Jerry,” Thane said flatly.

Jerry blinked and smiled like a guy who’d already spent half the show budget on vape cartridges and frozen chicken tenders. “Hey, buddy! Love the gear! You boys all settled in?”

“We’re patched into what looks like a Soviet missile control panel, the green room smells like regret, and your sound guy just asked Gabriel if XLRs could go into ‘HDMI holes.’”

Jerry squinted. “Well, hey now—Logan and Reese are interns. Gotta give kids a chance, right?”

“They tried to ground the fog machine to a folding chair.”

Jerry chuckled. “Ah, classic stagecraft!” Then he winked. “You know how it is.”

Thane’s claws flexed once, involuntarily.

Gabriel wandered up behind him, sipping a cappuccino he absolutely conjured into existence from pure caffeine willpower. “Hey, Jerry, quick question—who thought putting a raccoon trap near the dressing room was a solid idea?”

Jerry blinked again. “Raccoon trap?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, lifting his shirt to reveal a thin scratch across his side. “We met Ralph. He’s doing great. Just confused and angry.”

At that exact moment, Maya stormed up, wielding a band tech sheet in one hand. “You gave us a stage plot with six DI boxes. We need sixteen.”

Jerry looked at it. “Well, y’know, we usually have more… stripped down acts. You guys got a lotta… what do you call ‘em? Wolf… requirements?”

“You booked a band with three werewolves and a pyro license,” Thane said, voice low and lethal. “You knew who we were.”

“Well, not me personally,” Jerry hedged. “Booking’s handled by my assistant. She’s out on medical leave. Got kicked by a donkey.”

Thane stared.

Mark walked up behind them, arms folded, voice dry as a dust storm. “You know what? I believe that.”

Jerry, sweating a little now, waved a hand. “Look, it’s all gonna be great. We’ve got drinks in the green room—”

“There’s a Capri Sun and a can of expired La Croix,” Gabriel said.

“And I’m sure the crowd’s gonna be awesome!”

“We haven’t seen a single piece of promo,” Maya snapped. “No flyers. No marquee. One guy outside asked if this was a laser tag tournament.”

“I’ll refund some on the backend,” Jerry said, already backing away.

“No,” Thane said firmly. “You’re going to pay up front, in cash, or we walk.”

Gabriel smiled behind him. “And if we walk, Jerry, we’re taking your car battery with us.”

Jerry stared for one frozen moment.

Then nodded. “I’ll go get the envelope.”

He scurried off like a caffeinated squirrel.

Thane turned to the others, exhaling hard. “Anyone else want to quit humanity and start a fire?”

Mark raised a hand without looking up from his light board app. “Already halfway there.”