The morning after was always rough.

But this morning? This one was biblically cursed.

The tour van—beloved, battered, and one shaky tire away from becoming modern art—was packed with four barely-functioning humans and three sleep-deprived werewolves, all equally grumpy, and at least two of them actively contemplating violence. The sun wasn’t even fully up yet. Everyone looked like they’d fought a tornado and lost.

Gabriel was at the wheel, wide-eyed and buzzed from his second gas station cold brew—he insisted on driving this leg. Thane, in the passenger seat, looked like a man on his sixth war tour, arms crossed, expression unreadable except for the faint twitch at his temple every time the van hit a pothole.

In the back row, Jonah was passed out against the window with drumstick imprints on his forehead. Rico was slumped next to him, earbuds in, mouthing lyrics to a song only he could hear.

Cassie sat with her knees pulled up, hood over her head, holding a half-eaten granola bar like it had personally wronged her. “If this van hits one more bump, I’m gonna puke out my soul.”

Maya was trying to tune a guitar in her lap while simultaneously elbowing Gabriel in the ribs from behind his seat. “I told you we should’ve stopped at the nice coffee shop.”

“There wasn’t time!” Gabriel barked back, slurping his cold brew like it was a life elixir. “We’re twenty minutes behind schedule already because someone left their entire amp rig back at the hotel.”

Rico raised his hand weakly. “That was me. I have no regrets.”

From the back, Jonah moaned, “Tell my mom I died doing what I loved. Except I didn’t. I died in a tin can with no AC and Gabriel playing ska on the Bluetooth.”

Gabriel grinned into the rearview mirror. “It’s called character development, Jonah.”

Maya launched a balled-up sock at his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Mark, seated sideways at the side equipment rack (the only one tall enough to do so without folding like origami), checked the rig straps with an expression of deadpan despair. “If this amp stack slides forward one more inch, it’s going to flatten Jonah like a pancake.”

Thane growled without opening his eyes. “Maybe then we’ll have room for the fanmail crate.”

Gabriel yawned, then jolted suddenly as the van hit a speed bump at mach five.

THUMP—CRASH—SPLASH.

The third coffee of the morning shot skyward like a geyser and splattered across the roof liner, raining back down in glorious brown droplets.

Everyone screamed.

“I just bought that!” Maya wailed.

Cassie covered her head like it was acid. “Coffee rain! COFFEE RAIN!”

Jonah sat bolt upright, blinked at the mess, and murmured, “Is this… my resurrection?”

Gabriel swerved slightly from laughter. “Okay, okay, my bad! But look on the bright side—we’re all awake now!”

Thane stared at the mess, clawed hand slowly rubbing his muzzle.

“I swear,” he muttered darkly, “if the promoter doesn’t have our load-in ready by the time we get there, I will burn their stage to the f***ing ground.*”

Gabriel glanced sideways at him, still grinning. “Love you too, my wolf.”

Thane exhaled sharply and leaned his head against the window, eyes closed. “Only reason you’re still alive.”

Mark, from the back: “This is fine. This is normal. This is the exact energy I signed up for.”

The van creaked, coffee continued to drip from the ceiling like an espresso-based rainstorm, and the open road stretched out before them like a dare.

Feral Eclipse rolled on.