It was somewhere past 2 a.m. when the tour van finally creaked into the fluorescent-lit lot of a weathered old truck stop just off I-55. The kind of place that looked like it hadn’t changed since the ’80s, right down to the buzzing neon sign that said Open 24 Hours but was missing the “O.”

Inside, it was that surreal mix of too-clean diner booths and dusty shelves of snacks no one had bought in years. Jonah darted for the drink cooler like a kid at recess, eyes wide. “Mountain Dew or Code Red? Wait, do they have Code Red?”

Thane stayed back near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning. He was tired, road-dusted, and his fur itched under his black polo. Gabriel, next to him, looked about two cups of coffee short of his usual chaos, but still alert—especially when a few locals peeked up at the sight of bare clawed feet padding softly on the tile.

Mark had already disappeared somewhere into the back, probably sniffing out the nearest working coffee pot or a fuse box to “fix.” Maya, meanwhile, strutted up to the diner counter like she owned it, plopping down on a stool and ordering pancakes like she wasn’t the baddest rhythm guitarist this side of Memphis.

That’s when he showed up.

Tall. Stringy. Smelled like diesel and cheap whiskey. That kind of smile you only see in mugshots and back alley ghost stories. He slid up next to Maya, leaned in way too close.

“Hey there, sweetheart. You lookin’ real fine tonight. You in a band or somethin’?”

Maya didn’t even look up. “Not interested, cowboy.”

“Aww, c’mon now. I like ‘em feisty.”

Thane clocked the guy the second he entered. The tone of his voice—the angle of his lean—it all screamed trouble. Gabriel had picked up on it too and was already shifting on his paws, ears twitching.

Maya stood up, eye to eye with the guy. “You should walk away.”

“Or what?” he sneered, grabbing her wrist. “You gonna bite me?”

That was it.

Thane didn’t growl. He didn’t snarl. He just moved.

One second he was against the wall. The next, he was right there, looming over both of them, brown fur bristling under the truck stop lights. His icy blue eyes practically glowed.

He didn’t roar or shout—he spoke.

“You’re going to let go of her. Now.”

The guy turned, looking up—and then up a bit more. Thane was a wall of muscle, claws curled just enough to catch the light. The man faltered.

“I… I was just joking, man. No harm—”

Thane leaned in, voice low and lethal. “You lay a finger on her again and I’ll show you what real harm looks like.”

The guy backed off fast. Practically stumbled over a mop bucket on his way out. The ding of the door chime sounded like a finish line bell.

Maya glared at Thane, arms crossed tight. “I had that.”

He just raised an eyebrow, brushing a few silver-streaked strands out of his face. “I know.”

“Hmph.”

Later, outside by the van while the others argued over snack rations and Jonah bounced from soda to soda, Maya nudged Thane’s arm—barely perceptible.

“…Thanks. I mean, not that I needed it. But…” She sighed. “Okay. I was scared. Just a little. But if you tell anyone I said that—”

Thane gave a quiet chuckle and leaned down just enough to nudge her shoulder with his. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”