Post-gig, sun peeking through half-closed blackout curtains. A coffee machine wheezes in the background. Thane and Mark are groaning awake on opposite couches. The air smells like… is that burnt cinnamon?

Gabriel stood in front of the hotel kitchenette’s stovetop like it was a stage rig, shirtless, tail swishing behind him in full concentration. Clawed hands held a spatula like it was his bass. Something sizzled angrily in the pan. Something that had once been French toast. Maybe.

Thane sat up, blinking hard. “What in the seven hells are you doing?”

Gabriel turned, wide-eyed and way too cheerful for the morning after a show. “Brunch, obviously.”

Mark grunted without opening his eyes. “Something’s on fire.”

“It’s caramelizing,” Gabriel shot back proudly. “I saw it on TikTok. You just gotta blast the heat and flip it with confidence.”

“You’ve been watching cooking TikToks again?” Thane narrowed his eyes.

“Uh huh. Gordon Ramsay. But like… werewolf style.” Gabriel beamed, gesturing at the pan where something vaguely food-shaped had fused with the non-stick surface. “I added Red Hots, cinnamon, vanilla extract, and uh… that little bottle of vodka from the mini fridge.”

Mark opened one eye. “That’s not French toast. That’s arson on bread.”

Gabriel flipped the entire pan’s contents onto a plate with dramatic flair. The result thudded. Hard. Like drywall.

“I call it Raging Moon Toast!” he announced triumphantly, handing the plate to Thane with a toothy grin.

Thane stared at it. Then at Gabriel. Then back at the plate. “This looks like something I’d scrape off a subwoofer grill.”

“I’m touched,” Gabriel said, completely unbothered.

Mark groaned. “I’m not eating that. I have a death wish, but not that kind.”

Thane braced himself, tore off a chunk, and popped it in his mouth.

A pause.

He blinked.

Then his ears went flat. “Gabriel.”

“Yeah, Thane?”

“Did you just combine sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, vodka, and spicy candies and try to fry it in a hotel pan with no butter?”

Gabriel looked very pleased with himself. “You can taste the ambition, right?”

Thane slowly stood up, staring at the burnt-red slab in his hand. “I can hear my arteries crying.”

Mark muttered, “I’m putting in an order for real breakfast. If anyone wants something not soaked in danger, speak now.”

Gabriel took a proud bite of his own chaotic creation and immediately winced. “…okay maybe a little less vodka next time.”

The smoke alarm chirped once in sympathy.