Location: Hotel Lobby, 9:42 a.m. The Morning After The Chaos.

Thane stood at the front desk of the hotel, deadpan and growling under his breath, arms crossed over a Feral Eclipse hoodie that still faintly reeked of smoky beef jerky and artificial lavender.

The front desk clerk, poor soul, was trying very hard not to comment.

Behind Thane, chaos unfolded in layers.

Gabriel strutted through the lobby like a caffeinated rockstar fresh out of a glitter tornado—smiling, waving at confused guests, sipping a to-go cup of god-knows-what with two tiny lavender fog machine scent cartridges stuck in his jacket pocket like trophies.

Mark stood near the elevator, arms folded, brow twitching violently as he stared at the drum throne that Jonah carried under one arm, which now let out a loud, wet fart every time it was slightly touched.

“I WOKE UP TO HOWLING UNDER MY PILLOW!” Jonah barked. “And my hair smells like smoked brisket and grandma’s bath salts!”

“Yogic barbecue,” Gabriel said smoothly, sipping.

Rico passed by, muttering, “I can’t sit down anymore. I have PTSD. From a chair.”

Thane turned slowly, ice-blue eyes locked on Gabriel, Jonah, and Maya—who had the audacity to walk in last with an innocent smile and sunglasses on indoors like nothing had happened.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Thane growled, loud enough that even nearby guests turned.

“I find one more prank, one more scent bomb, one more sound byte…
…I swear on the ancestors, I will reassign all of you to overnight merch duty in rural Kansas. In February.
And if you think I won’t, try me.”

Silence.

Even Gabriel looked sheepish…ish.

Mark gave a satisfied grunt of approval.

Then—BZZZZZT. A small, fuzzy howl burst from inside Thane’s hoodie pocket.

Everyone froze.

Gabriel paled. “That was supposed to be Jonah’s!”

Thane closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And growled, “Merch duty. All. Of. You.”