6:31 PM – Fifteen Minutes to Doors

Backstage was a pressure cooker of last-minute tuning, nervous pacing, and vague panic about whether anyone had remembered to bring the merch table banner (they hadn’t—Mark had to print one on paper towels in the venue office an hour ago).

Gabriel stood in the dressing room—well, technically it was a storage closet with an overloaded power strip and three sad chairs—trying to look composed while tugging down the hem of his Feral Eclipse stage tee.

“Thane,” he said calmly, “why does this shirt feel like it was washed in glue and despair?”

Thane didn’t look up from his clipboard. “Because I forgot to soften the band laundry. Just pretend it’s battle armor.”

Gabriel shifted awkwardly. “Battle armor doesn’t ride up and expose your werewolf belly every time you inhale.”

Mark, seated nearby with a roll of gaff tape in one hand and a half-eaten gas station sandwich in the other, muttered, “Maybe the belly is part of the stage presence.”

Gabriel pointed at him. “I will staple your sandwich to your forehead.”

Just then, Maya burst into the room, holding up her T-shirt. “OKAY. WHO’S RESPONSIBLE FOR GIVING ME A SMALL?”

Cassie peeked in behind her, giggling. “I mean, you are small.”

“I am small and dangerous,” Maya growled, tugging at the shirt that barely reached her waistband. “I look like a backup dancer for a toddler metal band.”

Thane finally glanced up. “We ran out of mediums. It’s either that or one of the old promo shirts with the misprinted logo.”

Maya blinked. “You mean the one that said FERAL ELK-LIPS?”

Mark didn’t even smile. “Those sold well in Montana.”

Gabriel bent over to retrieve his tuning pedal, and the fabric of his too-small shirt gave a heart-wrenching rrrriiiiiiipppp from armpit to hem.

Everyone froze.

“…I think I’m free now,” he said, very quietly.

Thane exhaled. “Okay. Everyone swap shirts if you need to. I’ve got a sewing kit, duct tape, and two emergency tank tops in the tech crate. Just… look like a band. Please.”

Cassie reached for one of the tank tops, held it up, and read the faded logo: Bite Me, I’m With the Band.

She grinned. “Honestly, I’ve worn worse.”

Mark, rising from his chair, tossed the rest of his sandwich in the trash. “I’m going to check the fog machine. When I come back, I expect everyone to be clothed or creatively disguised.”

As he left, Gabriel looked down at the shredded shirt and sighed. “I’m gonna just rock this like an open vest. A little werewolf realness for the crowd.”

Thane gave a thumbs up. “That’s the spirit.”

Maya, who had tied her shirt into a fierce cropped knot, leaned toward Cassie. “This is going to be one hell of a show.”

Cassie laughed. “We look like a band held together by attitude and static cling.”

The backstage lights flickered. A low rumble of the crowd gathering beyond the curtain sent a wave of electricity through the air.

Thane looked around at his patched-up, over-caffeinated, emotionally-frayed band.

“Places in five.”