Location: The Tour Van, Somewhere Outside Denver. Time: 2:47 a.m. The War Room.

The van’s overhead lights were off. The others were asleep. The hum of tires on the freeway created a white noise blanket.

But in the very back of the van, beneath a makeshift blanket fort of hoodies and empty merch boxes…

…sat three absolute gremlins.

Maya, cross-legged, scribbling frantically in her prank journal.
Gabriel, perched on a cooler like a caffeinated gargoyle, a Sharpie in each hand.
Jonah, hoodie up, arms folded, glitter still in his ears, eyes haunted.

“This ends now,” Jonah whispered, glaring at both of them. “Or I go scorched earth.”

Gabriel grinned, wild and fangy. “Scorched earth sounds fun.”

Maya leaned forward, eyes gleaming like a dragon plotting arson. “You two amateurs forget—I’ve literally superglued a tour manager’s shoes to the ceiling of a club bathroom.”

Gabriel snorted. “You were kicked out of Tijuana twice.”

“Three times,” she corrected. “One involved a goat.”

Jonah held up a finger. “Okay, focus. We call a truce, we go out in one glorious blaze of prank-fueled glory, together. No casualties. Well—maybe Thane’s patience, but that doesn’t count.”

Gabriel raised a brow. “What’re we talkin’? Glitterbombs in the XLR cables? Hair dye in Mark’s shampoo?”

Jonah leaned in. “We fill the fog machines with scented mist. Like… lavender and beef jerky.”

Gabriel’s eyes lit up. “We make the audience think we’re summoning a werewolf yoga class and a barbecue.”

Maya scribbled fast. “We install Bluetooth speakers under every bunk. Play random wolf howls at 3:00 a.m. every night until someone cracks.”

They high-fived. The unholy pact was sealed.

From the bunk behind them, Thane’s voice growled low and cold.

“If you glue anything else in this van, I will rewire your toothbrushes to play Nickelback.”

Silence.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “…worth it.”