Eventually, the eggs were gone. The coffee had been drained (minus the one pot still immortalized in social media history). Autographs had been scribbled on everything from helmets to salt shakers. And somewhere in the madness, someone had duct-taped a “MARK FOR MAYOR” sign to the front door of Ruby’s.
It was time to go.
The pack filtered out of the diner, full of food and laughter and the kind of happiness that could only come from completely unhinged public affection. As they climbed aboard the tour bus, fans clapped and chanted from the sidewalk. Someone shouted “We love you, Thane!” and another replied with “WE LOVE ALL THE WOLVES!”
The bus’s engine rumbled to life.
And then—like fate had coordinated it—the fire truck pulled up alongside them. Lights blazing, sirens chirping a greeting. The fire marshal stood proudly on the sidewalk, clipboard tucked under his arm.
“Escort to the highway,” he said with a grin. “VIP treatment.”
Thane blinked from the front lounge seat. “Are we… being firetruck-escorted out of town?”
Gabriel grinned from behind the wheel. “Yup. Full send.”
Mark leaned into the aisle with a gruff sigh. “We’re gonna break the internet.”
And they did.
The fire truck took point, sirens warbling as it rolled down the boulevard, the Feral Eclipse bus cruising in its wake like royalty. Behind them? Dozens of fan vehicles—minivans, motorcycles, convertibles with wolf ears clipped to the side mirrors. Every single one of them honking, waving signs, or blasting the band’s music from cracked windows.
At every stoplight, crowds lined the sidewalks. Shopkeepers ran out in aprons to snap photos. People climbed onto benches and fire hydrants just to wave. Some were howling. Somehow, that part caught on.
Lindsay the waitress uploaded a clip of the procession to TikTok with the caption:
“This just happened. THEY LEFT WITH A FIRE TRUCK. I served eggs to LEGENDS.”
It got two million views in under an hour.
Another post showed Thane leaning out the bus window, waving stoically, with the caption:
“When the alpha rolls out with a 3-alarm escort and 400 screaming humans behind him.”
The official Dallas Fire Department reposted it with:
“We support safe werewolf breakfast gatherings. #PublicSafetyPack”
Inside the bus, the band stared out the windows in stunned, exhausted amusement.
“Okay,” Jonah finally said. “So… is this what tour life is now?”
Emily nodded slowly. “This is literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Gabriel reached for the horn and gave it a playful HOOONK. The crowd responded by howling in unison like it was a full moon.
Thane looked over at him, half-laughing. “This is going to get us banned from at least four more cities.”
“I hope so,” Gabriel said.
Cassie grabbed a Sharpie and scrawled on the inside wall near the front window:
“Dallas: 1 breakfast, 7,000 fans, 1 fire truck.”
Outside, as the fire truck peeled off and the bus finally merged onto the open highway, a single fan stood atop a parked pickup, silhouetted against the Texas sun.
He raised both arms in triumph and yelled, “FERAL ECLIIIIIPSE FOREVER!!”
The internet would never recover.