The bus was quiet.
Morning light bled through the cracked curtains. Someone was snoring. Someone else was groaning. A cowboy hat with glitter somehow made its way onto Jonah’s face. He didn’t seem to notice.
Mark sat at the tiny kitchenette, sipping his usual black coffee, utterly unfazed. His tail flicked once as he turned a page in an old paperback. He glanced toward the bunks and muttered:
“Amateurs.”
Gabriel finally stirred in the forward lounge—fur fluffed out, ears twitching, furrowed brow fighting the full-body rebellion known as “hangover from Granny’s personal stash.” He grunted and sat up slowly, rubbing the side of his muzzle.
“I feel like I drank a tire fire…”
“You did,” Mark said without looking up.
Gabriel blinked around blearily. “Thane?”
A muffled groan came from the bunk above. “M’not dead… yet…”
Gabriel dragged himself upright and reached for his bass case near the table, wanting to check it just as part of his usual morning habit.
Except when he opened it, something was different.
Nestled next to the straps inside was a small, worn leather pouch—firehouse red, with a silver button snap. A folded note was tucked beneath it.
Gabriel blinked, then unfolded the note slowly, fangs catching the corner for a second.
“Wolves gotta howl with heart. Keep yours loud.
—Dolly Rigsby (Chief, Station 8, Ret.)”
Inside the pouch?
A silver flask.
Engraved on the back:
“Tucson Fire Station 8 – ‘Don’t start nothin’, won’t need a hose.’”
On the front:
A tiny etched paw print… and underneath, one word:
“Family.”
Gabriel stared at it, completely speechless for once.
“Hey…” he whispered, glancing back at Mark. “She gave me… her flask.”
Mark looked up just long enough to raise a brow. “That’s not just a flask. That’s her baptism tool. I think you’ve been claimed.”
Thane dragged himself from the bunk, fur a disaster, and peeked over Gabriel’s shoulder.
“That better not be full.”
Gabriel sniffed it.
“…It’s full.”
Jonah, still face-down on the lounge floor, raised a hand without looking. “Can I be adopted too?”
Cassie groaned from the back. “Only if you survive breakfast…”
Diesel finally shuffled out of the driver’s cab, took one look at the scene, and said:
“Y’all realize you were just wrecked by a seventy-year-old woman who wore rhinestones and saved a burning horse once, right?”
Gabriel looked back at the flask.
And smiled.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “And she’s officially cooler than all of us.”