The bus rolled quiet for a long time after they left the shelter.
No one said much. Not because they were tired—though they were—but because something about the morning had settled into all of them. The simplicity of it. The gratitude. The look on the faces of people who had nothing… and gave back a smile anyway.
They hadn’t meant to stay that long.
But Thane had made the call. And no one questioned it.
Now, hours later, the city was long gone in the rearview. The buildings had thinned, then vanished altogether into long stretches of green and gray. Diesel had been driving without a break, his focus laser-tight behind aviator shades.
Then, without warning, he took an exit marked by a half-rusted sign:
“Maggie’s Sunrise Café – Home of the Pancake Tower.”
He muttered, “I need food. And a place to use the bathroom that doesn’t shake like a rollercoaster.”
As the bus pulled onto the gravel lot beside a squat little diner with yellowing curtains and a flickering neon sign, Gabriel stretched and yawned theatrically from the back bench. “Please tell me someone’s serving hash browns and moral clarity.”
Thane gave a low chuckle. “Only if they have decent coffee.”
Cassie was already grabbing her hoodie. “I think we’ve earned something greasy and overcooked.”
Rico, still barefoot and wearing the same shirt from the shelter, rubbed his eyes. “Do I smell bacon?”
“You hope you smell bacon,” Maya said, cracking her neck as she stood. “If not, we riot.”
The crew spilled out of the bus like kids after the last day of school. Mark was last to step off, glancing skyward like he was silently judging the sun.
The moment they walked through the door, the scent hit them like a hug: fried butter, maple syrup, cheap coffee, and biscuits that probably were as big as your head.
Behind the counter, a short woman in her sixties with a pencil behind her ear looked up from a coffee pot and froze.
She squinted at Thane, then at Gabriel. Her eyes drifted over the others.
“You kids in a band or somethin’?”
Gabriel grinned. “Us? Nooo. We’re just some friendly neighborhood werewolves.”
She snorted. “Alright then, you want coffee or a priest?”
“Both,” said Jonah, deadpan.
They took over the far booth, where Thane sat with his arms stretched over the backrest, tail curled under the table. Gabriel squeezed in next to him, flipping his fork like a drummer with cutlery. Emily slid in beside Cassie and immediately started taking photos of the menu’s weird font choices.
“Comic Sans,” she whispered. “Why is it always Comic Sans?”
Maya was already interrogating the waitress about hot sauce options. Mark just muttered, “Don’t touch the syrup bottle. It looks like it predates disco.”
But the tone was light. Everyone was smiling.
Even the weight of that morning — the shelter, the faces, the quiet gratitude — somehow added to the peace of this moment. Like they had earned it, not just through shows and miles, but by showing up for something that actually mattered.
And then the recognition started.
A teenage girl in a corner booth nudged her friend, eyes wide. A man at the counter turned, blinking at Gabriel like he was a mirage.
“You guys are — wait — THE Feral Eclipse?”
Gabriel raised his mug. “Still probably covered in soup, but yeah.”
More heads turned. Phones came out. Someone started a live stream from a nearby booth. The sleepy little diner filled with quiet excitement, like it had just become the epicenter of something wild and unexpected.
Cassie and Rico ended up signing paper napkins. Jonah posed with a plate of pancakes like it was a Grammy. Emily helped a waitress figure out how to tag the band on Instagram.
Gabriel poured coffee for two fans who were too nervous to walk over. “I moonlight as a barista,” he said with a wink.
Mark gave one look to a teenage boy who tried to sneak a peek into the bus and simply said, “No.” The kid backed up like he’d heard the voice of judgment itself.
Thane just leaned back and smiled. For all the chaos, the weirdness, the fame… this was the balance. The quiet in-between. A hot breakfast after a meaningful morning. The world still turning. The pack still strong.
As they finished their food and piled back onto the bus, one fan called out as they left:
“Hey! Thanks for being good people.”
Gabriel saluted with his coffee mug.
Thane didn’t respond — but inside, he felt it. That same quiet pride he’d felt back in the shelter. They weren’t just playing shows anymore. They were building something. Being something.
And this road? It was only just getting started.