The road between DC and the next venue was long and winding, snaking through green country highways and small towns too sleepy to realize a werewolf-powered rock band was blazing past at 70 miles an hour.
Inside the tour bus, the pack was in full lounge mode. Gabriel was upside-down in the corner booth for no reason anyone could explain. Thane was half-dozing with his head tilted back and an ear flicking every time Diesel hit a pothole. Jonah and Rico were locked in a very serious Mario Kart showdown on the overhead screen. Maya and Cassie were having a fierce whispered debate about the ethics of pineapple on pizza.
Emily sat near the front window, knees tucked up, a half-empty soda can in her hand and her phone glowing softly in the other.
“Okay,” she said suddenly. “You guys want the latest?”
Gabriel flipped upright so fast he nearly yeeted himself over the table. “Please tell me someone finally put together the werewolf thirst edit I deserve.”
Emily giggled. “Well… yes. And it already has seventy-two thousand likes.”
“Justice,” Gabriel said solemnly, clutching his chest.
“But also—” Emily swiped again, her brow raising. “The shelter moment is still trending. Seriously. There are hundreds of posts with the tag #FeralEclipseHearts, and one of the volunteers posted this video where you”—she pointed at Thane—“are handing out toothbrush kits while someone in the background says, ‘That’s the sound engineer, the werewolf sound engineer.’”
Thane cracked an eye open. “At least they got my role right.”
Emily kept scrolling. “There’s a quote going around too. From one of the guys in line. He said, ‘They came out here like we mattered. Like we weren’t invisible.’”
The bus went quiet for a moment.
Cassie finally exhaled. “Okay, I wasn’t ready to feel feelings this early in the day.”
Even Mark—who was reading something on a paper map like GPS personally offended him—nodded slightly. “Damn good thing we stopped.”
“I knew it would matter,” Thane murmured.
Emily smiled. “It really, really did.”
A few minutes later, Diesel’s gravelly voice rumbled over the cabin. “Five minutes out. Get your gear faces on.”
The crew sprang into motion. Cases were latched. Coats thrown on. Hair tousled into rockstar shapes. Gabriel may have accidentally brushed his teeth with a Sharpie again. It was unclear.
As the bus rounded a tight corner into a sleepy downtown district, the venue came into view—a classic brick box of a place with a weather-worn marquee that read:
“TONIGHT: FERAL ECLIPSE — SOLD OUT”
The street out front was packed.
Fans crowded the sidewalk, pressed against the barricades in band tees and hand-painted wolf signs. Some held flowers. One had a homemade plush of Gabriel that looked alarmingly caffeinated. And when the bus turned the corner and came into view, the scream hit like a wave.
“THERE THEY ARE!!”
Diesel slammed the brakes just in time to avoid flattening a very enthusiastic girl in a glow-in-the-dark Feral Eclipse hoodie who ran straight up to the bus like it owed her rent.
“Security’s here,” he grunted, nodding toward a couple of stunned venue staff trying to hold the fans back with plastic fencing and confused expressions.
The moment the bus doors hissed open, the sound doubled.
Gabriel stepped out first, grinning like the chaos fed him. “HELLO SMALL TOWN I AM HERE TO STEAL YOUR COFFEE.”
Fans screamed. Someone burst into tears. Someone else passed out gently onto their friends.
Cassie ducked her head and waved. “Y’all are gonna make us cry before we even plug in.”
Thane jumped down next, cool and collected, and immediately caught a hand-painted sign that read:
“I WANNA BE THE CABLE IN YOUR CLAWS.”
He stared at it for a second. “That’s… specific.”
Emily followed, filming as always, catching fan reactions and gentle chaos. One girl recognized her and squeaked, “You’re the one who leaked the live album!!” and hugged her before she could reply.
As the band made their way through the buzzing crowd toward the backstage entrance, fans reached out for high fives, phone videos, autographs on backpacks and guitar picks and, weirdly, one tamale. Rico signed it.
Load-in was hectic. The venue was small, tight, hot. The green room was the size of a walk-in closet. But the walls throbbed with energy, and every person in the building knew something unforgettable was about to happen.
As Thane ran final checks on the soundboard and Gabriel tuned his bass with one clawed foot up on a road case, the energy hit again — that pulse. That hum. The same one from DC. From the shelter. From every stop where the music meant more than noise.
They weren’t just touring anymore.
They were leaving a trail.
And it was only getting louder.