The ride into Amsterdam was drenched in late-afternoon gold, canals shimmering between narrow rows of crooked houses, the skyline full of spires and stories. The pack’s sleek red rental bus curved gently along the old city streets, drawing attention from tourists and locals alike — especially once someone recognized the logo on the side.
By the time they reached the venue near the water’s edge, a modest modern arena surrounded by bike racks and curious fans, the chaos was already building. Gabriel had pressed his nose against the window like a kid, tail wagging invisibly as he shouted, “I see FERAL ECLIPSE signs already! This place rules!”
“Do not hop out of the moving bus,” Thane warned automatically, already texting the local crew to let them know they were five minutes out.
Their driver — a lean, chatty Dutchman named Arjen — chuckled as he pulled into the private loading area. “Welcome to Amsterdam, rockstars. You’re gonna like this one.”
The minute the bus stopped, fans started appearing out of nowhere. From behind bikes, around corners, even from canal boats. A few had paint on their cheeks — stylized werewolf slashes or icy blue paw prints — and one held a massive cardboard sign that just read: “BITE ME, GABRIEL!”
“Tempting,” Gabriel muttered with a snort.
As the pack stepped off the bus, the staff was already holding back a small but enthusiastic crowd that had gathered near the gated backstage area. Security and venue managers—one of whom looked like she was barely holding it together — were waiting at the dock doors with clipboards and starstruck grins.
“You’re here!” she blurted, trying to regain her professionalism. “Welcome! We’ve got your green rooms ready, soundcheck is at five, and we’ve already cleared the upper concourse for the meet and greet. I… I’m so sorry, but could I get a picture before everyone else?”
Cassie gave her a warm smile. “Only if you take one with us.”
The woman looked like she might actually cry.
Load-in was a breeze. After weeks of European shows, the crew worked like a machine — even with Gabriel running his mouth the entire time and Mark muttering under his breath about missing his perfectly labeled Oklahoma cable bins. The venue had gone all out, though: local pastries in the green room, Dutch flags with paw-print overlays hanging near the stage, and even a custom coffee blend in honor of Gabriel called Moonrise Roast.
“You’re kidding me,” Gabriel whispered when he saw the name on the bag. “This is going in my suitcase.”
As Thane checked the final line items with the venue techs, Jonah and Rico tested lighting angles while Maya practiced warmups in the hallway. Outside, fans were already lining up — some in costume, a few holding glowing signs, and one dressed head-to-toe like a Dutch folklore werewolf, wooden shoes and all.
Mark glanced through the security cameras and gave a low whistle. “They really love their wolves out here.”
“And we love them back,” Thane murmured, watching as the Amsterdam sun began to dip lower over the sparkling canal just beyond the loading dock.
It was the last show of the European tour.
Time to make it count.