The Edmond den was unusually quiet for midmorning. Not the kind of quiet that came from exhaustion, but the kind that felt intentional — like the air itself knew not to speak out of turn.
No one had touched an instrument since the pack got back from Europe. The stage gear was still in the bus cargo bay, untouched. Thane had polished his console rack twice out of habit. Gabriel had, somehow, not set anything on fire in over twenty-four hours.
The silence settled over them like fog.
Thane stood barepaw in the grass just off the back steps, arms crossed, eyes locked on the idling black tour bus in front of the den. He didn’t hear Mark come up behind him — just felt his presence, steady and solid as always.
“I’ve been thinking,” Thane said quietly.
Mark made a soft grunt in reply. He didn’t push. That was how they worked.
Thane’s claws twitched slightly. “We’ve been to Gabriel’s past. I’ve stood on Cape Cod sand. Watched Jonah in Florida chaos. But we haven’t gone back for you.”
Mark’s posture didn’t shift, but something in the air did. Tighter. Closer.
“I want to see where your story started,” Thane continued. “And where it ended, for them.”
Mark didn’t speak, but Thane could see it — just under the surface, the stormclouds gathering behind those dark brown eyes.
“I’m not asking for the whole story. Just… a chance to honor it. With you.”
A long moment passed. Then Mark’s shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. He nodded.
“Then we go to Titusville,” he said, voice like gravel and sorrow. “and then, we stop in Erie. That’s where they’re buried.”
On the Road Again
By early afternoon, the bus was rolling north. No fanfare. No livestreams. No mentions to the press. Just the pack and the hum of the diesel engine.
Diesel had his favorite flannel shirt on and a travel mug clutched in one hand as he handled the wheel with practiced ease, sunglasses perched low on his nose. He didn’t say much — just gave a small nod when Thane told him where they were going. That was enough.
Gabriel dozed in a booth near the front, curled against the window with an empty coffee mug clutched in both paws. Maya sat cross-legged on the floor with her headphones in, nodding to a silent beat. Jonah was fiddling with a broken cymbal stand, muttering, “It’s gonna live, dammit.” Rico quietly played chords on a travel guitar in the back lounge, just enough to fill the air with something soft.
Cassie watched out the window, eyes a little red. She knew better than to ask Mark questions right now.
Thane rode shotgun, watching the road and occasionally glancing back at the rest of the pack.
Mark stood for most of the ride. He wasn’t pacing — just shifting from spot to spot. Sometimes at the front, sometimes at the back, sometimes watching out the side door window like he was looking for something long gone.
As the terrain changed and the greenery of Pennsylvania began to rise up around them, he finally settled in beside Thane, arms folded, gaze heavy.
“Church is still standing,” Mark said after a long silence. “Emanuel Lutheran. My dad served there seven years.”
Thane glanced at him. “You want to stop?”
Mark nodded once. “I think I need to. Just for a minute.”
Emanuel Lutheran Church, Titusville, PA
Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the stained-glass windows of the old church, casting jewel-toned shadows across the lawn. The bus pulled into a small gravel lot tucked behind a community center that had seen better days.
The building itself was modest but proud — white-painted siding, a tall, pointed steeple, and a wooden sign with weathered gold lettering that still read Emanuel Lutheran Church.
Mark stepped off the bus and froze.
Thane was behind him instantly but didn’t speak. He just stood beside his old friend, watching the emotions pass behind that hardened face.
Mark’s claws twitched. “He gave them everything,” he murmured. “Every sermon, every hospital visit, every single Sunday. Rain or shine. He buried their dead. Married their kids. Showed up in the middle of the night with soup and prayers when someone got sick.”
Thane didn’t speak. Just listened.
Mark’s jaw set. “And then… one day, the board called him in. Said he was being let go. Just like that. It wasn’t his sermons. It wasn’t the people. Just… politics, maybe. Power plays. No one ever told him why.”
He walked toward the front steps of the church. The doors were locked, but he placed a hand on them anyway, claws clicking softly against the wood.
“He never preached the same again. He never said a bitter word, either. He just… came home and sat in the kitchen with Mom. In silence.”
Mark turned to face the pack, who had hung back near the bus, quietly giving space.
“My dad was the most faithful man I ever knew,” he said. “And that place broke him.”
He stepped back, exhaled slowly, and turned to Thane.
“But it doesn’t get the last word.”
Thane nodded. “No. It doesn’t.”
Mark looked toward the horizon. “They’re waiting for us in Erie.”