A month passed.
The first steel beam had risen under a gray February sky. Now, in mid-March, the entire skeleton of the Feral Eclipse Den stood proud against the prairie horizon—an angular crown of concrete, steel, and ambition. Roofing had begun, outer walls were forming, and the bones of the main hall were finally visible. The scale of it was staggering.
What had once been just a wild pack dream was now half-built and very, very real.
And of course… there had been chaos.
There was the time Rico brought his vintage Stratocaster to test the stage acoustics—on a slab that hadn’t cured yet—and sank up to his knees in semi-solid concrete while still playing the solo from “Rattlesnake Serenade.”
Or the morning Jonah installed a fog machine in the break trailer “for mood,” only to set off every smoke detector on-site while Mark was deep in a delicate lighting configuration. Mark didn’t speak to Jonah for six hours after that, a personal record.
Gabriel had used his hardhat as a cereal bowl. Twice. It was now banned from the break area entirely.
Maya had tried to paint the backstage corridor before it was finished framing. Cassie had somehow gotten into a full-blown argument with a porta-potty delivery guy over parking etiquette. Diesel rescued a feral kitten from under the bus and named it Earl. Earl now rode everywhere on his shoulder like a pirate familiar.
And through all of it, Thane tracked every detail—every blueprint revision, every invoice, every permit deadline. His tablet barely left his hand. His ears only twitched occasionally now, which the others took as a sign of emotional growth.
The fan hype hadn’t cooled, either.
Local radio stations had jumped on board within days of the groundbreaking press storm. One of the major rock stations—97.5 KZLF “The Rig”—had launched an official contest series: “Den In Progress – Win a Walkthrough With the Wolves!”
Each week, three fans were chosen for exclusive hardhat tours of the construction site… personally guided by the pack.
It had gone about as smoothly as one would expect.
That Thursday, the midday tour group stood near the south loading bay, eyes wide, jaws slack with awe.
A teenage girl with purple streaks in her hair clutched a phone in both hands, her camera set to record as Gabriel gestured grandly at the still-exposed concrete floor.
“This is where the rave tunnel will start,” he said confidently, pointing at an entirely nonexistent space behind an electrical conduit. “It’ll wind under the main stage and lead to the secret Moonlight Bunker—acoustically optimized for midnight howling and post-show parties. Thane says it’s still ‘in concept phase,’ which is code for ‘he doesn’t know how to stop me.’”
Thane, walking behind the group with his tablet in hand and his expression already beginning to darken, muttered, “That is absolutely not what that means.”
The teenage girl gasped. “There’s gonna be a rave tunnel?!”
“Shhh,” Gabriel said dramatically, holding a clawed finger to his lips. “It’s underground knowledge.”
“No, it’s not,” Thane cut in, stepping forward. “Because it’s not a thing. There is no tunnel. There will never be a tunnel. This is where the cleaning supply closet goes.”
Gabriel winked. “Yeah. That’s what we call it.”
The girl squealed.
Thane’s ears went back.
Mark sighed.
And then someone cleared their throat with great municipal authority.
The inspector had arrived.
His vest read CITY OF EDMOND – ZONING AND COMPLIANCE, and his expression suggested he’d just smelled something dead in the air. Which, to be fair, might’ve been the grilled onions Diesel was cooking on a portable burner.
He adjusted his glasses and looked directly at Thane. “We received an anonymous tip that unapproved underground structures were being built under the venue?”
Thane’s eye twitched so hard it almost counted as Morse code.
“No,” he said firmly. “There are no tunnels. No hidden bunkers. That was—” he glared back at Gabriel “—creative storytelling.”
“’Rave tunnel’ was the exact phrase used,” the inspector replied.
Gabriel raised a paw. “I’d like to clarify it’s not a rave tunnel, per se. More like a celebratory mood corridor with aggressive lighting and potential basslines.”
The inspector’s face was rapidly approaching ‘pulled muscle from frowning’ territory.
Thane stepped in fast, tablet raised, fingers already tapping through permits. “Here are our approved plans, sir. Every beam, slab, and trench—up to code, nothing subterranean except standard drainage.”
The inspector took the tablet and reviewed it carefully.
Mark slid up beside Thane and added helpfully, “Also, if we were gonna dig a secret tunnel, we wouldn’t have told a radio contest winner.”
The girl beamed. “That’s fair.”
The inspector handed back the tablet. “Well. I’ll be filing a note about misinformation being given to guests during city-monitored construction, just for the record.”
Thane nodded. “Understood. And we’ll be having a… very serious conversation about appropriate tour content.”
Gabriel turned to the girl and whispered, “We’ll let you in the back entrance when it’s done.”
“Gabriel,” Thane warned, ears twitching again.
“I said nothing,” Gabriel said, haloed by the grin of someone absolutely planning to hide disco lights in a mop closet.
The tour ended uneventfully after that, with Gabriel moved to “support crew” and Jonah taking over the walkthrough. He somehow got them all to chant “BEAMS BEFORE DREAMS” in front of the camera.
That night, back at the den, Thane collapsed on the couch with his tablet face down and a pillow over his head.
Diesel tossed him a soda. “Tunnel plans safe?”
“For now,” Thane muttered.
Mark walked by holding a notebook and added dryly, “We’ll just hide the tunnel under the tunnel.”
Thane didn’t even move. “Mark, please.”
“I’m kidding,” Mark said.
Pause.
“…Mostly.”
Thane groaned into the pillow.
Somewhere across the room, Gabriel whispered to the kitten on his shoulder, “We’re gonna need more glitter.”