The show ended in a roar.

The final chord still rang through the air as the crowd surged forward, screaming for an encore that wasn’t coming—not tonight. The band had left everything on that stage.

Outside, the night was thick with heat and headlights. The venue staff tried to wrangle the crowd into a semi-orderly line, but it was like herding caffeinated wolves.

Fans swarmed the barricades. Phones out. Merch flying. Some crying, some laughing. All of them desperate for a handshake, a paw bump, a signature scribbled on a program or a hoodie or, in one case, someone’s cast.

The band was flushed and shining under the loading dock lights.

Cassie was signing shirts and fielding rapid-fire questions like a champ.
Jonah was doing awkward photo poses like he’d just discovered limbs.
Maya leaned coolly against a railing but smiled softly when a girl asked if she could get her guitar pick signed.
Mark was off to the side, quietly chatting with a few tech crew kids about lighting angles and fog densities—his version of celebrity.

Thane stood tall near the gear van, clipboard in paw, making mental notes but keeping close enough to Gabriel to watch his six.

And Gabriel?

Gabriel was soaking it up—high-fiving, grinning, letting fans drape over him like a rock star in full control of his domain.

But then he paused.

His ears flicked.

His smile faded—not in disappointment, but in recognition.

There, way back behind the dense crowd, almost too far to be seen unless you knew exactly where to look, was a small figure.

The boy.

His boy.

Straining to see. Eyes wide. Clutching a signed setlist like it was treasure. His dad stood behind him, trying not to push forward, respectful of the madness.

Gabriel didn’t hesitate.

“Hold this,” he said, shoving his water bottle into Thane’s paw.

Then he crouched—coiled—leapt.

Over the crowd. Over the barricades. Fans shrieked and gasped as the black-furred blur arced through the air.

He landed beside the boy, crouched low, tail whipping like a banner. The kid stared up at him in awe.

“You remember me?” the boy asked, shy and hopeful.

Gabriel ruffled his hair. “Remember you? I owe you everything!”

Then—with a practiced motion he’d used on Jonah more than once—he scooped the kid up, hoisted him gently onto his shoulders, and leapt back over the crowd.

The fans lost it.

Screaming. Laughing. Clapping.

Gabriel returned to the meet-and-greet line with his tiny passenger proudly riding high on his shoulders, holding his setlist like a war banner.

He didn’t set him down.

Not once.

For the entire post-show meet and greet, that little wolf pup got the full royal treatment. Fans took photos with both of them. Gabriel even let him sign a few autographs—tiny initials added next to his own.

When someone asked, “Who’s the kid?” Gabriel just said, “Band mascot.”

Thane chuckled under his breath. “We’re not putting that on the website.”

Later, as the crowd began to fade and the moon rose over the city, the boy hugged Gabriel’s muzzle and whispered, “Best. Night. Ever.”

Gabriel bumped his nose against the boy’s cheek and murmured, “Mine too, little wolf. Mine too.”