The warm glow of a low campfire flickered across the edge of the motel parking lot — not because they lacked shelter, but because the pack just preferred the open air. Something about the stars overhead and the smell of woodsmoke made even the most mundane nights feel primal and alive. The motel rooms were decent enough, but this was better. More them.

The rumble of distant traffic blended with the low strum of an acoustic guitar — Rico noodling around half-distracted while Maya shuffled a dog-eared deck of cards. Jonah and Cassie were deep in a heated argument over whether marshmallows should be charred or golden-brown perfection.

Thane sat on a folding chair, legs outstretched, claws tapping idly against a metal cooler. Mark leaned beside him against the van, arms crossed, a can of Dr. Pepper slowly warming in his paw. They were quietly going over the tour plan again, lit by Thane’s phone screen.

“We’ve got plenty of buffer left,” Thane muttered. “Even after the gear haul. Should take us all the way to California and back if we’re smart.”

“Assuming Gabriel doesn’t try to buy every weirdo pedal he finds between here and San Diego,” Mark said with a grunt.

As if summoned by name and chaotic energy, Gabriel flopped down beside Thane, practically radiating excitement. His tail thumped against the cooler like a living percussion line.

“So. Idea time,” he grinned.

Thane groaned. “Nope.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“I can smell the disaster on your breath.”

Gabriel leaned in, muzzle close. “Let’s hit a studio. A real one. Like… actual mics. Isolation booths. Soundproof dreams, baby.”

Thane blinked. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I mean, kinda, yeah,” Gabriel beamed. “But imagine it! This band? Right now? We’re tight. We’re fire. We’re a storm with claws. Lock it in. Make a record that melts faces and sells merch. That gets us heard.”

Mark crossed his arms tighter. “You’re talking thousands of dollars for studio time.”

“Yep!” Gabriel chirped. “And we’ve got it. And Thane — you — get to do this right. Finally. No duct-taped mics. No screaming over a generator. Real gear. Real you.”

Thane narrowed his eyes. “Flattery’s not a budget line item.”

Gabriel shifted in closer, nose-to-nose. “Then consider this a bribe.” He leaned in and gave Thane a slow, affectionate lick across the cheek. “Please, my wolf?”

Thane exhaled like a man giving up his last nerve. He looked at Mark. Mark rolled his eyes so hard it was audible. Maya smirked and shrugged. Rico gave a thumbs up without pausing his playing. Cassie had already started brainstorming album names on her phone.

“…Fine,” Thane growled. “But I’m picking the studio. And we’re setting a damn limit.”

Gabriel howled with delight and tackled him into the dirt.