Sunlight filtered through dusty windows as Day Two dawned at Moonrise Soundworks. The studio air was thick with the smell of old wood, coffee, and just a hint of ozone from last night’s overworked amps. Outside, the van sat silent, but inside — the pack was howling.

It was like something had clicked overnight.

Rico nailed a solo on the first take. Not just nailed — obliterated it. His fingers blurred on the fretboard, and even the crusty engineer muttered, “Okay, that was disgusting. Next track.”

Maya followed with rhythm that locked in like concrete. She didn’t miss a beat, her timing flawless, her scowl daring anyone to suggest a retake. “Do it again?” Thane asked through the glass. “Only if you want it worse,” she shot back.

Jonah was a blur behind the drum kit — headphones askew, hair wild, eyes laser-focused. He finished one thunderous fill, paused just long enough to throw a drumstick at Gabriel, then launched into the next track without missing a beat.

Cassie stood in the vocal booth with one foot up on a crate, headphones on, sleeves rolled, eyes closed. Every note she delivered rang out like it belonged on a stadium stage. Powerhouse doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Gabriel was pure chaos and glory on the bass. He played lying on the floor, hanging upside down from the amp stack, and at one point, balancing on a rolling stool for absolutely no reason — and every take was still gold. “Do you ever not stick the landing?” Thane asked during playback.

Gabriel just winked. “I’m a werewolf. We’re built for precision.”

And Thane — Thane was in his element. Clawed hands flying across the soundboard, headphones on, eyes flicking between meters and waveform readouts. He coaxed every last ounce of tone out of each track, fine-tuning mic placements, pushing the compression just enough to growl, and snapping fingers for silence with authority.

Mark had moved in, too — not to play, but to perfect the mood. He’d commandeered the studio lighting. The lamps were gelled and angled just right, bathing the tracking room in deep reds and midnight blues. He even synced a fog machine to the click track during one playthrough. No one asked why. It worked.

By the end of the day, twelve songs were fully tracked.

No missed takes. No drama. Just pure, wild synergy. It was like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times — only they hadn’t. Not like this. Something about the room, the energy, the moment — it had all come together.

The engineer leaned back in his chair, blinking in disbelief. “I’ve been doing this forty years,” he said slowly. “That… was one of the tightest, cleanest, most amazing sessions I’ve ever seen.”

Gabriel looked at Thane. Thane looked at Mark. Mark just sipped his soda.

Cassie cracked a grin. “We’re gonna need a huge merch table.”