It started innocently enough.

After the show at The Emberline, Thane had insisted on booking one night in a proper hotel. Not a roadside dive, not a van nap, not a shared room with questionable stains — but a real hotel. Five stars. Marble floors. A chandelier in the lobby. Bellhops that looked like they’d rather be at Harvard.

The front desk staff visibly hesitated when they saw the pack strut in, still in ripped jeans, fur tousled, claws visible, and gear bags slung over their shoulders like chaos grenades.

“Do you… have a reservation?” the concierge asked slowly.

“Feral Eclipse,” Thane said, handing over the card. “Three rooms. One night.”

There was a pause. The woman at the desk blinked. Then gasped.

“Oh my god. You’re the band my niece won’t shut up about. You’re the wolves from WXRF last night!”

Gabriel winked. “Guilty.”

🛏️ Midnight – The Presidential Suite (why not?)

Rico was lounging on a leather couch like a king, sipping complimentary champagne from the bottle.

Maya was jumping on the bed while blasting their demo tracks from a Bluetooth speaker.

Cassie had found the minibar and was aggressively reorganizing it by ABV.

Jonah was doing something involving a hairdryer, a banana, and the fire alarm.

Gabriel was shirtless and trying to convince a pair of bathroom mirrors to reflect him “like a cool album cover.”

Mark had locked himself in the other bathroom muttering, “I’m too old for this,” while Thane was half buried under a pile of scattered cables, trying to fix the in-suite TV sound system to run a mix playback.

Then came the knock.

A mob of fans — mostly teens and twenty-somethings — had figured out where they were. The door cracked open and a flood of people immediately burst in like wolves in heat.

“OH MY GOD IT’S GABRIEL!”
“CASSIE, I LOVE YOU!”
“JONAH SIGN MY ARM!”
“IS THAT THE ALBUM MIX?!”
“WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BANANAS?!”

Security tried to intervene. Tried. But Thane had accidentally overridden the room lock with a DAW controller and a patch cable. By the time the staff showed up, Gabriel was giving a selfie tour of the suite, two girls were braiding Maya’s hair, and someone had accidentally set a small fire in a trash can trying to light a candle with a stage lighter.

☕ Hotel Breakfast Buffet, 8:37 AM

Somehow, miraculously, the band made it to breakfast.

Thane looked like he’d slept for five minutes on a broken guitar case.

Mark was drinking black coffee with the thousand-yard stare of someone who had seen things.

Gabriel? Bright-eyed and shirtless under his jacket, still wearing the room service towel around his waist like a royal sash.

Fans were already there. Word had spread. A group of sleep-deprived superfans had infiltrated the buffet line, carrying Sharpies, posters, and the occasional hotel napkin.

“Oh my god, Gabriel, please sign my toast —”

Someone had taken a bite out of it. He signed it anyway.

“Excuse me,” a frazzled hotel manager said to Thane, “we do not normally allow public meet-and-greets at the waffle station.”

“We’re not normally awake at breakfast,” Thane replied, deadpan.

As if on cue, the pancake machine exploded.

Everyone turned.

Jonah stood frozen, syrup bottle in hand. “…It told me to press both buttons.”

🧳 Check-out – Later That Morning

“We’re banned, aren’t we?” Maya asked, dragging her suitcase out through the shattered revolving door.

“Indefinitely,” Thane confirmed, walking beside her with one hand over his eyes.

Mark sipped the last of his hotel coffee. “They gave us a three-star Yelp review as guests. That’s impressive.”

“Still worth it,” Gabriel said, pulling on his shades with a grin. “One more show like that and we’re not just Feral Eclipse. We’re legend.”

Cassie looked around at the crowd still camped on the sidewalk, waving signs and wearing merch.

“You know what?” she said. “I think we already are.”

The tour van pulled away from the curb, wrapped in midnight black and clawed decals, leaving behind a swirl of glitter, fire damage, and the faint scent of burnt waffles.