The city of Los Angeles sprawled below like a glowing tapestry of streetlight and possibility. From the 24th-floor rooftop of the Ritz-Carlton, the world seemed distant — muffled by height, softened by starlight.

The wind tugged gently at Thane’s fur as he sat cross-legged near the railing, head tilted back to the stars. Mark had set up two small portable uplights, casting a warm glow that flickered across the band’s silhouettes like firelight. There were no fans here. No photographers. Just them.

And Rowan.

The boy who once wandered up during a street performance in a public plaza—shy, wide-eyed, clutching his dad’s hand—now sat right in the center of it all. He’d traded that old, oversized Feral Eclipse T-shirt for a brand new one, but the wonder in his eyes hadn’t changed.

He lounged between Gabriel and Jonah on an oversized beanbag chair someone had dragged up from the media room, cradling a chilled root beer. His sneakers didn’t even touch the floor.

“Ready?” Cassie asked, strumming a soft chord.

“Always,” Gabriel said, glancing at Thane. “You rolling?”

Thane tapped the compact camera rig Mark had mounted to the terrace railing. “Rolling since sunset.”

The first gentle chords of “Echo Burn” floated into the warm rooftop air. Cassie’s voice was stripped bare in this space—no stadium echo, no wall of sound. Just honesty and breath and feeling.

Rico layered in bluesy accents on a travel-sized electric, while Jonah tapped rhythm gently on a cajón drum. Gabriel didn’t play. He just leaned into Rowan’s shoulder, softly keeping time by tapping a clawed finger along the edge of the bass body. The boy never looked away from the band.

When the last note faded, a hush fell over the rooftop.

Rowan swallowed hard. “That… was better than the concert.”

The band laughed—not at him, but in full agreement.

“You get it,” Thane said, scooting closer and draping a blanket over the boy’s shoulders. “This? This is the real stuff.”

Gabriel lowered his muzzle beside Rowan’s ear. “You started this,” he said gently. “Never forget that.”

They played two more stripped-down songs. One of them was “Run With Me,” slowed to a lullaby pace, and when it ended, Mark was already back inside, loading footage into his editor.

“This rooftop set’s going to break the internet,” he muttered with a rare grin. “And it damn well should.”

The rest of the band stayed. No one wanted to move. Not yet.

Above them, the stars were silent. Below, the city glowed on.

And in the middle of it all, the boy who believed in them first fell asleep against Gabriel’s side — dreaming not of idols or heroes, but of the pack he’d helped build.