The sun had dipped low enough to bake the Saints into silence. Their failed side-stage set had wrapped with a sad, sputtering cover of their only semi-viral song, played to a grand total of twelve disinterested campers and one dude selling corn dogs.

Backstage, tension buzzed hotter than the desert air.

Bret stormed into the shared artist tent, still shirtless, still sweating, and now sporting a visible sunburn that made him look like a cooked shrimp in distressed denim.

Gabriel was mid-laugh with Maya and Jonah when the flap whipped open. His ears twitched.

“Oh hell,” Maya muttered.

Bret stomped up, voice already raised. “I don’t care how many drones or light shows or goddamn howling fans you’ve got—you’re a gimmick. Nothing but claws, eyeliner, and PR stunts.”

Gabriel’s smile didn’t budge. He just leaned back against a gear crate, arms folded, icy blue eyes locked on target. “Aw, Bret. Rough crowd out there today?”

“Go to hell,” Bret snapped, pointing a finger in Gabriel’s face. “You’re just a flavor of the month. You’ll burn out and the world’ll forget you.”

Gabriel gave a slow, infuriating grin. “If we’re so forgettable, why are you this mad we played after you?”

Bret turned scarlet — partly from rage, partly from the sunburn — and shoved Gabriel in the chest.

And that’s when it happened.

Not a punch. Not a brawl.

Just one sound.

A deep, guttural, warning growl.

From right behind him.

Bret froze.

Very slowly, he turned.

Thane was standing there.

Six-foot-two. Muscular. Broad. Brown-furred with flecks of gray. Clawed hands half-curled, ice-blue eyes glowing faintly in the filtered light of the tent.

Not saying a word.

Just watching.

The growl rumbled again, just under his breath — low and ancient and undeniably predatory.

Bret’s finger dropped. His bravado crumbled like a dry leaf.

Mark appeared in the background holding a sandwich and muttered, “That’s what happens when you run bad code on a garbage system.”

Gabriel leaned in, just a breath away from Bret’s face, and whispered, “You’ve got five seconds to walk away. Or I let him finish the sentence.”

Bret backed up. Fast.

He almost tripped over a folding chair on the way out. Someone near the stage curtain snickered, and a crew member who’d caught the whole thing on their phone immediately started uploading it.

The video would later be titled:
“When You Step To The Pack… And The Pack Steps Back.”

A moment later, Mark took a bite of his sandwich and grunted, “Ten bucks says that clip hits a million before midnight.”

Gabriel grinned as he clapped Thane on the shoulder. “You didn’t even raise a claw.”

Thane just shrugged. “Didn’t have to.”