The sun had barely crested the skyline when the van rolled into Sacramento, golden light stretching across the R Street Corridor like a warm hand pulling them in. The buildings around Ace of Spades stood aged but proud—industrial bones turned holy ground for music. It wasn’t massive like the stadiums they’d hit, but that was the charm. This place was raw. Tight. Intimate. The kind of venue where every drop of sweat felt earned and the roar of the crowd didn’t just echo—it pressed into your skin.

The crew moved like clockwork. Gabriel backed the van into the tight alley behind the club, cutting the engine with a satisfied thrum. Inside, the venue was already humming with energy—sound techs double-checking cable runs, bartenders prepping the taps, and a quiet rumble of diehard fans starting to line the block outside.

Mark stepped in first, surveying the place like a conductor walking into a symphony hall. “Oh yeah,” he murmured. “This’ll do nicely.” He was grinning before he even powered up the rig, already mentally syncing the LED bars to pulse with every beat, every guitar squeal, every drop of Cassie’s voice.

Gabriel stood near the back of the stage, bass cradled lovingly against his chest, his tail flicking with nervous energy. “Feels electric,” he said to Thane, who was tightening the last truss clamp on a fog machine.

Thane gave a small nod, eyes scanning the empty floor that would soon be full of sweat, screams, and sheer love for the music. “They’re gonna eat us alive. In the best way.”

Backstage, Maya was already pacing like a wolf in a cage while Rico leaned casually against a wall, fine-tuning his guitar’s intonation. Jonah beat out a warm-up rhythm on his knees, and Cassie stood by the door, eyes closed, humming a final vocal scale. The pack didn’t need hype. They were the hype. All of it bristling just beneath the surface, ready to detonate the moment the lights dropped.

When the house finally went dark and the low rumble of the crowd hit a crescendo, a hush washed through the venue. Then—pop. Pyro flared from the stage wings. Mark’s LEDs flared blood red, then dropped to blue in time with the drum roll. And then Gabriel stepped forward, voice like thunder crashing through velvet.

“Sacramento,” he roared, “are you awake tonight?!”

The crowd didn’t answer—they howled.

What followed was an hour and a half of pure feral fire. The band tore through every song with the confidence of seasoned warriors, tight as ever, moving in sync like a single beast. “Wolves Awake.” “Deadlight Serenade.” “Echo Burn.” Maya and Rico played off each other like fire and gasoline, while Jonah’s kit became a war drum guiding the storm. Cassie’s vocals pierced everything—sometimes gentle, sometimes savage, but always commanding.

Somewhere mid-set, Gabriel slowed the energy, easing the crowd into a hush. Alone with his bass and a single spotlight, he plucked the opening to “Run With Me,” looking out over the sea of faces. A hand-painted sign near the front caught his eye: “Rowan, we miss you.”

He smiled, voice soft but steady. “This one’s for a young wolf who helped us get here.”

Thane glanced sideways but didn’t say a word. Everyone in the band knew what that moment meant. And as the chorus rolled in, the fans sang louder than the amps. It wasn’t just a performance. It was pack.

By the end, they had nothing left in the tank. Gabriel tore into the closing notes of “Howlcore” like his strings were made of fire, while Cassie and Jonah led the final drop. Pyro flared again, smoke filling the rafters. The howl that ended the song echoed for what felt like minutes after they took their bows.

Back in the alley, slumped against the tour van, the band sat in silence for a moment—steam still rising from their skin, hearts still pounding.

“Small room,” Thane said finally, pulling off his headset and shaking out his fur. “Huge energy.”

Gabriel leaned back and let out a breathless laugh. “Just the way I like it.”

Mark stood nearby, tapping a few final commands into his tablet before slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “This code rocks. Literally.”

Cassie stretched, bones popping. “This town… damn.”

And from behind the wheel, Maya just revved the engine once and said, “Where to next?”

The pack didn’t answer. They didn’t need to. The music would lead. The pack would follow. And the world wasn’t ready for what came next.