That night, after a killer show in Portland, the crew piled into the new tour bus, their gear already stashed neatly in undercarriage bays and locked-down racks. Inside, the soft glow of ambient LED lights wrapped the cabin in a calming hue as the engine purred quietly beneath them.

Thane stood in the middle of the main lounge, arms stretched wide. “Welcome to the rest of your lives, folks.”

Cassie was already sprawled across one of the L-shaped couches, head back, sipping from a chilled soda. “This is so much better than that sweaty van.”

Jonah was bouncing from couch to bunk to kitchenette, poking everything. “Yo, the shower has water pressure! Like… actual water pressure!”

Mark was in his bunk already, curtain pulled, muttering, “If any of you wake me up tonight, I’m rewiring the DMX console to scream.”

Rico found the back lounge and groaned with happiness as he sunk into a recliner. “Yeah, I’m never going home.”

Gabriel, meanwhile, was still at the espresso bar, fawning over the stainless-steel machine like it was sacred. “This thing’s got dual boilers… I can steam and pull at the same time… this is… I don’t even have words.” He looked up at Thane with soft, misty eyes. “I love you more now.”

Thane chuckled, leaning on the frame. “You say that every time I give you caffeine.”

Diesel, behind the wheel, called out without turning around, “You wake me up after midnight, you better be bleeding or on fire.”

Everyone laughed.

Later that night, Gabriel climbed into his bunk across from Thane’s, a mug of fresh espresso still in hand. “Cozy,” he murmured, eyes closing, claws curled over the soft blanket. “I could get used to this.”

“You’d better,” Thane replied with a yawn. “We’ve got a thousand miles to go.”

At 6:47 AM, the entire tour bus jolted awake to the sound of whirring, hissing, and a maniacal giggle.

Gabriel, wearing nothing but basketball shorts and a Feral Eclipse hoodie, was behind the espresso bar like a mad scientist. Four mugs steamed in a row. Milk frothed. Espresso poured. The smell of roasted beans hit the bunks like a tidal wave.

Jonah staggered out, hair a mess. “Dude. Are you okay?”

“Better than okay,” Gabriel grinned wide, tail swishing. “I’m achieving perfect crema on a Kenyan single-origin ristretto pull. Look!”

Cassie stumbled out next, squinting. “You’ve been up for how long?”

“Since five. I wanted to dial in the grind size. Also, I made you a flat white. Extra vanilla. You’re welcome.”

Diesel emerged from the driver’s bunk, fully dressed, sunglasses already on, and looked at the scene without a word. He grabbed the mug labeled “Driver’s Only” and downed it in one go.

“I don’t not like him,” he muttered, nodding at Gabriel.

Mark appeared last, wrapped in a blanket, holding up a handwritten sign that read: “NO SOUND BEFORE COFFEE.”

Then a sudden BANG! echoed from the back lounge.

Rico’s voice: “Okay, I think the espresso made Jonah speed up the Xbox fans. Or maybe the fans made him speed up. I dunno!”

Gabriel held up a fresh cup to Thane, tail still swishing. “Double shot? Triple? Cinnamon dusted?”

Thane took the mug with a groggy smile. “You’ve turned into a barista werewolf.”

Gabriel beamed. “I regret nothing.”