It was just past noon, and the bus was parked along a tree-lined curb not far from the old rec center. Jonah had wandered a few blocks away, hoodie up, trying to clear his head after the rush of seeing himself on the front page. He still couldn’t quite believe it — his phone buzzing constantly with texts from cousins, old teachers, and kids he hadn’t seen in years.

He was sitting on a low brick wall across from the corner store when the voice hit him like a slap to the back of the neck.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Little Drummer Boy.”

Jonah stiffened.

He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The voice was all teeth — greasy, sarcastic, and dripping with the same venom he’d heard for years growing up.

Travis Bell. The one guy who never let him breathe in peace back in school. Bigger, older, always angry about something.

Jonah stood up, slowly, fingers clenched. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

Travis stepped forward, still built like a busted pickup — broad-shouldered, mean-eyed, wearing a stained tank top and an attitude twice his size. He held a copy of the Dispatch, now folded and crumpled like he’d rolled it up to swat flies — or egos.

“You think you’re some kind of big shot now?” Travis sneered. “Band’s just a bunch of freaks. You ain’t special. You just got lucky.”

“I worked for this,” Jonah said, voice low.

Travis stepped closer. “You got rich while the rest of us stayed stuck. Maybe it’s time someone knocked you down a peg.”

Jonah took a half-step back — and that’s when a low growl cut through the air.

Travis blinked.

Thane had appeared from behind the nearby bus, eyes locked on him, ears forward, and every inch of his tall, muscular frame radiating quiet, simmering power. His clawed hands were open, relaxed — but his stance said very clearly: not for long.

“Hey there,” Thane said, voice calm, cold, and not to be mistaken for polite. “You lost, or just stupid?”

Travis scoffed. “What, you his bodyguard now?”

Thane stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “No. I’m his pack.”

And then, without another word, Thane moved.

He didn’t hit him — didn’t need to. He closed the gap in a heartbeat, and suddenly Travis found himself face-to-face with an alpha werewolf who towered over him, eyes like glacier-fire, clawed hands flexing.

Travis stumbled back, tripped on the curb, and landed hard on the sidewalk with a yelp.

Thane crouched beside him, voice low and steady. “If you ever come near Jonah again — if you ever raise your voice at him, lay a hand on him, even think about making him feel small — you’ll wish the only thing you had to deal with was stage lights and headlines.”

Travis scrambled back on his hands, heart pounding, sweat beading on his forehead. “Y-you’re crazy —”

Thane gave the smallest, most terrifying smile. “You don’t want to see me crazy.”

With that, he stood up, dusted off his jeans, and looked back at Jonah. “You okay, drummer?”

Jonah exhaled slowly, chest tight. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”

Thane nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

But before they could head back to the bus, voices called out from nearby.

“Yo, JONAH!”

Three of his old friends — Marcus, Luis, and Dee — jogged up the sidewalk from the direction of the library, phones still in hand.

“We saw that, man!” Luis was already laughing. “Did you see his face?! He looked like he peed a little!”

“Dude,” Marcus added, slapping Jonah on the back, “You’re a rockstar and now you’ve got your own werewolf security detail? You’re living in a comic book!”

Dee held up her phone. “This is absolutely going on TikTok. With dramatic music.”

Jonah let out a breath and finally, finally smiled.

Marcus grinned. “Saw the paper. We’re proud of you, bro. All of us.”

Jonah blinked fast. “Thanks. That… that means a lot.”

Thane gave him a little nod. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to the pack.”

They walked off together, Jonah’s friends in tow, still talking, still laughing. The air felt lighter. The sun a little warmer. And the old fear — the shadow that had followed him from childhood—was finally behind him.

Where it belonged.