6:47 PM – Backstage – Lone Star Pavilion

The sun had dipped just far enough to cast a warm amber glow across the concrete and rigging steel. The crowd outside was roaring—an ocean of fans stretching across the amphitheater and spilling past barricades and into the hills beyond. Thousands of voices in perfect chaos. A storm waiting for the lightning strike.

Backstage was weirdly quiet.

It always was, right before showtime.

Cassie adjusted her in-ears in the mirror, took one last look at herself, and whispered, “You got this.” Not to hype herself up—but to remind herself she already did.

Maya tuned her guitar for the tenth time, just to feel the strings hum under her fingers. Her fingers drummed lightly against the neck in anticipation, almost like a purr.

Rico leaned against a lighting truss, sipping something neon out of a tour mug and quietly nodding along to the rhythm of the crowd’s chant.

Jonah sat cross-legged on a flight case, sticks balanced on his knees, bouncing slightly. Not from nerves. Just from the overflow of whatever lived inside him—equal parts chaos and music.

Mark was in his zone, headset on, watching cue lights blink across his control tablet. The lighting trusses were armed. The fog machines were probably cooperating. He’d done everything he could.

He was just waiting for Thane’s signal now.

Backstage-left, near the curtain, Thane stood quietly, hands on his hips, eyes closed for just a second. No one said anything. Not yet.

Then Gabriel stepped up beside him, silent for a moment too, then bumped their shoulders together.

Thane opened his eyes and exhaled. “You ready?”

Gabriel gave a grin that was too calm to be fake, too feral to be practiced. “Always.”

“Showtime’s big.”

Gabriel glanced toward the crowd. “They’re bigger.”

Thane’s voice dropped a little. “Nervous?”

“Always.”

He paused, turned to face Thane fully.

“…But you’re here. So it’s fine.”

Thane’s jaw twitched just slightly—not from tension, but something softer. He reached out, curled his clawed hand briefly around Gabriel’s.

“Let’s give ’em a reason to believe.”

Gabriel squeezed back. “Let’s make ’em howl.”

Emily stepped in quietly. “Five minutes.”

Everyone gathered—humans, wolves, claws, cables, chaos and calm.

Cassie tossed a mic into the air and caught it one-handed. “Let’s burn this city down.”

Jonah shouted, “SOUNDTRACK TO THE APOCALYPSE, LET’S GOOOO—”

Rico slapped the back of his head. “We agreed no fire metaphors near the pyros.”

Maya smirked. “Let’s make some noise they never forget.”

Mark’s voice buzzed through the comm: “Cue lights in sixty seconds. Lock it in.”

The lights dimmed outside. The roar of the crowd reached a fever pitch.

And just before stepping into the blinding brightness of the stage, Thane looked at his pack—every soul who made this band real.

And said:

“Let’s go make them feel something.”