The van finally rolled to a stop at a lonely rest area just over the Mississippi state line. The air was thick with dew and silence—no traffic, no lights, just the soft whirr of the van’s cooling engine and the occasional chirp of night insects.

Gabriel slumped sideways in the bench seat, a trail of dried blood near his ribs. “We need, like… a spa. Or a salt lick. Or both.”

Cassie handed him a first aid kit. “You’re furred. How do you even bruise?”

“I don’t,” he groaned. “I just get sore in my soul.”

Jonah was curled up in the back with an ice pack clutched to his head and a bag of mini donuts on his chest. “You know what hurts? Pride. Also my elbow.”

Thane stood outside, crouched next to an open side hatch, inventory clipboard in one paw, brow furrowed. Mark hovered beside him, flashlight in one hand, chewing silently on a toothpick. The light glinted off the fur on his muzzle as he made slow, deliberate checks of the gear racks.

“Sub snake’s gone,” Mark muttered, marking it with a short scribble. “That’s fifteen hundred.”

“Power distro box,” Thane added grimly. “Another twelve hundred.”

Mark grunted. “Couple lights, maybe more. We were lucky to get out with the board and mains.”

“Yeah,” Thane muttered. “Lucky.”

He sat back on his haunches, claws curling around the clipboard, frowning hard. Gabriel appeared behind him, silently easing down into the grass beside him. “How bad?”

“Five grand. Minimum. Maybe more if the monitors got cracked.”

Gabriel let out a slow whistle. “Well. That’s almost exactly four grand more than we’ve got.”

Cassie poked her head out from the side door, face half-lit by the interior dome light. “We could sell Jonah’s drum kit?”

“Over my dead body,” came the groan from inside.

Gabriel snorted. “Honestly, they’d probably just try to stuff you in a cage again if you tried to pawn it.”

Thane didn’t laugh. Not really. He just stared at the clipboard like it personally offended him.

Mark finally broke the silence. “We did the right thing.”

Thane didn’t look up. “Doesn’t mean we can afford it.”

Mark tossed a small roll of electrical tape onto the rack and stood, dusting his paws off. “Nope. But broken gear’s better than broken pack.”

There was a long pause before Thane gave a low, tired exhale through his nose. “Yeah.”

Gabriel leaned his head gently against Thane’s shoulder, letting their fur mingle in the dark. “We’ll figure something out. Sell shirts. Busk. Rob a bank.”

Cassie: “Honestly, I’d pay good money to watch you try to sweet-talk a loan officer.”

Gabriel tilted his head dramatically. “‘Hi, sir. I’d like a small business loan for my totally legitimate rock band—ignore the claws and glowing eyes.’”

Rico, half-asleep in the passenger seat, muttered, “We could do another sketchy gig. Just not one hosted by cultists this time.”

Maya piped up from inside, dry as ever: “No basements. No velvet curtains. No freaks in red suits.”

Thane finally cracked a faint grin.

He stood, stretched, and looked up at the fading stars. “Alright. Sleep while you can. Tomorrow… we hunt down an audio supplier who takes pity payments.”

Gabriel grinned up at him. “Or we start charging for backstage cuddles.”

Thane rolled his eyes and climbed back into the van. “We’d still be broke. You give those away for free.”

Gabriel huffed, mock-offended. “Only to you.”