Author: Thane Page 2 of 20

The sky over Louisville was gray with fog by the time the Feral Eclipse tour bus pulled into the shadow of the Lyric Crown Theater. Once a grand opera house, the massive stone building loomed over the narrow street like a forgotten relic, all cracked columns, broken gargoyles, and ivy-strangled cornices. It looked less like a venue and more like something out of a fever dream—or a haunted movie set.

Diesel parked with a low grunt, cutting the engine and peering out over his sunglasses. “This place looks like a Scooby-Doo episode.”

Gabriel bounded off the bus with his usual caffeine-charged flair, claws clicking on the stone ramp. “YES. YES. THIS IS SO HAUNTED. I CAN FEEL THE GOTHIC DRAMA IN MY FUR.”

Cassie stepped out behind him, squinting up at the cracked gargoyle above the main entrance. “If that thing blinks, I’m leaving you all here.”

Rico adjusted his hoodie, taking in the ornate but crumbling architecture. “Looks cursed. Bet the acoustics are phenomenal.”

Thane was already moving gear toward the backstage door when the venue’s stage manager—Toni—approached, clutching a clipboard like a holy relic. She was young but looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept since the Nixon administration.

“Hey, uh… heads up,” she said nervously. “This venue’s got some quirks. Don’t use dressing room four. Or the third stall in the basement bathroom. And… maybe don’t say the name ‘Victor.’”

Mark, who had just stepped down from the bus, raised a brow. “Victor?”

Toni paled instantly. “We don’t say that name here.”

Gabriel’s ears perked. “WE HAVE A NAME?! THIS IS OFFICIALLY A GHOST STORY!”

Backstage was dim and drafty. The load-in was slower than usual—not because the crew lacked energy, but because something about the building made every sound echo just a bit too long. The lights flickered in patterns Thane couldn’t replicate. The patch bay refused to save EQ curves, always sliding mysteriously to the left. Jonah’s snare head split right down the center during tuning, and Mark’s laptop restarted itself with a cue file labeled “VICTOR.WIP.” No one had created it.

Things escalated when Maya, fed up with the tension, marched straight to the forbidden dressing room and flung open the door.

It was already open.

No lights. No noise. Nothing inside except a dusty mirror with the words “Play it loud. Or else.” scrawled across it in lipstick.

Maya closed the door. “Nope.”

Still, when it came time to perform, the band did what they always did—they pushed through.

Gabriel swaggered onto the stage with his bass slung low, a smirk on his muzzle and no fear in his soul. “THIS ONE’S FOR OUR INVISIBLE VIP!” he shouted toward the balcony. “IF YOU’RE DEAD AND YOU KNOW IT, CLAP YOUR CHAINS!”

The house lights blinked. Twice. Perfectly timed.

Cassie shrieked, spinning in place. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

The crowd went ballistic.

The band poured everything into the set—Jonah hammering the drums like he was trying to summon fire, Rico shredding through the weird electrical interference, Cassie belting like she was holding back the afterlife. Thane worked the mix board like a battlefield medic, compensating for phantom flickers and voltage dips. Even Mark, ever the stoic, cracked a smile when his lighting cues began syncing to something he hadn’t programmed—but that looked good.

When the last note rang out and the band staggered backstage, flushed and breathless, they collapsed into the green room chairs, laughing through the residual adrenaline.

“Victor’s got rhythm,” Jonah panted.

“I think he likes you,” Gabriel added with a grin.

Mark didn’t say anything right away. He stayed behind a few minutes to check his lighting laptop.

He had entered five cues during the final track.

There were six in the log.

The last one, labeled “Encore_Victor,” had fired a full strobe burst across the house, perfectly timed with Gabriel’s final bass drop and the entire venue illuminated in red-and-white.

Mark stared at the screen for a moment, then closed the laptop with a shake of his head.

“Victor’s got taste,” he muttered.

Two days after the EchoRidge miracle show, the bus rolled into Des Moines with something a little different on the itinerary.

No sold-out venue. No press junkets. No surprise concert chaos.

Just a quiet, unannounced afternoon at the Midtown Community Arts Center, a small space tucked behind a strip mall that smelled like paint, old folding chairs, and possibility.

The idea had come from Gabriel, unsurprisingly. He’d been scrolling through the avalanche of fan messages after the surprise festival gig when one caught his eye: a high school drumline kid from the south side who said, “I wish I could see you guys live, but I can’t afford tickets. Just watching your videos keeps me playing.”

It hit him like a thunderclap.

That same night, Thane and Gabriel made a few calls. Thane handled the logistics. Cassie pinged a nonprofit music ed group in Iowa. Jonah sent a message to a local school’s band teacher. And within 24 hours, it was on.

Feral Eclipse wasn’t just passing through Des Moines.

They were showing up.

---

That afternoon, fifty kids—ranging from shy middle schoolers to cocky high school seniors—stood nervously in the front lobby of the arts center, not quite sure what to expect.

Then the doors opened.

And Gabriel bounded in like a caffeinated freight train. “ALRIGHT, YOU LITTLE ROCKSTARS! WHO’S READY TO BLOW OUT SOME EARDRUMS?!”

The place exploded.

The rest of the band filtered in behind him, all dressed casually, no stagewear, no spotlights—just the crew, sleeves rolled up and ready to hang. Jonah was instantly mobbed by five kids with makeshift drumsticks who wanted to know if he really learned on trash cans. (“Yes, and yes, they make awesome snares if you tape ’em right.”)

Mark drifted to the back row of the group and knelt beside a quiet kid eyeing the lighting truss. “You ever run a board before?”

The boy shook his head.

“You’re about to.”

Cassie hosted a Q&A, fielding questions like, “Do you get nervous?” and “What if my parents don’t think music’s a real career?” Her answers were honest, fierce, and comforting all at once. (“You show them it is. Or do it anyway. Sometimes it’s both.”)

Thane ran a mini masterclass in sound tech basics, letting a few eager teens try adjusting the monitor mix as Gabriel and Rico jammed a stripped-down version of Into the Fire. He even printed out copies of a stage patch layout and let them rearrange it “as if they were running the show.”

One girl—barely twelve—asked Gabriel if she could touch his bass. He knelt down, handed it to her, and said, “Only if you promise to show me up someday.”

She held it like a holy relic.

---

By the end of the afternoon, everyone had autographs, selfies, and that wide-eyed buzz that only happens when dreams seem suddenly real.

As the band posed for a giant group photo in front of a paper banner that read “Feral Eclipse Welcome to Des Moines!”, one of the kids looked up at Jonah and whispered, “I didn’t think people like you came back for people like us.”

Jonah smiled, that same soft, proud look he’d worn in Columbus.

“Always,” he said. “We never forget where we came from.”

The next morning, as the sun rose over the EchoRidge backroads, the Feral Eclipse tour bus was already humming down the highway again—half the crew still asleep in their bunks, the other half groggy from too much firepit storytelling and not enough rest.

Gabriel, however, was wide awake. Naturally.

He sat cross-legged on the couch with a laptop balanced on his knees, hair still a mess, sipping espresso out of a mismatched diner mug that said “Don’t Talk to Me Until I’ve Soundchecked.” He clacked away at the keyboard, then turned the screen toward Thane and Jonah, who sat nearby.

“Okay. This is either too sappy… or just sappy enough. Tell me what you think.”

---

[Official Feral Eclipse Post – Shared to Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, TikTok, the tour blog, and a flyer someone taped to Diesel’s bunk door]

🖤🎸 To everyone who came to EchoRidge… 🥁🐾

We found out the festival was canceled just before we arrived. Permits pulled, vendors gone, half the stage left half-built.

But when we looked up and saw you still showing up—still driving in, still wearing our shirts, still bringing that pack energy—we realized something:

A stage isn’t what makes a show.
The fans do.
You did.

You turned an empty field into the loudest, wildest, most unforgettable gig we’ve ever played. With folding chairs and car batteries. With passion and mud and some kid waving a tail-shaped flag like it was a battle cry.

You reminded us why we do this.

From the first downbeat to the last howl, we weren’t just performing—we were home.

Thank you for believing in us, even when the power went out.
Thank you for showing up, even when the stage fell through.
And thank you for being the kind of people who hear a cancellation and think, Nah—we’re going anyway.

The festival didn’t happen.
But the music?
Oh, it happened.

See you again soon.

🖤
– Thane, Gabriel, Mark, Jonah, Cassie, Maya, Rico, Diesel, and the ever-hungry coffee machine

#EchoRidgeUnplugged #FromThePack #FeralEclipseLiveAnyway #WeBuiltThatStageWithSpiteAndLove

The Feral Eclipse tour bus rumbled off the highway onto a dusty county road, rolling past hand-painted signs that read “EchoRidge Festival – This Way!” in bright neon colors. They were somewhere in the middle of Iowa—near the edge of a town so small the welcome sign literally said “Welcome to EchoRidge – Population: Depends Who’s Home.”

The crew was in great spirits, still riding the high from Columbus.

Gabriel was bouncing from seat to seat, pulling out outfits from the “absolutely necessary stage flair” drawer. “I swear the flannel looks more grunge than country—Thane, back me up!”

Mark deadpanned from behind his lighting console. “You could wear a trash bag and the crowd would still love you.”

Diesel leaned forward slightly from the driver’s seat as the first sign of the venue came into view—a big open field with a half-assembled stage… and a whole lot of nothing.

No food trucks. No vendors. No crowds.

No festival.

He slowed the bus to a stop and tilted his sunglasses down. “Uh… guys? We might have a situation.”

The crew poured out, fanning across the grassy lot as Thane walked up to the only person in sight—a frantic guy in a headset pacing by the stage scaffolding and muttering into a phone.

“Hey, man,” Thane called. “We’re Feral Eclipse. Load-in was supposed to be an hour ago?”

The guy nearly dropped his phone. “Oh—no no no. You didn’t get the email? The whole thing was canceled. City pulled the permits. Noise complaints, parking problems, you name it. We tried to get word out but…”

He gestured helplessly at the field.

“We didn’t think anyone would still show up.”

Cue the low rumble of an engine. Then another. Then ten more. Cars and beat-up pickups started rolling in, parking on the grass. Teenagers piled out wearing homemade Feral Eclipse shirts. Someone dragged out a camp chair and a cooler. A kid unfolded a cardboard sign that said “WEREWOLVES FOREVER.”

And the best part? Someone had already set up a tiny merch tent beside the porta-potties. With your faces hand-painted on a banner strung between two hockey sticks.

Jonah jogged up, breathless. “Uh… there’s like two hundred people coming down the road.”

Gabriel’s eyes lit up. “Thane. Permission to go feral.”

You looked at the empty stage frame, the crowd forming, the fans who showed up anyway.

You nodded. “Let’s make a festival.”

Mark grabbed a power tap and started tracing the nearest panel. “We’ve got enough juice from the bus to run half the rig.”

Thane was already hauling cables. “Good. Then we run it dirty.”

Cassie shouted to the scattered techs and volunteers, “If you can lift a mic stand or plug in a monitor, we need you! Let’s build this!”

Within thirty minutes, the parking lot turned into a festival.

The Feral Eclipse crew pulled out every trick in the book: mobile rigging from the bus, powered speaker towers lashed to folding scaff, a backup lighting sequence Mark loaded on a spare laptop, and Jonah’s kit set up directly on the flatbed trailer they towed behind the bus.

And then… it happened.

The downbeat hit. The crowd screamed. EchoRidge Unplugged was born.

Thane ran sound from the bus, cigarette lighter inverter powering the mixer. Mark’s lights cut through the early dusk like wildfire. Jonah pounded the drums like he was exorcising every canceled gig from the past year. Cassie’s vocals soared across the cornfields. Gabriel flung himself into the crowd, barepaw, tail swishing like a flag of victory.

It was chaos. It was raw.

It was perfect.

Later that night, as the sun dipped below the trees and the last echoes of feedback faded into the evening air, the band sat in lawn chairs beside a smoking fire pit someone built out of bricks and a traffic cone.

Gabriel raised a bottle of soda. “To canceled festivals.”

Jonah clinked his bottle back. “And bus generators.”

Thane looked out across the field, where exhausted fans were still lingering near the merch tent, too happy to leave. “We made something out of nothing.”

Mark nodded, arms crossed. “We made Feral Eclipse out of nothing. This is just another gig in the legend.”

The tour bus rumbled lazily through the quiet neighborhood streets of Columbus, just a few blocks from where last night’s surprise concert had rocked the rec center. The morning sun painted the modest homes in warm gold, each one with neatly trimmed yards, old trees, and the occasional porch swing still swaying from the early breeze.

Jonah stood near the front of the bus, shifting from foot to foot, clearly trying to figure out how to ask something without sounding awkward. You were at your usual spot by the front, going over routing with Diesel.

“Hey, Thane?” Jonah finally asked, hesitating. “Do you think we could… maybe swing by my folks’ place before we head out? It’s literally just a few streets over. My mom texted earlier and said she made those cookies I used to obsess over. She wants to meet you guys.”

He didn’t even get a full breath in before Gabriel’s voice tore through the bus.

“YES. YES. COOKIES. YES.“

He appeared in the stairwell like he’d teleported, black fur fluffed out from too much caffeine, holding two mugs of espresso like they were holy relics. “Thane says yes. Thane loves cookies. We all love cookies. THIS IS HAPPENING.”

Thane gave Jonah a long, knowing look. “Apparently it is.”

Diesel chuckled from the driver’s seat, already flipping the turn signal. “Alright, drummer boy. What’s the address?”

Jonah scribbled it on the back of a laminated backstage pass and handed it up. “It’s on Verner Street. Beige house, green trim, tire swing in the yard.”

Diesel grinned. “Got it. Somebody prep the cookie tray. I’m calling dibs.”

The bus crept along narrow streets, the massive vehicle drawing a few curious glances from residents sipping morning coffee on porches. Jonah’s heart raced as they turned onto Verner. The house was exactly how he remembered it—modest, two-story, old siding, flower pots on the front steps, and the faded tire swing hanging from the maple tree where he used to practice his fills with sticks and a busted trash can lid.

His mother was already standing on the porch, hands on her hips, apron still dusted with flour, and a wide smile spreading across her face.

The second Jonah stepped off the bus, she was down the stairs in a flash, arms outstretched.

“Jonah! Look at you!”

They hugged tight, Jonah practically folding in on himself like he was ten years old again. “Hi, Mom…”

“You’re too skinny,” she said immediately, fussing with his hoodie. “You need to eat more. You better bring all those nice people in this house. I baked three batches!”

Gabriel had already disembarked, bouncing like a puppy. “HELLO, I AM THE COOKIE ENTHUSIAST. I WILL BE RESPECTFUL, BUT ALSO I AM HERE FOR SUGAR AND LOVE.”

Jonah’s mom blinked at him for two seconds, then beamed. “You must be Gabriel.”

“I am, ma’am, and I love your son like my own family.”

She clasped both his clawed hands. “You come in. You sit down. You’re getting the first plate.”

Thane followed them down the steps, smiling warmly. “Mrs. Hanson, I’m Thane. I’m the band’s tech and sound engineer.”

“Ohhhh you’re the one who knows how to fix things,” she said with a wink. “You’re getting extra cookies.”

Behind him, Mark stepped down with his usual quiet presence.

She gave him a once-over and smiled gently. “You must be the one with the calm eyes.”

Mark blinked. “…Uh. Yes, ma’am.”

She waved them all into the cozy living room, where the scent of cinnamon, peanut butter, and chocolate filled the air like some kind of magical welcome spell. Plates of fresh, soft cookies were already stacked on the table, and mugs of hot coffee sat waiting.

Jonah sat on the couch beside his dad—who said little, but pulled him into a shoulder hug that said everything. They watched as the pack filled their house with noise and laughter. Gabriel dramatically praised every bite like a food critic. Cassie tried (and failed) to steal a cookie without getting caught. Diesel posted up in the kitchen doorway with a warm mug and said, “These cookies alone are worth the mileage.”

And Jonah… just sat there, soaking it all in.

His world. His people. His home.

It wasn’t just about being famous. It wasn’t about the article or the music.

It was this.

His mom, his dad, his friends, and his pack—were all in one place, laughing and eating and just being.

And for Jonah Hanson, the drummer from the block who never gave up…

It was perfect.

Meanwhile—back in the land of internet chaos—Dee’s TikTok post had officially detonated.

The video, simply captioned “When your hometown drummer makes it big and his werewolf friend corners your high school bully…”, opened with shaky camera footage of Travis yelling, followed by Thane stepping into frame like a boss out of a video game.

The audio was overlaid with dramatic violin and a bold subtitle:

“When the pack rolls in…”

Cut to Travis backpedaling, stumbling, and Thane crouching like an apex predator delivering a verbal warning so intense it might’ve scared the shadows off the sidewalk.

The final frame was Jonah walking off with his friends, mid-high five, and Thane in the background cracking his knuckles.

Within six hours, it had over 900,000 views and was climbing fast.

Comments flooded in:

🐺 “THANE IS A WHOLE VIBE. WHERE DO I APPLY FOR WEREWOLF PROTECTION???”

🥁 “Protect drummers at all costs.”

🔥 “This band is chaotic good and I would die for all of them.”

💀 “Not the ‘stage lights and headlines’ line… I CHOKED.”

And one commenter simply wrote:

“I didn’t know I needed a band of werewolves and humans who fight bullies and rock stages… but here we are.”

The Feral Eclipse official account reposted it with the comment:

“Don’t mess with the drummer. Or his wolf.”

Gabriel was howling with laughter by the time he saw it, tears in his eyes. “Thane, we’re gonna break the internet.”

Jonah just shook his head, blushing but grinning from ear to ear. “This is so ridiculous.”

Mark, watching from across the lounge, deadpanned, “Good. Now we know what to call the biopic.”

The bus was quiet again that night—peaceful in the way only a post-chaos tour bus could be. The engine hummed softly as it rolled through the outskirts of town, the stars high and bright above Ohio.

Jonah sat curled up in the back lounge, hoodie pulled over his head, earbuds in. He wasn’t listening to music, though.

He was playing a voicemail.

“Hey baby… it’s Mama. I saw the newspaper. Your daddy saw it too—he didn’t even finish his coffee, he just stood there starin’ at it like it was magic.”

Her voice trembled, warm and proud.

“We always knew you had somethin’ special in you, even when the pots and pans were dented and the neighbors complained about the noise. You gave us music when we didn’t have much else, Jonah.”

He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his mouth.

“And honey… what you did for your friends? That’s love. That’s the good kind of rich. Keep making noise, baby. The good kind. We’re behind you all the way.”

There was a pause. Then…

“Also, if you get this before you leave Columbus, stop by the house—I made those little peanut butter cookies you like. And tell that nice werewolf boy I said thank you.”

Jonah laughed, wiping his eyes.

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.

The next morning dawned cool and golden in Columbus, with the scent of dew still clinging to the sidewalks and birds chirping like nothing had happened the night before. But the rest of the city knew better.

Because downtown, every newsstand and gas station had the same bold headline plastered across the front page of the Columbus Dispatch:

“LOCAL KID MAKES GOOD: Surprise Rock Show Shakes Up Columbus Neighborhood”

And just beneath it, a photo that captured everything: Jonah mid-air behind the drum kit, mouth open in a yell, his sticks a blur—his old friends in the front row screaming with joy. Behind him, the stage glowed with amber lights, and the faint silhouette of Gabriel, Cassie, and Rico framed the chaos perfectly. In the corner, just barely visible, Mark’s lighting console threw out a flawless red flare.

The article spilled over into the second page, but Jonah stood in the gas station aisle frozen, holding the copy in both hands like it might vanish if he blinked. The bell over the door jingled behind him as Thane and Gabriel walked in, both still yawning, both holding fresh coffees.

Gabriel spotted him first. “Ayyy—local legend!”

Jonah turned slowly, still speechless. He held up the paper. “I’m on the front page. Of the actual newspaper.”

Gabriel leaned in and grinned. “Damn right you are.”

Thane smiled, sipping his drink. “That shot’s pretty epic, not gonna lie. Caught you right at the high point of that fill during Devour the Echo.”

Jonah blinked, overwhelmed. “This is so weird. I used to deliver this paper. Like, that was one of my first jobs.”

Thane chuckled. “Full circle. Now you are the headline.”

They each grabbed a copy, and Jonah bought three more—”for Mom, for Dad, and for the fridge.” The cashier grinned as they checked out. “My cousin lives three blocks from that show. Said it was the loudest thing to hit the neighborhood since Fourth of July. You guys were awesome.”

Back on the bus, everyone passed the paper around while they ate breakfast. Cassie read excerpts aloud between bites of cereal.

“…A crowd estimated at over 2,000 gathered on short notice as the nationally-renowned band Feral Eclipse appeared unannounced in a free performance outside the Windsor Rec Center. The band’s drummer, Jonah Vega, is a native of the area and credited the community with ‘raising him on rhythm and hope.’”

Jonah groaned and buried his face in a pillow. “Did I actually say that?!”

Gabriel grinned, “You did. It was adorable. You had barbecue sauce on your cheek, too.”

Maya leaned over the couch with a teasing grin. “Y’know what this means, right? You’re famous and emotionally available. You’re doomed.”

Jonah shook his head, laughing. “I hate you all.”

But he was glowing. Radiating pride. Because this wasn’t just about being in the spotlight. This was about being seen—not as a celebrity, but as a kid from the block who made it, and who never forgot where he came from.

The night had begun to wind down.

Back at the gazebo, the laughter still echoed—Thane chatting with Jonah’s friends, Gabriel locked in a heated debate over espresso versus soda with Dee, and Cassie teaching two kids how to shout into a mic without blowing their vocal cords. It was warm, easy, real.

But Jonah had slipped away.

The tour bus was quiet and cool, lit only by the soft glow of the overhead LEDs and the occasional blink of standby gear. He padded up the steps in his worn band hoodie, still smelling faintly of stage sweat and barbecue smoke. He wasn’t sure why he’d come back—maybe just needed a breather from the emotional overload.

As he made his way toward the back lounge, something caught his eye.

Thane’s laptop sat open on the small table near the kitchenette, left behind in the flurry of post-show activity. The screen was still lit. Spreadsheet open.

Jonah glanced at it without thinking… and froze.

Rows of line items. Equipment rental. Venue permit. Temporary stage lighting. Audio truck. Power drops. Catering. Crowd control. Comp passes. All broken down and totaled in meticulous detail.

$110,432.17.
All labeled under the show’s code: “COL-1 / Surprise Hometown Gig.”

His mouth went dry.

“Hey.”

Jonah startled slightly, turning to see Mark standing near the bunks, arms folded, backlit by the blue glow of the exit light. He hadn’t even heard him come in.

“You okay?” Mark asked, quietly.

Jonah looked back at the screen. “You guys paid over a hundred grand to do this show?”

Mark walked in slowly, settling into one of the nearby seats with that same unreadable expression. “Yeah. We did.”

Jonah shook his head. “Why? You could’ve just told me to suck it up and wait for the Columbus leg on the next tour. That would’ve been way cheaper.”

Mark shrugged. “Could’ve. Didn’t want to.”

Jonah sat down heavily across from him. “This… this wasn’t just a favor. That’s —” He gestured helplessly at the screen. “That’s tour-level money. That’s lighting, trucking, insurance, gear. You guys brought everything. For one show.”

Mark looked at him, quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Because you needed it.”

That simple. That matter-of-fact.

“You give your heart every time you hit the kit. You never complain, never flake, never phone it in. You bleed for this band. Gabriel noticed it first. You were off. You needed a win.”

Jonah’s throat tightened. “But I didn’t ask for this.”

“Exactly,” Mark said. “That’s why it mattered.”

There was silence for a few beats, just the soft hum of the fridge and the click of the cooling fans. Jonah leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

“I… I don’t even know how to say thank you for that.”

“You just did,” Mark replied with a rare smirk. “Besides, Thane’s the one who moved heaven and earth to book that site in two days. Gabriel nearly fought a venue manager over parking. You want to thank someone, start there.”

Jonah looked back at the spreadsheet, then to the bus door.

“…I’ll start with all of them,” he said softly.

Mark nodded once. “Good. But tonight? You enjoy what we built. Because you earned it.”

Jonah stood slowly, shoulders lighter than before. “Thanks, man. For noticing. For caring.”

Mark leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Don’t mention it. Just keep playing like you did tonight.”

Jonah chuckled. “That was me holding back.”

“Liar.”

They both smiled.