Backstage at Werewolf Day at the Plaza was about as organized as a dropped burrito.
The “green room” was the former storage closet of a Bath & Body Works. Half the band was perched on plastic folding chairs, the other half pacing around trying to find their gear among a mountain of promo boxes, crumpled banners, and one extremely panicked mall intern in a headset.
“WHY ARE THERE TEN BOXES OF GABRIEL BALLOONS?!” Cassie shouted, digging through a stack of merch with a marker between her teeth. “WHERE IS MY MIC?!”
“I told them no balloons,” Gabriel moaned, watching his own face drift past the door on a cartoon helium wolf-head. “It’s so round. I look like a squeaky meatball.”
Maya nearly tripped over a crate labeled “Jonah Temporary Tattoos – Glitter Version” and just snarled, “Who authorized this?”
From the far corner, Jonah—now shirtless and wearing half a cheap inflatable wolf mascot costume—popped his head out and said, “I did!”
“Take that off!” Mark growled, clutching the lighting cue sheet like it personally insulted his ancestors. “You’re shedding foam everywhere.”
“I thought it’d be festive!”
“It’s traumatizing!”
Thane, seated calmly with his arms crossed, tried not to smile as he observed the utter breakdown unfolding in front of him. His claws tapped the side of a rolled-up audio cable in his lap.
Emily poked her head in, camera in hand. “Hey, so the mall manager just asked if we could extend the show another 30 minutes… because the churro cart got knocked over again and apparently they need ‘time to mop.’”
Everyone turned slowly.
Rico blinked. “Why does that involve us?”
“Because fans tripped over the VIP rope trying to get autographs, and now there’s a cinnamon-sugar war zone near the pretzel stand.”
Mark stared at the ceiling. “We’re going to die here.”
Thane leaned over to Gabriel and muttered, “If I go missing, tell them I died doing what I loved—dodging inflatable versions of you.”
Gabriel bumped his hip. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it. Because you love it.”
Gabriel beamed. “Same thing.”
Just then, someone burst in breathless and panicked—it was Marcy the PR Director, flailing like a malfunctioning sprinkler system.
“THE SCAVENGER HUNT KIDS BROKE INTO CLAIRE’S. WE HAVE GLITTER EVERYWHERE.”
Cassie deadpan’d, “Cool. Let them open for us.”
Finally, just as the chaos hit its peak, a faint rumble shook the floor—fans chanting.
“FERAL! ECLIPSE! FERAL! ECLIPSE!”
Everyone froze. Then looked at Thane.
He stood slowly, cracked his neck, slung the coiled cable over his shoulder, and said with an utterly straight face:
“Let’s go break the mall again.”