The next evening found the band tucked backstage at a mid-size theater in Peoria, Illinois. Load-in had gone smooth, soundcheck was wrapped, and dinner was still a couple hours off. Outside, the crowd was already starting to line up. Inside, the green room was dim and quiet, lit mostly by a warm lamp in the corner and the faint glow of someone’s laptop left on standby.

Jonah sat cross-legged on the couch with a worn notebook in his lap, absently flipping through half-scribbled lyrics and snare exercises. Gabriel was curled up on a beanbag in the corner, barepaw and lazily twirling a Sharpie in one clawed hand, tail swaying with each slow breath.

Cassie was the one who broke the silence. She looked up from her chair, where she’d been absentmindedly strumming Rico’s backup acoustic guitar.

“So,” she said. “That night in the clearing? I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Rico nodded from the floor, back against the wall, arms resting on his knees. “Same. I kept hearing this melody in my head last night. Been trying to figure out where it came from, and I think it was Mark humming.”

Mark, who had been pretending to nap with his arms crossed and one paw on the edge of the gear crate, opened one eye. “Wasn’t humming. Just breathing funny.”

Gabriel chuckled softly. “Well, your haunted breathing is inspiring as hell.”

You stood nearby with your tablet tucked under one arm, monitoring backstage comms, but listening with half an ear as the vibe shifted. Something was happening—slow, organic. The kind of shift that usually meant a song was about to be born.

Cassie started plucking a quiet progression in D major—bright but soft, warm and reflective. Jonah tapped gently on the couch cushion in time, mimicking kick-snare patterns without making a sound. Gabriel sat up a little straighter, his Sharpie forgotten as he watched the chords unfold.

Cassie sang, almost more to herself than anyone else.

“The world gets loud…
but stars don’t speak in screams.
They whisper like we’re worthy,
of forgotten little dreams…”

Jonah scribbled furiously. “Say that again—the stars don’t speak in screams.”

She smiled and kept playing.

“We chased our lives through city lights,
but found the truth in pine and flame.
The fire crackled, kept us warm,
and made us say our real names…”

Mark slowly sat up. “Bridge should drop to silence. No drums. Just layered harmonies and one guitar.”

Rico raised a brow. “You’re contributing lyrics now?”

Mark smirked. “I’m contributing vibe.”

Gabriel was next. He softly sang backup on the chorus as it began to form, his deep voice wrapping around Cassie’s lead like smoke curling through starlight.

“Field notes from the stars—
scribbled on napkins and scars.
We learned the sky’s not that far,
when you’ve got fire and hearts and guitars…”

Rico hummed a countermelody under it, and Jonah leaned forward to tap out a rimshot rhythm on the wooden armrest. Even Maya drifted in quietly from the hallway and sat on the floor, mouthing along, eyes bright.

Thane watched it all—their fingers, their faces, the way it just clicked. The chaos of the haunted show, the silence of the starlit night, the freedom of the road—it was all becoming something real. Something worth preserving.

At the end of the first full run-through, no one spoke. The last chord rang out and faded.

Gabriel finally whispered, “Okay, I’m obsessed.”

Mark grunted in agreement. “Let’s record it. Now. Before it vanishes.”

Thane hit STOP on his phone’s recorder, then backed it up immediately to cloud storage and two different thumb drives. “Already on it.”

Cassie looked around the room. “We’ll save the wild songs for the big crowds… but this one? This one’s ours.”