VIP check-in at TD Garden was buzzing — not from the usual corporate suits or sports fans, but from fans in leather, fur-lined jackets, and “NO CHAINS LEFT” tees, crowding the velvet ropes. Inside, the arena pulsed with pre-show electricity. Backstage, Gabriel, Mark and Thane were already preparing for soundcheck, the stage lights being dialed in, final EQ passes humming in the background.

At the front of the VIP line, a sour-faced woman stepped up to the counter, designer purse hanging from her elbow like it was allergic to public surfaces.

“Name?” asked the check-in rep, smiling despite the chaos.

“Gabriel,” the woman said, flatly. “I’m his mother.”

Behind her stood a sullen, skinny young man in mirrored sunglasses and a too-tight button-down: Nathan, Gabriel’s younger brother. He was texting with one hand, the other holding the VIP pass he clearly felt entitled to.

Also with them: Gabriel’s father, calm and warm, clearly proud. And his grandparents, slow-moving but dressed up, eyes wide as they stared around the gleaming concourse with cautious excitement.

The check-in staff tapped quickly, then smiled. “Yes, we’ve got six comped VIPs under Gabriel’s list. Wristbands, pre-show lounge access, and premium lower bowl seating.”

Gabriel’s mom sniffed. “Not suite level?”

The check-in person hesitated. “No, ma’am. Just what was requested.”

Nathan muttered, “Figures.”

Gabriel’s father stepped in, trying to keep it light. “It’s an honor to be here. I haven’t seen this place from the floor since a Dream Theater show in the ‘90s.”

His ex-wife rolled her eyes. “At least that was music.”

The rep smiled nervously and handed over the passes. “Enjoy the show.”

As they moved toward the lounge, Nathan grumbled, “This place smells like fried onions and sweat.”

“You’re not wrong,” Gabriel’s mom added, waving a hand in front of her face. “He couldn’t even give us a private box? He’s got the nerve to headline and treat us like fans.”

“You are fans,” came a voice behind them.

They turned.

Thane.

He’d just come up from backstage — unseen until now, silent as shadow and twice as sharp. He wasn’t growling. He didn’t need to.

He looked first at Nathan. “You came here because Gabriel invited you.”

Then to their mother. “You’re standing in the biggest arena in Boston because of him. You wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t still believe — for some reason — that you deserved to see him shine.”

Thane stepped closer, his voice quiet and unmistakably firm. “If that’s not enough for you… leave.”

Gabriel’s father cleared his throat awkwardly. “We’re proud of him. All of us.”

The grandparents nodded in agreement. His mom opened her mouth, but something about Thane’s eyes made her think twice.

Thane turned without another word and walked calmly back toward the tunnels.

Behind him, Nathan muttered, “Freakin’ wolfboy.”

Thane didn’t even flinch.