he black tour van cruised down the Pacific Coast Highway like it belonged there—sunlight bouncing off its glossy wrap, windows cracked to let in the salt air, the roar of the ocean competing with whatever chaotic playlist Jonah had synced to the van speakers. Spirits were high. The West Coast stretch of the tour was already shaping up to be a victory lap, and the van practically vibrated with anticipation.

“Next stop: Long Beach,” Cassie called from the passenger seat, holding her phone up triumphantly. “Sold out. Again.”

Gabriel gave a delighted whoop from the middle row and kicked his clawed feet up onto the back of Thane’s seat. “Dude. Four in a row. I told you this coast would hit different.”

Thane glanced back at him with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just hope Vandal Saints didn’t follow us all the way here to throw another tantrum.”

“They did,” Maya said flatly, not even looking up from her phone. “They’re opening tonight. Again.”

Mark, from the back row, groaned. “I swear if that frontman tries to flirt with the merch girl again I’m lighting something on fire.”

The van erupted in laughter.

Backstage at Long Beach Arena, the atmosphere was tense and electric. Crews buzzed around with cables and clipboards, lights pulsed in time with the bass during soundcheck, and down the corridor… Vandal Saints strutted in like they owned the place.

Their frontman wore the same faux-leather jacket and resting “I’m the main act” face he always did—despite once again being the warm-up show. The rest of the band looked like they knew it, too.

They spotted Gabriel and Thane near the stage-left loading ramp. The singer gave a mock-salute.

“Don’t worry,” he sneered, “we’ll leave the crowd warmed up for your little dog and pony show.”

Gabriel didn’t even look up from his phone. “Do your best, man. I’m sure someone out there remembers who you are.”

Mark choked on his soda.

Thane stepped forward, slow and steady. “Here’s a tip — when the crowd leaves halfway through your set, don’t assume they’re going to the bathroom. They’re just bored.”

The frontman muttered something under his breath and stalked off, the rest of the band trailing behind with the energy of men walking toward their own funeral.

When the lights went down for the opening act, Vandal Saints took the stage to scattered cheers and polite applause. They hit their first few songs hard—visibly trying to command the crowd—but it wasn’t working. The pit barely moved. Phones stayed down. One by one, fans drifted out for drinks, merch, or to find their seats.

The final nail came during their last track, when a group near the front started a slow chant:

“FE-RAL! FE-RAL! FE-RAL!”

And it caught.

The Saints tried to play louder. It didn’t help. By the time their last chord hit, over half the arena was either at the merch tables or chanting for the headliners.

Then came the wolves.

Feral Eclipse hit the stage like a thunderclap. The light show was blistering. The first chord nearly knocked the roof off the place. Cassie’s voice was raw power and fire. Maya and Rico danced their solos across the stage with effortless precision. Jonah’s drumming hit like an earthquake.

And Gabriel? He owned the stage.

He howled into the mic during the first breakdown of “Run With Me,” and the crowd howled back—ten thousand strong. Fans waved homemade flags and foam claws. A giant sign near the front read:

“OPENING ACT? NEVER HEARD OF ‘EM.”

From his position near the mixing rig, Thane caught it and smirked. He didn’t even need to look at Gabriel to know the grin on his face.

After the show, the band crashed in the green room—sweaty, hoarse, and high on adrenaline. Gabriel scrolled through his phone, laughing uncontrollably.

“You guys. Someone filmed the Saints walking off stage early. They were so mad.”

He flipped the phone around. A TikTok showed the Saints trudging offstage to light boos and scattered applause.

Thane leaned against the doorframe, claws casually folded over his arms. “They thought they were lions. Turns out they’re just housecats in eyeliner.”

Gabriel licked Thane’s cheek without looking away from his phone. “C’mon, let’s go make the next city cry.”

Mark grumbled from the couch. “Can we at least stop for tacos first?”

The whole room cracked up. Outside, the crowd still hadn’t left the parking lot.

The wolves were rising.

And the road ahead was wide open.