The sun was already punishing by the time the Feral Eclipse crew began unloading the trailer behind the tour bus. The venue’s staff had promised “plenty of shade” in their email. That had apparently meant one small tree. Everyone ignored it.
Thane stood at the tailgate, clipboard in one paw, ears back in full “don’t test me today” mode.
Gabriel popped open the trailer’s main door and immediately winced. “Oh wow. Yep. That gear is definitely cooked. Can we get fireproof cases next time?”
Diesel grunted from the cab. “Y’all want fireproof, you better start headlining in igloos.”
Mark walked past with a coil of DMX cable slung over one shoulder, muttering, “Heatwave’s already made this a hostile work environment.”
The ramp groaned as it hit the concrete, and the pack got to work. Racks, lights, pedalboards, cases—every piece had its place. Even Jonah helped, which was unusual, though it mostly consisted of him wheeling one cymbal bag and announcing, “Look! I’m contributing!”
Maya had her guitar cases open like sacred relics, and Rico was already tuning while walking, multitasking like a pro. Emily sprinted past with her tablet, reading off the day’s checklist and nearly tripping over a cable.
Thane ducked into the trailer’s belly, pulled the fog machines forward, and called back, “If I see one more person step over a cable without taping it, I will turn this load-in into a group trust exercise with zip ties.”
Cassie walked past with a mic stand, smirking. “You keep threatening that, but I’ve never seen it happen.”
Gabriel poked his head into the trailer. “Thane, serious question: do you think if I climbed in there and just laid down among the drum cases, I could pass as cargo?”
Thane didn’t even look up. “Only if you stop talking.”