The bus was quiet again that night—peaceful in the way only a post-chaos tour bus could be. The engine hummed softly as it rolled through the outskirts of town, the stars high and bright above Ohio.

Jonah sat curled up in the back lounge, hoodie pulled over his head, earbuds in. He wasn’t listening to music, though.

He was playing a voicemail.

“Hey baby… it’s Mama. I saw the newspaper. Your daddy saw it too—he didn’t even finish his coffee, he just stood there starin’ at it like it was magic.”

Her voice trembled, warm and proud.

“We always knew you had somethin’ special in you, even when the pots and pans were dented and the neighbors complained about the noise. You gave us music when we didn’t have much else, Jonah.”

He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his mouth.

“And honey… what you did for your friends? That’s love. That’s the good kind of rich. Keep making noise, baby. The good kind. We’re behind you all the way.”

There was a pause. Then…

“Also, if you get this before you leave Columbus, stop by the house—I made those little peanut butter cookies you like. And tell that nice werewolf boy I said thank you.”

Jonah laughed, wiping his eyes.