The studio looked slick on the outside—black glass, chrome trim, downtown LA vibes with just enough edgy graffiti to feel “underground.” Inside, it was all LED backlighting and faux-hipster charm. Shelves stacked with vinyl, a few scattered awards on the wall, and one oversized sign above the booth that read: LOUDER THAN WORDS – With Jax Ryder.

Gabriel eyed it as they walked in, his ears twitching slightly. “Louder than words,” he muttered. “That sounds… subtle.”

Thane gave a soft growl under his breath. “Yeah. Subtle like a trapdoor.”

Jax Ryder greeted them with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Slick hair, high-end sneakers, and the smugness of someone who thought they knew the music world inside and out. “Feral Eclipse! What’s up, legends? Wolves in the booth today, huh? Hope you don’t shed on the mic.”

Gabriel grinned politely. “Hope your questions don’t shed their professionalism.”

That earned a chuckle from the producer, but Jax just waved them in like they were walking into a wolf-proof cage.

The pack took their seats. Thane and Gabriel at the mics, Mark behind them off-camera, casually sipping a bottled water. Jonah, Cassie, Rico, and Maya hung back near the glass window, just in case things got weird.

And they did.

The first ten minutes were fine—talk about tour life, musical influences, what it was like being literal werewolves in a human-dominated industry. But then Jax started poking.

“So, Thane,” he said, leaning forward, “you used to be a system engineer, right? Lotta folks online say you were just another tech bro who lucked into viral fame. What do you say to the people who think this band is a gimmick built on claws and eyeliner?”

Thane didn’t even blink. “I say they’ve never heard us live.”

Gabriel chuckled. “Or stood too close to the pit.”

Jax smirked. “And Gabriel—there’s been a lot of… speculation. Some people think you play up the ‘sensitive werewolf’ angle for clout. That the whole kid-with-the-bass story was staged. You wanna clear that up?”

The air snapped tight.

Thane’s eyes narrowed. Mark slowly uncapped his water bottle like he was imagining how best to pour it into Jax’s laptop.

Gabriel leaned in, ice-blue eyes suddenly far less friendly.

“That kid’s name is Leo. He’s real. So is the Ernie Ball I gave him. So is the show he rocked in front of fifteen thousand fans. You wanna call that staged?” He paused. “I’ll happily put you on the guest list for the next one. Front row. You can ask him yourself.”

Jax hesitated, but only for a second. “Okay, okay, fair. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve—”

“No,” Thane interrupted, voice like thunder. “You meant to go viral off our backs. It’s cool. That’s your job. Ours is to make music that breaks bones and builds legends. Guess which one lasts longer.”

Mark, still behind the glass, held up a phone. On it? The live fan chat. Hundreds of comments were pouring in. “Jax just got wrecked.” “Protect Gabriel at all costs.” “Thane’s voice just ended a bloodline.”

The producer leaned in, panicked. “Can we, uh… maybe pivot?”

Gabriel grinned wide. “You mean roll credits?”

Thane stood up, slow and deliberate, his claws tapping once on the edge of the soundboard.

“We’ll send you a thank-you card. This one’s gonna trend for days.”

By the time they hit the van, the clip had already gone viral. Fans were posting reaction videos. Someone remixed Thane’s “guess which one lasts longer” line into a synth drop. The show’s subreddit was locked due to overwhelming traffic.

And somewhere, deep in LA, Jax Ryder sat in a silent studio, realizing he’d just been steamrolled by the pack.

Never muzzle a wolf.

Especially not on their own mic.