The night after the haunted theater show, the band found themselves with a rare off-day and no pressing schedule. Thane had spotted the campground while scanning routes on the bus map—a quiet, tree-lined state park nestled on a hill just outside of Bloomington, Indiana. No towns. No streetlights. Just a blanket of woods, a clearing big enough for the bus, and the kind of stillness you can’t buy backstage.

Diesel pulled the rig into the grass parking area and killed the engine with a sigh. “Y’all are gonna love this. Nothing out here but crickets, trees, and maybe a possum or two with attitude.”

Thane was already out of the bus, clawed feet in the grass, sniffing the air like it was better than coffee. “Perfect.”

The others trickled out, stretching, yawning, surprised by how good it felt to not have anywhere to be. Jonah immediately started pulling out a small folding fire pit and a lighter. Rico grabbed a cheap acoustic guitar from the gear trunk. Gabriel—armed with a thermal mug and an energy bar—wandered off a few yards to lay flat on the ground, arms out like he was trying to become one with the sky.

Mark was the last out, holding a flashlight, which he promptly turned off once his eyes adjusted. “No light pollution,” he muttered. “Haven’t seen a sky this clear in years.”

They set up a little camp in the clearing—chairs in a rough circle, a few pillows from the bus tossed down, and a fire beginning to crackle in the center. The forest around them hummed gently, and the stars above stretched endless and quiet.

Cassie was the first to break the silence after they settled. “We don’t do this enough.”

“Sleep outside?” Rico asked, tuning his guitar.

“No. Stop.” She leaned back and stared at the stars. “Just… stop.”

Thane sat nearby, arms resting on his knees, eyes reflecting the fire. “Feels earned, doesn’t it?”

Jonah nodded from across the fire, poking at the flames with a stick. “We’ve been running non-stop for months. Big venues. Big noise. This?” He gestured around. “This feels real.”

Gabriel rolled onto his side and grinned. “We should do this more often. Camp out. Tell scary stories. Hunt cryptids. Interview a raccoon.”

Cassie tossed a pebble at him. “You are the cryptid, furball.”

They laughed. Easy. No stage. No pressure.

Mark sat still, eyes skyward. “When I was a kid, I used to sneak out just to stare at the stars. City light always drowned them out. But out here?” He pointed. “That’s Orion. And the Pleiades. And if you wait twenty minutes, you’ll see a satellite.”

Jonah leaned back, mouth twisting in a thoughtful smile. “We should write a song about this.”

Gabriel, ever the chaotic muse, sat up suddenly. “Field Notes From the Stars. That’s the title. No takebacks.”

Thane chuckled. “Only if the bridge has crickets in the background.”

Rico began picking a soft, drifting melody on the guitar. The notes carried through the trees like wind-blown sparks. Jonah joined in with subtle, rhythmic taps on a box drum he’d dragged from the gear bay. The others hummed, quiet, thoughtful. It wasn’t a rehearsal. It wasn’t a jam.

It was… peace.

And for a while, none of them spoke. They just played under the stars—firelight dancing off fur and skin, music drifting into the woods. A rare stillness, a shared breath.

Eventually, one by one, they drifted back into the bus, tired in the good kind of way.

Thane was last to head in, glancing up at the stars again, just to soak in one final moment of silence.

From behind him, Diesel spoke quietly, leaning on the bus railing. “Worth the detour?”

Thane nodded. “Yeah. One hundred percent.”

The door hissed shut behind them, and the night reclaimed the clearing—leaving only the cooling embers of a fire and a soft, fading melody on the breeze.