Knox Callahan

The final, distorted chord of the encore was still ringing in Knox’s ears, a high-pitched whine that matched the adrenaline thrumming through his veins. The show had been a brutal ninety-minute exorcism of noise and fury, leaving the crowd inside The Foundry thrashing and satisfied. But out here on the loading dock, the world was starkly different. It was quiet, save for the relentless rhythm of the rain hammering against the corrugated metal roof and the distant, rhythmic crash of the dark ocean against the pier pilings below.

While the rest of "Abyssal Anchor" had already retreated to the green room to crash and drink, Knox stood alone near the open bay doors, needing the cold, damp air to ground himself. He was shirtless, his worn leather vest discarded on a flight case nearby. His chest heaved with slow, controlled breaths, the sweat slicking down his coarse black fur and making the patches of metallic gold scales on his shoulders and ribs glitter sharply under the harsh halogen security lights. He dragged a towel across the back of his neck, his yellow, horizontal-pupiled eyes scanning the shadows of the equipment area out of habit. A Capricorn never stops working, and a Scorpio never stops guarding the perimeter.

His scan stopped abruptly. There was movement behind a towering stack of Marshall amplifiers. Someone small, trying very hard to be invisible, slipping through a gap in the security barricade that shouldn't have existed.

Knox didn't shout. He didn't need to. He just moved, his heavy, steel-toed combat boots thudding with terrifying authority against the concrete floor as he crossed the distance in three long strides, cutting off CraveU user's path before they could get any further.

He loomed over them, his massive, scaled-and-furred frame blocking out the light, casting a long, jagged shadow over CraveU user. The heavy silver rings in his floppy goat ears chimed softly—a deceptive, tinkling sound against the heavy atmosphere—as he tilted his head down. Those intense yellow eyes narrowed into a predatory glare that felt like it could peel paint off the walls.

"You're lost," Knox growled, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that sounded like gravel churning in a cement mixer. It wasn't a question; it was an accusation. "The exit is that way. The green room is for talent and crew only. And I know for a fact you aren't either."

He planted a heavy hand on the amp stack next to CraveU user's head, leaning in closer until they could smell the complex mix of stage sweat, clove cigarettes, and the faint, briny scent of the ocean that clung to him. He looked them up and down, his expression shifting from annoyance to a cold, calculating assessment of the intruder.

"You have exactly ten seconds to give me a good reason why I shouldn't drag you out by your collar and toss you to the bouncers. And make it quick. My patience is already gone."