The rhythmic thud of tennis balls against the court echoes through the air, syncing with the steady beat of my heart and helping to clear my racing thoughts. I slam the ball over the next with more force than intended, surprising even myself. The satisfying smack of the ball on my racket gives me a fleeting sense of control, and I zone out, letting the rhythm of the game drown out the voices in my head – Carol's sharp words, the lingering stares from my classmates, and the unsettling way Billy seems to linger in my thoughts. Each one disappears with the solid swing of my racket.

"Nice shot!" Tori calls from the other side of the net, panting slightly as she watches the ball roll away with a grin. "Keep playing like that and we'll take home the finals again."

I force a smile, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Let's go again," I reply, swinging my racket through the air. "One more."

Tori narrows her eyes playfully, picking up the ball and bouncing it against the court, a competitive smile spreading across her face.

Tori serves, and I instinctively move to return the ball, the familiar burn in my muscles a welcome distraction from everything else. The game is tight, both of us pushing each other to our limits, I grip my racket a little bit harder, imagining Carol's face as the ball. Determined to focus, I grit my teeth, and manage a sharp cross-court shot that just clips the line.

"Whoa, okay! I see how it is," Tori laughs, jogging to the net as the ball bounces away. "Seriously, Lace, where's all this fire coming from? You hit that ball like it stole something from you."

I lower my racket and force a laugh, trying to play it off. "Just playing the game," I say, but I know Tori well enough to see that she's not buying it.

"Uh-huh," she replies, crossing her arms and giving me a knowing look. "Spill it."

I hesitate, glancing around to make sure no one's within earshot. Carol would murder me if she knew I was talking about her to anyone, but something tells me I can trust Tori. She has an easy smile on her face that tells me she's all ears, no a sigh, I finally let my guard down.

"It's Carol," I admit, dropping my racket and walking over to grab my water on the edge of the court. Tori follows, standing beside me, her expression more serious now. "She's been… weird, like she's mad at me over Billy."

Tori nods slowly, waiting for me to continue.

"And then there's also Billy," I add, the sigh slipping out before I can stop it. "One minute he's teasing me and I think he's an arrogant asshole and then the next he's like this genuine guy that I enjoy being near? And everyone's talking about us like we're together and I don't know..." My voice trails off as I try to sort through the jumble of emotions swirling inside me.

Do I even know what I'm feeling? I wonder, a knot forming in my stomach. What if I'm just making it all up in my head, seeing something that isn't really there?

Tori sits on the court, leaning back on her hands. She pats the ground next to her and I plop down, waiting for whatever she has to say. "Can I just be honest, Lacy?" she asks after a moment. "Carol's like the biggest bitch in school."

I snort, feeling my water sputter out my mouth in surprise. I don't know how to respond, but luckily she isn't done, "She's jealous, because she's stuck with Tommy Hagan, and hates that the incredibly attractive new kid hasn't looked twice at her."

I want to believe Tori's words, but a small voice in the back of my mind wonders if it's really that simple. I bite my lip, feeling a pang of doubt towards her words.

"And another thing," Tori continues, her mouth now moving a mile a minute, like she's been holding all of this in for who knows how long, "Billy is just a guy. I refuse to believe that he's some crazy puzzle for you to solve."

I can't help but laugh at Tori's bluntness, the tension in my chest easing just a little. "You make it sound so simple," I say, shaking my head."

Tori shrugs, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Because it is simple. What do you want, Lacy? It's as simple as that."

Her question hangs in the air, and I realize I don't have an easy answer. I want the comfort in my life, but without the pressure of Carol and Nicole. I want Billy's attention, but not the complicated games and feelings. I want to feel like myself, but have been hiding behind my mask of perfection for so long I don't remember what that even means.

Tori smiles sympathetically, nudging me with her elbow, "There's a reason people like you and it's not just because you're friends with Carol and Nicole."
I take a deep breath, letting her words sink in. "Thanks, Tori," I say, feeling a bit lighter.

"Anytime," she replies, standing and reaching a hand out to me. "Now let's finish this game, but just know, I'm not going to go easy on you because I feel sorry for you."

I grin, feeling more like myself than I have in a long time. I take her hand, letting her pull me to my feet. "Bring it on."

We return to the court, the air between us lighter, the weight of the day's frustrations beginning to lift. I focus on the game, on the way my body moves, the way my racket feels in my hand, and for a little while, everything else fades away.

As we finish the game, the final ball bounces out of bounds, and I catch it with a quick reflex. Tori wipes her forehead, grinning at me as we head off the court.

"Good game, Lacy," she says, tossing the ball back into the basket. "You heading home?"

I nod, grabbing my water bottle and slinging my bag over my shoulder, "I've got to pick up my brother first."

"You guys are close, huh? Like his second mom?" Tori asks. I think about all the times Carol and Tommy teased me for being on "mommy duties" and glance at her wearily, but Tori is smiling, a genuine interest in her eyes.

"Someone has to keep him in line," I joke, though there's a hint of truth behind it.

I wave goodbye to Tori, crossing the lot towards the middle school. The AV club meeting should be ending soon, but as I approach, I realize how quiet the front of the school is. None of the boys are around, laughing or joking on the front steps like I'm used to.

Frowning, I glance around, trying to spot them, but the sound of distant yelling catches my attention. I follow their yells to the field in the back of school, watching as they run towards Will. I smirk slightly, wondering what they're playing, but then I realize one of them is Mrs. Byers, and I feel my stomach drop.

"Will!" her voice yells clearly, urgent and panicked.

I quicken my pace, dropping my bag as I reach the fence. Dustin and his friends surround Will Byers, who is standing in the middle of the field, pale and still. For a moment, I hesitate, unsure if I should intervene. But the sight of my brother's worried face pushes me forward and I'm climbing the fence in one smooth jump.

"Dustin!" I call out as I approach, the concern in my voice drawing his attention. My brother looks up at me, a mixture of relief and fear flashing across his face.

"Lacy," he says, a little out of breath. He meets me part way relief washing over him.

"What happened?" I ask, glancing at Will. Mrs. Byers is shaking him gently trying to snap him out of whatever is happening.

"He's having an episode," Dustin mutters, refocusing on his friend.

I don't know what that means, but I feel my heart racing, feeling slightly helpless looking at the concern on my brother and his friend's faces. "What – what, like a seizure?" I ask, closing the distance to stand closer to Mrs. Byers, "Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

Dustin grips my arm, and we jump collectively when Will's eyes finally fly open. I find myself, blocking Dustin, who is gripping my arm even tighter now.

Mrs. Byers is holding Will, whispering to him in comfort as I glance around at the rest of the boys, shooting a second glance at a red-headed girl I don't recognize but find that she seems to be as confused and worried as I do.

"Is there anything I can do?" I offer, trying my best to sound helpful, but all I want to do is run.

Mrs. Byers glances at me, like she suddenly remembers that we are all here watching. She shakes her head slightly, wrapping a protective arm around Will. "Thank you, Lacy, but we should all just get home."

Understanding, I nod, pulling Dustin and waving for the rest of his friends to follow me. "Come on, let's get you guys out of here."

They're all reluctant to leave Will, but with a reassuring nod from Mrs. Byers, they slowly start to follow me back towards the school. Mike Wheeler lingers, glancing back at Will, but I gently nudge him forward, pushing him along.

"We can load the bikes in the truck," I say, breaking the silence as we reach the front of the school, "I'll just give everyone a ride home."

"We all won't fit," Lucas mutters, but he smiles at me regardless.

"Okay, that totally freaked me out," the red-headed girl interrupts, "Did that not freak you guys out?"

Lucas glances at her and then back to me, before saying to Mike and Dustin, "Two episodes in two days."

"It's getting worse," Mike agrees.

"You think it's True Sight?" Lucas asks, but I feel myself making a face, recognizing their lingo from DND.

"What's True Sight?" the girl asks, but the boys grow tense, exchanging looks with one another.

"It's nothing," Lucas mutters, walking over to his bike. Mike follows him and I watch them carefully get on their bikes to ride home.

"We need to go," I say to Dustin, nodding for him to grab his bike, "now."

Dustin nods, but glances back at the red-head, smiling awkwardly. "You have a ride home, Max?" he asks, glancing at me for permission, I nod subtly, lifting his bike into the truck.

"My step-brother usually drives," she mutters, glancing around the lot, "but he doesn't like it when I'm late."

I'm slightly curious, wondering who would leave her behind. She looks awkward, like I'm going to laugh at her for Dustin even offering.

"No worries," I say with a shrug, forcing a smile onto my face "we have space."

The three of us pile into the truck, and as I start the engine, I catch Max staring out the window, her expression guarded. There's something in her eyes that makes me wonder what's really going on with her and her step-brother.

We drive in silence for a while, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. Dustin is fidgeting in his seat between us, glancing at Max, fixing his hat multiple times, and then glancing back at me.

"Would you stop?" I ask, nudging him a bit too hard with my elbow," Take your hat off if you're going to keep messing with it like that."

"I'm not messing with it," Dustin argues, nudging me back, but there's a blush settling on his cheeks as he glances back towards Max.

She's staring out the window, ignoring us, but I notice the way her shoulders stiffen as we get deeper into her neighborhood. I slow to a stop in front of her house, feeling my heart stop momentarily when I recognize the Camaro in the driveway.

"Your step-brother's Billy Hargrove?" I ask, the words tumbling from my mouth before I can stop them.

Billy has the hood of his Camaro open, leaning over the engine. There's a man standing next to him and I can only assume it's his dad, he's pointing at something under the hood, both of their stances tense.

Max rolls her eyes, noticing how I tighten my ponytail, smoothing down my tennis skirt. "Apparently you know him," she sighs, hopping out of the truck, "thanks for the ride."

Dustin follows her, hopping out of the truck before I can grab him by the hood of his sweater. "Get back in the truck," I hiss, swiping for him again, but Dustin pretends like he can't hear me, following Max around to the back to grab her skateboard.

I look back at the driveway where Billy and his dad are now watching us. I sigh, knowing that Dustin will never get back in the truck now, listening to him yammering about a comic book, and climb out, walking up the driveway with a small, embarrassed grin.

"Hey," I say, slightly embarrassed. I am suddenly aware of how short my tennis skirt is, the revealing style of my tank top, and cross my arms over my chest, "AV club was a little longer than expected."

"AV club?" Mr. Hargrove asks, glancing at me and then Dustin and Max who are approaching us from the end of the driveway. "Who are you?"

"This is Dustin's sister, Lacy," Max introduces quickly, her voice a little tight, "and this is Dustin. They gave me a ride home."

I notice the way Billy's dad lifts an eyebrow at Billy, the way Billy slightly shifts away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. "Thank you for making sure she got home safely," Mr. Hargrove continues, "it's nice to see someone responsible for their younger sibling."

"It's not a problem," I say, feeling a sudden need to make an excuse for Billy, sensing the tension between him and his dad, "I'm practically Dustin's chauffeur."

"Hey," Dustin says, making a face at me, "you're the one who rarely lets me ride my bike in the dark."

I shoot him a glare, grabbing him by the arm of his sweatshirt, "We should get going."

"Could I show Dustin my comic book collection first?" Max asks, looking at me and then her stepdad. I find my own eyes resting on him, like his word is the final say.

He nods, "Not too long." Max smiles nodding at Dustin to follow her, but I don't let go of my grip on her sweatshirt and Dustin tugs a little harder.

"Not too long," I call after him, watching his retreating figure. Mr. Hargrove follows them inside and I am left standing in the driveway, face to face with Billy.

Billy watches his father walk inside, the tension between them almost palpable, but as soon as the door closes behind him, the atmosphere shifts. It's like the air itself lightens, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of Billy's every move.

His eyes track mine as he leans casually against the front of the Camaro, the rag in his hands an afterthought as he wipes away nonexistent grease. He's close enough that I can smell the mix of motor oil and faint cologne, the scent hitting me in a way that's both familiar and unsettling.

He doesn't say anything at first, just looks at me, his gaze steady, assessing. I feel the heat rising to my cheeks, the blush creeping up my neck, and I know he can see it. He always seems to notice everything.

"So," he finally starts, his voice low, almost too casual as if he's testing the waters, "you always pick up wandering strays?" He lifts an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's trying to suppress a smile, but there's something else there, too—a question, maybe even a challenge.

I feel a flicker of something in my chest—nerves, anticipation, I'm not sure—but it's enough to make me shift my weight, crossing my arms over my chest like a shield. The cool air brushes against my bare arms, but it's nothing compared to the chill running down my spine.

"Just the well-trained ones," I reply, trying to match his casual tone, but my voice comes out softer than I intended. I can feel his eyes on me, reading into the way I've tensed up, the way I'm holding myself. His gaze isn't just on me—it's in me, digging past the surface to see what I'm not saying.

Billy's smirk falters, just for a second, the playful edge dulling as something darker crosses his eyes. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if trying to figure out what I'm thinking.

"I didn't know you had a sister," I add, remembering the way Max had tensed at the mention of him. I look away, pretending to adjust my ponytail, but really, I'm just trying to avoid his eyes. They're too intense, too knowing, and it's making it hard to think straight.

When I finally glance back at him, I see a brief flash of something in his expression—surprise, maybe, or irritation—but he hides it quickly, turning his attention back to the engine. The way his shoulders tighten, just slightly, tells me I've touched a nerve, even if he's not going to admit it.

"She's not my sister," Billy says, his voice gruff, almost defensive. His eyes flick to mine, just for a moment, before he looks away, like he's regretting saying anything at all. The tension in his posture is unmistakable, and I wonder how many times he's had to explain this, how much it bothers him.

I notice the way his hand tightens on the edge of the hood, knuckles going white as he tries to keep his cool. There's a storm brewing behind those eyes, but he's holding it back, trying to stay in control. I want to reach out, to say something comforting, but the words stick in my throat.

"Have you always worked on cars?" I ask instead, after a beat of silence, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. Billy nods, his movements slow, deliberate, like he's weighing whether to let me in or keep me at a distance.

"The old man thought it could keep me out of trouble," he replies, leaning back over the engine, his tone lighter, but there's still an undercurrent of something unresolved. His hands move with practiced ease, but there's a tension in his shoulders, like he's expecting something to go wrong.

"Something tells me that didn't work out the way he thought it would. You seem like the guy who finds trouble wherever he goes," I tease, trying to inject some levity back into the moment. But even as I say it, I feel a pang of guilt, knowing there's more to Billy than just the troublemaker persona he projects.

Billy glances up at me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. For a moment, I see something raw in his expression—something he doesn't usually let people see. But then it's gone, replaced by the familiar smirk, the one that always seems to keep people at arm's length.

"Maybe. But sometimes trouble seems to find me," he says, his voice low, almost daring me to argue. But I don't. Instead, I just stand there, caught in the crossfire of his gaze, feeling the unspoken tension crackling between us.

There's a long silence, filled with words we're not saying. His eyes drop to my lips, just for a second, before he looks away, his jaw clenching like he's fighting against something he doesn't want to admit. My heart skips a beat, and I suddenly realize just how close we're standing, how easy it would be to close the distance between us.

"You ever work on that piece of shit?" Billy asks, breaking the silence, his voice gruff again. I blink, startled by the sudden shift, and glance over at my truck. It looks clunky and a little rusty in the fading light, and I can't help but grin, embarrassed but not willing to back down.

"My dad does," I say, but I catch myself, "did."

Billy lifts a brow, "When's the last time that thing even got an oil change?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling the smile on my face beginning to grow. "She runs great."

Billy chuckles, rubbing his brow with the back of his hand. "That thing's about to give out any day now," he teases.

"Don't say that!" I gasp in mock horror, "That thing is all I have."

"How about tomorrow night?" Billy's smirk widens, "We'll take her out, see if she's still got some life in her."

It's such a casual offer, that I almost don't realize he's asking me out at first. There's a tension in the way he's looking at me, like he's daring me to say no. I'm torn for a moment, remembering Tori's question: What do you want? I meet Billy's gaze, feeling that same surge of butterflies, and suddenly I know.

I bite my lip, pretending to consider it, even though I've already made up my mind, "If you mess up my truck, you're going to owe me big time."

Billy's eyes gleam with something that looks like satisfaction. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle," he says and I feel my face flame with the implication of his words.

Before the moment can stretch too long, Mr. Hargrove steps out of the house, followed by Dustin and Max. The spell between us is broken, and I quickly step back, feeling a little flustered but pleased.

"We should get going," I say, turning away to hide the smile that's tugging at my lips. "See you around."

Billy doesn't respond immediately, but I can feel his gaze on me, lingering as I wave for my brother to hurry up.

"Count on it, Henderson," he leans back against his car, crossing his arms with a smirk.

As I drive away from Billy's house, I can't help but replay the conversation in my head. The way his eyes darkened when he talked about Max, the tension in his shoulders … There's this whole other side to him that I'm just beginning to see, and for some reason, that both excites and scares me.

Dustin glances at me from his spot in the passenger seat, a curious look on his face. "Ew," he exclaims, finally catching on, "you like that guy? He has a mullet."

"Shut up," I laugh, but I can feel the blush creeping up my face. Dustin doesn't let it go though. He keeps shooting me these knowing glances, and I keep swatting at him to knock it off. It feels good to laugh to let some of the tension melt away.

When we pull into the driveway, I'm half-expecting Mom's car to be there, but the house is dark and empty. Dusting hops out of the truck, rushing inside, leaving me to gather my thoughts alone for a moment.

I step inside the house, the familiar creak of the floorboards under my feet oddly comforting in the silence. But there's something off tonight – something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I am suddenly picturing Will Byers in the middle of the field, the ghostly look on his face, his eyes rolling back in his head, and shiver. The house feels different… colder, like a shadow has passed through and left a chill in its wake. I can't put my finger on it, but it's enough to make me pause in the doorway, my hand lingering on the light switch.

The dim flow from the overhead light barely cuts through the shadow, casting long eerie shapes across the walls. I close the door behind me, the click of the latch echoing louder than it should, and take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling creeping up my spine.

I reach for the light switch in the kitchen, but my hand hovers above it for a moment. It's silly, but something in me doesn't want to disturb the darkness. Maybe it's because I've had enough surprises for one night, and I'm not sure if I can handle another.

But I flip the switch anyway, and the harsh fluorescent light floods the room, chasing away the shadows. I blink, adjusting to the brightness, when something catches my eye in the middle of the floor – a dark, slow-moving shape slithering across the tiles.

My heart skips a beat, and for a split second, I think I'm imagining it. But when I blink again, it's still there – Turtle, unmistakably out of the proton pack Dustin insisted he was in.

I scoop Yurtle up, holding him close to my chest as I march down the hallway, my footsteps echoing against the walls. The house is too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you hear things you don't want to hear – like the soft creaks in the walls or the distant hum of something that doesn't belong.

Before I can make it to Dustin's room, the answering machine blinks with a new message. I almost ignore it, but something makes me reach out and press play. Maybe it's a distraction from the growing fear gnawing at me, or maybe I'm just hoping it's mom telling me she'll be home soon.

Instead, a different familiar voice crackles through the speaker, sending a jolt of surprise through me.

"Hello, Mrs. Henderson, this is Marissa Waldon from the Hawkins Public Library. I'm calling because it seems your son, Dustin, has stolen some books from the library today. We have a strict five-at-a-time policy, and Dustin now has ten. We'd like to resolve this matter as soon as possible. Please give us a call back at your earliest convenience."

I freeze, the librarian's words replaying in my mind as I try to process when Dustin could have possibly made it to the library to steal those books. He was up early this morning, and in a rush to leave the house. The memory of his suspicious behavior, his instance of taking the proton pack, flits through my mind and my stomach churns with unease.

I stop in front of Dustin's bedroom door, hesitating for a moment. The door is shut tight, and there's a soft light seeping through from underneath. I raise my hand to knock, but then I hear a faint rustling from the other side. My pulse quickens, and without thinking, I try to slide the door open – just like Mom would – but it's locked.

"Hold on!" Dustin's voice calls out from the other side, high-pitched and tense, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. I press my ear to the door, trying to make out what he's doing in there, but all I hear is more rustling and the sound of Dustin's hurried footsteps across the floor.

My grip on Yurtle tightens as I knock, pulling him so that he's hidden behind my back. "Dustin, open the door," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but there's an edge to it that I can't hide. A part of me is scared of what I might find on the other side of the door.

After a few agonizing seconds, the door creaks open, just enough for Dustin to stick his head out, blocking my full view of the room. His face is flushed, and his eyes are wide with a mixture of guilt and panic. "What's up?" he asks, trying to sound casual, but his voice wavers, betraying him.

"How was Yurtle's trip to AV club?" I ask, my tone laced with suspicion. I crane my neck to see past him into the room, but he shifts blocking me even more. My gaze falls on the tank, draped with a blanket, and my heart sinks. Whatever he's hiding, it's not good.

"Fine," Dustin says, too quickly, following my gaze to the tank. "He's uh – sleeping."

"Really?" I say, arching an eyebrow as I slowly pull Yurtle out from behind my back. The color drains from Dustin's face as he spots the turtle in my hands. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

Dustin's eyes dart frome to the tank, and I can see the gears turning in his head as he scrambles for an explanation. "Lacy, I can explain," he stammers, his voice rising in pitch, but I've heard enough.

I push my way into the room, determined to uncover whatever he's hiding. The air in here feels thick, almost stifling, like the room itself is holding its breath. My skin prickles with unease as I approach the tank, but Dustin throws himself in front of me, his arms outstretched like a human shield.

"Lacy, wait!" he pleads, his voice cracking with desperation. "Just – promise you won't freak out."

"Freak out?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes at him. "Dustin, what the hell is going on?"

He hesitates, his gaze flickering to the tank behind him before meeting mine. For a moment, I see something in his eyes that I recognize all too well – excitement. It's enough to make me pause, my hand hovering over the edge of the blanket.

"Okay," Dustin says finally, nodding his head for me to pull the blanket off the tank. "But don't scream, okay?" He steps aside, giving me a clear view of the tank.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself, before yanking the blanket off. My breath catches as I see what's inside.

A first, I can't make sense of it. The think in the tank is small, dark, and slimy, its body shimmering under the light in a way that makes my skin crawl. It's not a turtle or a lizard, but a tadpole on land? Whatever it is, I know it's something that shouldn't be here.

"What… what is that?" I manage to whisper, my voice trembling.

"That's D'Artagnan," Dustin says, his voice filled with a strange mix of pride and uncertainty. "Dart for short."

"Dart?" I repeat, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. "What is Dart?"

Dustin swallows hard, rubbing the back of his neck as he struggles to find the right words. "He's my discovery," he finally says, his eyes pleading with me to understand. "I found him in our trash cans last night, after trick-or-treating. He's harmless, Lacy, I swear."

"Harmless?" I echo, my voice rising with disbelief. "Dustin, that thing looks like it crawled right out of a horror movie."

Dustin fidgets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly torn between defending Dart and admitting that he's in over his head. "He's just a baby, Lacy," he says, but there's a note of doubt in his voice now. "He doesn't even have teeth yet."

"Yet?" I repeat, my heart sinking slightly. "Dustin, this is insane."

Dustin winces, realizing how his words must have sounded. "Okay, maybe he's a little different," he admits, his voice small. "But that's why I needed the books! I've discovered a new species."

The weight of his words settles on my shoulders, making it hard to breathe. A new species. My brother has discovered something completely unknown, and it's sitting in a tank in his bedroom. The room feels too small, too close, and I take a step back, trying to process what this means. How am I supposed to protect him from something like this?

Dustin seems to notice my apprehension and his eyes begin to set with a new determination. "Just give me a chance, okay?" he pleads. "If things go wrong, I'll tell you. I promise."

I hesitate, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Every instinct is screaming at me to get rid of this thing, to protect my brother from whatever danger he's unwittingly brought into the home. But there's something in Dustin's eyes – something that makes me want to believe him, to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Alright," I finally say, my voice heavy with resignation. "But no more secrets, okay?"

"No more," Dustin agrees, nodding vigorously, crossing his heart with a finger. "Thank you Lacy. You won't regret this."

I'm not so sure about that, but I give him a tight nod before turning to leave the room. As I reach the door, I stop and glance back at him, my heart heavy with the knowledge that this is far from over.

"And Dustin?" I pause, in the doorway, waiting for him to meet my gaze.

"Yeah?" he says, a sheepish grin on his face.

"I don't care which five books get returned, but you have to do that tomorrow." I smile, trying to ease the tension in the room.

Dustin grimaces, but nods in agreement. "Deal"

I close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I take a deep breath. The house feels even colder now, the shadows in the hallway darker, more oppressive. I have a sinking suspicion that whatever my brother has stumbled upon is only the beginning of a nightmare I'm not prepared to face.