The crimson sky of the Upside Down stretched overhead, its lurid glow casting long, distorted shadows across the fractured terrain. Ursula crouched low in the twisted roots of a massive, grotesque tree, her sharp eyes scanning the decayed shell of the Creel house in the distance. The air here was heavy, thick with an unnatural pressure that seemed to hum just beneath the surface of her skin.

Her hands drifted to the hilt of her kukri daggers. The blades, sleek and wickedly curved, were not just weapons—they were tools, meticulously crafted for survival. An inheritance received after Aunt Erica and Uncle Marcus had passed away.

The handles contained a secret compartment, each hiding a single vial of black widow venom. Not that she was depending on the venom to take down Henry. Although it would be pretty hilarious. No, that honor would go to the four pounds of thermite packed into the trailer she'd hidden five miles away from Hopper's cabin.

The trailer was more than just a bomb storage site—it was her lifeline, her connection to the world she'd left behind. Cramped into the 5x8 cargo trailer was an arsenal of everything that couldn't stay behind when the apocalypse came calling.

There were two trash bags of high-grade medical marijuana, vacuum-sealed and flattened, tucked away like precious artifacts. A couple of cases of energy drinks—the ones that had fueled too many sleepless nights in her old life. Haircare and makeup products she wouldn't see again for forty years if they survived this war at all. A lifetime supply of Arctic Fox hair color in the shade "Poseidon." Medications she knew wouldn't be available in this timeline, packed alongside family heirlooms too precious to let the end of the world devour.

And then there was the tech.

The trailer was a miniature data center, loaded with so much storage that even Silicon Valley might have blushed. Vast snapshots of huge sections of the internet saved on the various drives. Music equipment, computers, and enough hardware to keep her working on her projects no matter what happened. Her instruments—her arsenal of violins, guitars, and keyboards—were tucked into the back like soldiers awaiting orders. Stacks of cash filled every available crevice, along with the rest of her wardrobe, a collection of killer outfits that made her feel like herself even in this twisted, hellish version of Hawkins.

She didn't come here unprepared. She didn't come here to lose.

Ursula shifted her position, her gaze falling to the Creel house again as her thoughts began to wander. Despite the oppressive air of the Upside Down, she felt a strange sense of clarity tonight, as though the war had given her one brief moment of quiet.

Her family.

Each name, each face, each memory surfaced in her mind like notes of a melody she couldn't ignore.

Dustin. Her dad. Her relentless, goofy, brilliant dad. She thought of his boyish grin and the way his curls would bounce when he talked too fast, too excited about something to slow down. Even in this timeline, decades younger than she knew him, he had been the big brain of the group. The one who could light up a room with just his knowledge and presence.

As an adult, he'd given up everything for her—for this mission. Not just his plans or his future, but his identity. He had chosen to vanish from history so she could have the chance to rewrite it.

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening at the thought. "You've done enough, Dad," she whispered to the oppressive air around her. "You've done more than anyone ever should."

Susie.

Her Mummy.

Ursula's chest tightened at the thought of her mother. In this timeline, she wasn't a gravestone overgrown with weeds in a forgotten cemetery. Here, Susie was alive, vibrant, full of the same fire and brilliance that had made her the lynchpin of their family in Ursula's earliest memories. She wasn't in Hawkins, though—she was in Utah. Still too far, but tantalizingly close compared to the absolute void Ursula knew back home. The thought of being able to hug her mother again, hear her voice, even if it was the spunky, teenage version of her, was an impossible light at the end of an unbearably dark tunnel.

But the weight of the truth hung heavy. Ursula remembered too well the cold night in 2019 when her mother's mind, warped and eroded by the residual effects of the Upside Down, had snapped completely. She had been sixteen, frozen in shock and disbelief as she found her mother in the throes of a psychotic break that ended in tragedy.

She was so calm about it. Just a quick, self injection of a cocktail of medications into her blood stream. Her hand didn't even tremble. She only had a singular instant of recognition that Ursula had seen her do it before she succumbed, Her system completely and instantly overwhelmed by a conglomeration of chemicals that could have taken out a charging gorilla.

That singular moment had branded itself into her very soul, shaping every decision she'd made since. Now, being here, knowing there was a world where Susie was still alive—still free from that unrelenting darkness—filled Ursula with an almost unbearable mix of hope and grief. It was a fragile thread of solace she clung to as her thoughts shifted.

Shifting to Uncle Steve. The most unexpected source of stability in her life. She smiled faintly, imagining him as he was now, a teenager, all swagger and hair, the definition of the '80s cool kid. But there was so much more to him than that. He was the protector, the one who always stepped up, even when it scared the hell out of him.

And he'd been there for her in ways she hadn't even realized she needed. When she was at her lowest, when she felt like everything was falling apart, he was there with a joke or a ridiculous story that somehow made everything feel just a little bit lighter.

And beside him, as she had always been in her memory, was Nancy. Aunt Nancy, who carried more weight on her shoulders than anyone should have to. Sharp, determined, and unyielding, Nancy had always been a force of nature.

Ursula thought of the trust Nancy had placed in her, the belief that she could handle this mission. It wasn't blind faith—it was respect. Nancy had seen her strength, had known what was at stake, and had stood by her every step of the way.

If anyone understood what it meant to sacrifice for the greater good, it was Nancy Harrington.

And then there was Hopper.

Pop. Grandpa Jim. The gruff, stubborn, endlessly loyal man who had somehow found room in his broken heart for her. He had taught her to fish, to fight, to survive, and to love. He'd given her the tools she needed to make it through this nightmare, and he'd done it all without ever making her feel like a burden.

Things would be so much less fucked up if he had been here this whole time.

She thought of his booming laugh, the way he could turn a simple meal into a moment of peace. "I'll protect them," she vowed silently, her fingers tightening on the hilt of her dagger. "I'll protect all of them, Pop. I promise."

She thought of Gramma Joyce. With no grandkids of her own, Joyce had become a surrogate grandma for all the kids of Ursula's generation. But Ursula, being the youngest and one of the few girls, had always held a special place in her heart.

When Grandy—Dustin's mom—passed away, Joyce stepped in without hesitation, just as she had for Eleven years before. She filled the empty spaces with warmth and love, never treating it like a burden, only ever like it was exactly where she was meant to be.

Then there were the Aunties. Aunt Robyn and Aunt Vickie were basically the definition of fucking gay icons. They got married in Boston the day same-sex marriage was legalized in 2004. Ursula had been just a baby at the time, decked out in a ridiculously tiny version of the bridesmaids' pants suits, because of course she was. That day wasn't just about their love; it was a goddamn family pilgrimage. Everyone made the trip to Cambridge to witness history, and those pictures of baby Ursula in her little suit were scattered through family albums.

Ursula had actually really struggled with her sexual identity as a teenager. With her chaotic upbringing, it wasn't a surprise. At first, she thought she might be gay—her early dating forays had all been with girls, and it was simply understood. But as time went on, "gay" didn't quite fit. Ursula was more attracted to personality traits rather than the gender attached to that. It was Aunt Robyn who helped her navigate it, coining the term "Gaybor," short for "Gay Neighbor," as a playful way to leave room for the undefined. Vickie had always encouraged her to avoid labels, insisting there were already far too many of those.

She wished the Robyn-and-Vickie thing was already a thing. That effortless camaraderie, that balance—they'd been her role models in ways they didn't even realize. Still, Ursula couldn't help but look forward to watching their love story play out firsthand. Prom wasn't far off, and she'd promised to make sure Robyn went because skipping it almost meant skipping the opening riff to their love song.

Ursula's mind naturally just keeps trucking down the gay highway, and her thoughts shift to Uncle Will. Of all the losses she'd endured, Uncle Will's had hit her the hardest—at least until her mom. She and Will had shared a bond like nothing else in her life. They were the same, the only ones they knew of besides Henry who were altered, not by some government experiment but by the very nature of the Inverse Realm. A twisted, brutal nature, but natural all the same.

They'd been each other's anchor. Before his suicide, Will had been her guide, her confidant, the only one who understood what it was to navigate the powers they didn't ask for. The freaks. They were a team, along with Kali and Aunt El. A totally dysfunctional, R-rated parody of the X-Men. Ursula had leaned into the Deadpool comparisons for herself (with Kali as Psylocke and El as Jean Grey), though Will's wheelchair after his first accident made those comments a little too on the nose sometimes.

Eleven had been many things to Ursula. A mentor, a protector, a sister in all but blood. Their connection went beyond the familial; it was elemental, a bond forged in the fires of shared trauma and the strange, otherworldly powers they both wielded.

Ursula remembered the first time she truly connected with Eleven. It wasn't during some grand battle or harrowing escape. It was in the quiet moments between the chaos, when their minds touched in the psychic expanse of the Upside Down.

Eleven had been a lifeline, a beacon in the suffocating darkness of that twisted world. They'd dream-walked together, shared thoughts and fears, their consciousnesses entwining in ways words could never replicate. It had been like finding a twin she hadn't known she needed, someone who not only understood but lived the same kind of strange, altered existence.

El had been Ursula's anchor in the chaos, the steady force that reminded her she wasn't alone. Together, they navigated the labyrinth of their abilities, learning to harness their strengths while shielding their vulnerabilities. Ursula often thought of those times as their own version of training, but it wasn't about honing weapons—it was about finding balance, about surviving in a world that demanded more than any child should have to give.

El's role in Ursula's life wasn't just about guidance; it was about belief. She saw Ursula's potential, even when Ursula couldn't see it herself. El's trust was a steadying hand, an unspoken vow that no matter how dark things got, they would face it together. And for Ursula, who had spent so much of her life feeling like an anomaly, that trust meant everything.

Their bond wasn't always gentle or easy. El pushed her, sometimes too far, challenging her to face the things she wanted to bury. But that was El—unyielding in her determination to protect those she loved, even from themselves. It was a trait that Ursula admired, even when it frustrated her.

Now, as Ursula crouched in the shadows of the Creel house, waiting for the next phase of her plan to unfold, she thought of Aunt El with a sense of both longing and resolve. If everything went right, she'd see her soon. Their connection would spark to life again, and Ursula could give her the kind of information no dossier could provide. And with El at her side, even the twisted depths of the Upside Down felt conquerable.

Because El wasn't just family. She was hope, distilled into human form. And that hope was a weapon neither Henry nor the Upside Down could ever truly defeat.

As her thoughts wandered, a plan began to form. Lenora should stay quiet. If nothing got interrupted on their end, Aunt El would reach out to Max soon—probably within the next few hours. That meant El and Will would roll up tomorrow night, giving Ursula a chance to connect with them psychically. She could give them the kind of info no dossier could provide. The first place El would look for Max was right here at the Creel house.

That would be her moment. A quick meet-up, slip back into the right dimension, and relay everything she had. With El and Will backing her up, she could push this mission forward in ways that would change everything. A few more hours in here, and she'd be done. Yeah, she could handle that. She had that all day long.

And Uncle Mike! Of all the millions of things that made being in this timeline a total mindfuck, not having Uncle Mike's big mouth around might be at the top of the list. It was downright unsettling not hearing his constant, sarcastic commentary cutting through every situation like a hot knife through butter. The quiet made everything feel heavier, like a room missing its ceiling fan on a sweltering day. She had to give the guy credit—staying this sarcastic was a big job, and somehow, he'd managed to make it his full-time career.

Will always said Mike was the heart of the Hellfire family. He said it like it was this profound revelation, but Ursula had figured it out long before Uncle Will ever gave voice to it. The guy's ability to spin a motivational speech out of nothing was a superpower all its own. Mike Wheeler could rally a group of mismatched, chaotic nerds like he was Aragorn calling the troops at Helm's Deep. He was never subtle about it, either—talk about a fucking monologuist. The guy could turn a simple, "We've got this," into a full-blown TED Talk, complete with dramatic pauses and emotional crescendos.

The thought of all those grand speeches Mike had made over the years brought a smile to her face, even here, in the oppressive gloom of the Upside Down. The way he'd wave his arms around like a conductor orchestrating chaos, his voice getting louder as he built to his final, dramatic point. Half the time, he probably didn't even know what he was saying, but it didn't matter. He made people believe.

And she was eager—hell, downright desperate—to hand that mantle back to its true owner. Let him rally the troops, be the heart, and fill the room with his relentless optimism and endless snark. It wasn't her job, and it wasn't her style. Ursula was the dagger in the dark, the one who'd cut the throat of the beast while Mike made sure everyone believed they had a chance to win.

It was his role, not hers. And she'd never been happier to give it back.

That made her think of the whole Hellfire family. Those goddamn kids. They were the most chaotic, lovable, endlessly exasperating group of humans she'd ever known. She wished it was a little easier for her brain to consolidate the two versions of them—their teenage selves in this timeline and the adults they'd become in hers. It was like trying to reconcile a rough sketch with the masterpiece it eventually became. The outlines were all there, the same spark and potential, but the details were still filling in, layer by messy layer.

She tried to focus on reframing that whole mess in her mind. These weren't just some earlier drafts of the people she'd known. They were on their way to being those people. They would someday be the Hellfire family she'd laughed with, fought beside, and cried for. And she was here to watch them grow into those roles, to see every beautiful, awkward, and painful step of the process.

It was a singular gift, really. A second chance to be there for them, not just as a little kid to protect but as their friend. They'd been her rock until this precipice of adulthood, and now, somehow, she got to finish growing up alongside them. It was messy, sure, but there was good with the bad.

Take Max, for example. What a little fucking badass. Stories about her were all well and good—she'd heard them a thousand times over. But actually seeing Max in action? Watching her take on the world with that fiery defiance and unshakable courage? It was so much more satisfying than Ursula ever thought it would be.

She always heard about how Max fit into the Party like she'd been born to be there, how her absence left a hole so vast it never stopped echoing. And now, Ursula understood. Max wasn't just a part of the Party; she was its edge, its grit, its defiant middle finger to the universe.

And Jesus Christ, Max was going to be so fucking beautiful if she finally got the chance to grow up. Ursula could see it clearly—a striking, fiery force of nature. Her copper hair would deepen, framing features sharpened by life and softened by triumph. Her eyes, those piercing, unyielding blues, would be even more commanding, radiating power and clarity like twin storms.

She imagined Max with an effortless, untamed elegance, her childish features sharpening into something hauntingly fierce—like the Morrigan, the Irish goddess Ursula had read about. A warrior and a queen, with a gaze that could crush or captivate, Max would carry that same commanding presence. It wasn't just her looks—though they'd be striking—it was the raw, undeniable force of who she was destined to become. She'd be the kind of woman who silenced a room, not with vanity but with sheer, unyielding power.

And seeing even the seed of that potential in Max's younger self made Ursula's throat tighten.

If Max was lost again, it wouldn't just be the end of the world. It would be devastating.

But this time, Ursula wouldn't let it happen. She would be there to stop the unthinkable things Henry did to Max and Lucas before they ever had the chance to scar her. She'd fight tooth and nail to rewrite that future.

Because losing Max again? No. Fuck no.

And Uncle Lucas. Jesus fuck. That man. Of all the people Ursula had lost in her timeline, few had carried as much weight as Lucas Sinclair. The sacrifices he had made—no, the sacrifices he chose to make—still left a jagged edge in her chest whenever she thought about them. He hadn't just fought in the battle against Henry; he'd given up pieces of himself, chipped away bit by agonizing bit, to ensure that Henry couldn't follow her to the past. And when it came to Max, he'd given even more.

Sitting by her bedside for a decade. Freeing what was left of Max's consciousness from that horrible, monstrous body Henry had created for her… It had cost Lucas in ways most people couldn't even begin to fathom. But Lucas? He had done it anyway. Because that's who he was.

And now, seeing him here, so young and so hopelessly, adorably in love with Max, made Ursula's heart ache in a way that felt almost physical. She wanted to grab them both and tell them how goddamn lucky they were, how much potential they had, how they could make it if they just held on to each other.

But she couldn't. Not yet. All she could do was fight like hell to make sure they never had to face the nightmare she knew could be coming.

There was no other option. If the devil needed a pound of flesh, he could take it from her. She was the one who didn't actually belong here, the one who wasn't supposed to exist in this timeline. Not Max. Never Max.

How could she possibly look Lucas in the eye five years down the line, knowing she hadn't done everything in her power to stop it? How could she stomach the sight of him sitting vigil for a decade, keeping watch over a body that wasn't even Max's anymore?

Max deserved better. Lucas deserved better. And by God, they were going to get it.

Max was going to grow up. She was going to have the chance to become everything Ursula knew she could be.

She couldn't fail them. Not now. Not ever.

And somehow, some way, it seemed like the plan might finally be veering back into the safe lane. Ursula didn't dare relax, not yet, but with all the troubles they'd faced, this small reprieve felt earned. Today should have been the day. The day Max and Eddie died. But they hadn't. Against every terrible certainty that had kept her up at night, Max and Eddie were still alive. Far from being out of the woods, sure, but this one victory was something to hold on to. Something she needed.

She crouched lower in the gnarled undergrowth, her sharp gaze locked on the grotesque silhouette of Henry's house. The cracked, vine-choked facade loomed over the desolation like a scar in the Upside Down's rotted flesh. Every instinct told her to be ready for the next fight, but for the first time in what felt like forever, things were looking up.

Nancy. Ursula thought of the resolute nod Nancy had given her before they'd split up—the unspoken promise that she would stick to the plan. No heroics, no detours, no emotional bullshit. Just the mission. If anyone seemed to understand the stakes, it was Aunt Nancy. She wasn't the type to flinch when the chips were down, and she had never given Ursula a reason to think she'd go back on established mission protocol.

Ursula trusted her, which wasn't something she could say lightly about anyone. If Nancy said she wouldn't let the others come back for her, then Ursula believed her.

And Max and Eddie? They'd learned their lesson the hard way. Ursula had made damn sure of it. She'd drilled into them just how critical their choices were—not just for the mission, but for their survival. Especially Eddie. Jesus Christ, Eddie.

She scowled at the memory of his reckless bravado, his desperate need to be the hero. She loved him for it, sure, but it also made her want to wring his neck. After what they'd been through, there was no way he'd be stupid enough to come here willingly before Eleven arrived.

Not anymore.

Things were finally looking up.

And then she looked up at the moon, hanging low and distorted in the crimson sky of the Upside Down. It glowed with an eerie intensity, like an unblinking eye, and for the first time in hours, Ursula allowed herself to think about Eddie. Not just a fleeting thought, but a full unraveling of the truth she had been shoving into the darkest corners of her mind.

He wasn't just important to her anymore. He was a priority-a dangerous one. A priority that could seriously jeopardize the mission if the shit hit the fan. If she wasn't careful, her heart would put him above Max, above everyone else. The realization made her feel sick. She didn't trust herself when it came to him, not anymore. Jesus Christ, she'd almost had sex with him.

Her stomach churned at the thought.

There was no way in hell she'd been ready for that. Not after what Henry had just done to her. Not after he had wrapped his slimy, pulsating vines around her, his grotesque, runny egg of a nose digging into her mind to sniff out every secret, every fear, every vulnerability. And especially not after the shit he'd pulled today.

At least this time, it had only been in Nancy's mental tableau. It had been brutal, visceral, and horrifyingly real, but at least there hadn't been physical damage to her body this time. That didn't mean she was fine.

She let out a long breath, her eyes lifting to the moon as she tried to organize her spiraling thoughts. Everything felt so tangled—her mission, her guilt, and Eddie. God, Eddie.

She could see it, plain as day: the way he looked at her, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long. It wasn't like anyone else had ever looked at her, not like this. Not just wanting her body, though there was definitely that—it was more. Eddie wanted all of her, everything she was, and that scared her more than any demogorgon ever could.

Because she wanted him, too. She wanted him in every way a person could want someone else. But it wasn't fair.

Ursula gritted her teeth, gripping the hilt of one of her kukris. It wasn't fair to him. Not to want him this badly without telling him the truth. Without telling him what could happen.

Not the usual risks, either. Not the kind of stuff teenagers joked about—pregnancy, heartbreak, awkward mornings after. No, this was different. This was dangerous in a way that went beyond them, beyond anything normal.

She had vowed to protect him. Protect Eddie. Even from herself.

But protecting him meant she had to tell him. At least… eventually. And how the fuck was she supposed to explain any of it? How could she look Eddie in the eyes and tell him what happened the last time someone trusted her with that kind of intimacy?

And that's when her mind circled back to the thing she'd intentionally removed from her freak file.

Jon.

But not this Jonathan. Not Jonathan Byers. Jonathan Harrington. Steve and Nancy's youngest.

Jon Harrington had been her best friend. Two years older, the third part of her best friend trio: her, Jon, and Melissa "Messy" Sullivan, the granddaughter of Lt. Colonel Jack Sullivan. Together, they had been the Khaös Krew, tearing through the halls of Culver Military Academy like their lives depended on it.

The trio was infamous, and their antics made them a special kind of nightmare for the staff. Hardened military officers—trained in discipline, strategy, and control—had privately bemoaned the academy's boarding school status. A day school program would've at least allowed them to escape the chaos these three wreaked on a daily basis.

The thing with Jon happened shortly after Ursula returned from her imprisonment with Henry. Jonno, being one of the few ports in the storm for her, had been there when no one else could reach her. He wasn't just a friend; he was family. The definitive decision to have Ursula be the traveler had finally been made, and the day was looming. It was then that Jon took the bold step to admit his feelings for her.

She hadn't known. How could she have? Jon was her rock, her brother in all but blood. The idea that he'd been harboring romantic feelings all this time made her stomach twist with a strange combination of guilt and sadness. She loved Jon, but not like that. Not even close. God she was dense sometimes.

The Harrington charm? Flashy, cocky, and altogether overwhelming—it had never worked on her. That hair? Definitely not her thing. His aesthetic was all wrong, and honestly, the fact that the dude didn't even play D was enough of a dealbreaker all on its own.

But there was more to him. Jon was an incredible pianist and songwriter, something she deeply respected. For someone like Ursula, an uber-child virtuoso in her own right, it was probably too easy for Jon to develop a crush. They spent hours together, creating, laughing, and finding a sense of normalcy in the chaos that surrounded them.

Jon's confession had been unexpected, but not unbelievable. He was going through what might have been a lot like his dad's high school belt-notch conquest phase, and yet, it was softer than that. More genuine. And, in his words, there was a vulnerability she hadn't expected.

Still, she wasn't into him. He was family, and the idea of anything else made her sad—not because she couldn't love him like that, but because she never realized he'd wanted her to.

But Jon had made his case.

He'd convinced her—talked her into it, really. Hooking up, he called it, a way for them to be close in a way they never had before. She was a virgin. He knew that. And there weren't many people who could even touch her hand without her flinching these days, let alone something more intimate. He was part of that trusted inner circle, one of the few people in the world she felt safe with.

So her logical side took over.

Facing the unknown—an awfully bloody war on the horizon, and the very real chance that she wouldn't come back—she didn't want to go without having this essential experience. She didn't want to die a virgin. That was an awful concept. Embarrassing really. And Jonno was Jonno. She trusted him, even if she didn't feel the same way he did.

He was still pretty hot, though. She could at least admit that.

So they planned it. A night at the Comfort Inn by the Kokomo Speedway. Netflix and chill, complete with a bottle of Tequila.

Jon had brought a bottle of Patron Special Reserve, a whole handle, he'd called it, as he held it up like it was some sacred mezcal handmade by an Aztec priest. Looking back, that was probably the problem. Big feelings, big changes on the horizon, and too much tequila in a situation already loaded with emotional weight.

He should've known better. He was her best friend. Her safe space. The one person who knew her history. Knew how hard it was for her to even think about this kind of thing. But Jonno was caught up in it—caught up in his feelings, the moment, the gravity of what was to come.

Jon had come on a little more enthusiastically than he should have. Maybe even more than he would have if she had actually been his girlfriend and not his lifelong best friend, someone who carried the recent and historical scars of sexual abuse. Jonnie should've known better. He'd known her history better than anyone, and yet here they were.

But what happened next was her fault. Ursula couldn't stay mad at him for it now. Not after what happened next.

The weird blue light.

It had happened so fast. His hands had slid under her skirt, and she'd freaked. Every alarm in her body went off at once, her brain screaming at her to get away. She'd tried to pull back, to escape, but Jon, thinking he was helping, had done that swaddling hug thing she'd learned about in therapy. She panicked, her brain short-circuiting in fear and rebellion, and then it came.

The blue shit.

It shot out of her hands before she could stop it, threading through the gold veins of her energy like some kind of electric storm. It went through him. He looked like he was being electrocuted.

Jon had laughed it off. Played it cool. Assured her he wasn't hurt, that everything was fine. In fact he felt better than he had, like EVER. But two days later, everything wasn't fine.

The brain nodule Jon had fried off with radiation when he was a kid came back to life. A series of aneurysms followed, the doctors blaming the alcohol they'd shared that night—at least a third of the bottle gone between the two of them. But Ursula knew better.

She had caused it.

The blue shit had done this, and no matter what the tests said, no matter what Jon's doctors told her, she knew the truth. It was her fault.

That weird blue light.

The one that was super scary. The one she had played off to her therapy and testing team over at the Neptune lab, refusing to think about it too deeply for reasons that had a little to do with fear and a lot to do with rebellion.

It was that weird blue light again. It was her.

The blue light had done it. She knew it in her gut, in the way that truth has a way of twisting itself into every fiber of your being.

And then Jon just got worse.

He had a stroke, the right side of his face slackening until it looked like it was sliding right off. They said his childhood tumor had come back, that there was no way she could have caused any of this, but she knew better. She knew.

The blue light that threaded through her gold sheild was responsible.

It wasn't the first time it had shown up, and it wouldn't be the last. Ursula just hoped that if it came back, it would be when Henry; Henry, that sad excuse for a Flattus Maximus cosplay; was around to get the brunt of it, and not Eddie.

But the universe loved to slap her around.

And Ursula knew she'd been lucky. So much luckier than most when it came to what she'd endured under Project Neptune. The dossiers painted a grimmer picture, made it seem worse than it actually was for her. She'd read the files, seen the clinical descriptions of the horrors inflicted on others in similar programs, but that wasn't her story. Not really.

Her dad and mom had made sure of that. They had rebuilt their entire careers, abandoned lifelong passion projects, and burned bridges with institutions they once loved, all to ensure they could become the project leads for this sector of Neptune. It hadn't been about control or ambition—it had been about keeping her safe. Protecting her, even in the face of a system designed to exploit kids like her.

From the start, there had been one core value that defined Neptune: treating Ursula like a colleague and collaborator, no matter how young she was. It was a philosophy instilled by Dr. Owens, one that her parents had carried on with fierce determination. They fought to ensure that she was never just an experiment, never reduced to a number or a variable in someone else's equation. Most of the labs staff had been with her since childhood and had become like family. She actually kind of loved it there in a weird way.

But the blue thing? That was different.

Ursula wasn't stupid. She knew that no amount of parental protection or goodwill from the Neptune team could shield her if certain truths came to light. She might had the team she worked with wrapped around her freaky little finger, sure, but even their influence had limits. If anyone realized she showed signs of active, offensive psychic abilities, she'd be shipped off faster than anyone could stop it. Straight to the kind of nightmare she'd read about in the Hawkins Lab and the Montauk files.

Or worse, a place like Project Nina.

That was a line she couldn't risk crossing. So she kept it to herself. Didn't tell a soul. Not her parents. Not the doctors she trusted. Not even her dad. And she told him everything.

She just prayed to whatever gods might exist that the blue shit didn't show up again. Not with Eddie.

Her chest tightened as her thoughts turned back to him. If this thing inside her hurt Eddie, they'd be dredging the reservoir for her and Black Betty next.

And this time, the body wouldn't be full of sawdust and cotton.

She clenched her fists, frustration and fear warring in her chest. She didn't know what the fuck she was thinking.

No, that wasn't true.

She did know.

She was in love with him. And wanting to be with him like that was natural. But it was so much more with him.

The reverent way that made it feel like destiny had ripped her from her own world and placed her straight into those dice-throwing, guitar-shredding hands. Hands that seemed to calm her and set her aflame all at the same time. Hands that could cradle her heart and ignite her skin in equal measure.

Her body and mind felt a kind of peace in his presence she had never known before. It was as if every jagged piece of her was finally smoothed out, every scar, every splinter, all the sharp edges dulled. But that calmness, that closeness, didn't come without its chaos.

The calmness her body and mind felt while in his hands was an anchor, grounding her in a way that nothing else could. It was startling how easily he could quiet the storms that raged in her—how his touch didn't ignite the alarms she'd spent her life bracing against. No fear, no flinch, just the warm, steady truth of him. But right alongside that calmness was something primal, something that left her trembling and dizzy.

It was a desperate frenzy, an overwhelming hunger that coursed through her like an electric current. She wanted to scratch, to bite, to grab—not to escape, but to pull him closer. It was so different from the reactions that had defined her for years, the instinct to fight or flee at even the thought of being touched. This was the opposite of fear. It was a consuming need, and the realization hit her like a tidal wave.

For the first time, her body didn't betray her with panic. The clawing, scratching, biting urges that used to be weapons of self-defense had transformed into something else entirely—a language of desire, a craving so raw it left her breathless. Her need for him wasn't just monumental; it was revolutionary.

She didn't want to run from him. She wanted to collide with him, to wrap herself in him, to drown in the impossible safety and heat he gave her. And the thought of it—of being that close, that bare with someone—terrified her just as much as it exhilarated her.

The idea of having her bare legs tangled with someone else's, of pressing so close she could feel their warmth against her skin, her core, had once been so absurd it bordered on unthinkable. But with Eddie, it wasn't just thinkable—it was something she craved. It terrified her how much she craved it.

God, she was so fucked.

She knew—knew with absolute certainty—that the moment she was back with him, she'd be like some desperate, slutty kitty in heat, clawing and begging for him to love her, to touch her.

For fuck's sake, Ursula. Could you be more pathetic?

But none of her self-recriminations could change the truth: she fucking missed him.

She missed his voice, his stupid smirk, his over-the-top mannerisms that somehow felt like home. She missed the way he said her name, like she was the only person in the room that mattered.

On the upside, though…

He didn't die today.

She tilted her head back and let her gaze drift up to the crimson sky, the oppressive glow pressing down on the shattered landscape around her.