The library was quiet, the only sounds the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of pages turning. Dove sat across from Steve at one of the study tables, her trigonometry book open between them. Her expression was patient, though the exhaustion from the night before lingered in the faint dark circles under her eyes.
"Okay," she said, pencil in hand as she pointed to the equation on the page. "So, this angle here—this is where you use tangent. Opposite over adjacent. Just plug in the values."
Steve squinted at the page, his brows furrowing like he was trying to decipher hieroglyphics. "Dove, I don't even know what adjacent means anymore. I'm exhausted."
Dove held back a laugh, refusing to let his frustration get to her. "You're doing fine. Let's just try it one more time."
Steve groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he looked at the numbers. Before he could make another half-hearted attempt, a voice broke the silence.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Eddie Munson strolled up to their table, a tattered book in his hands and a grin threatening to split his face. He glanced between them, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Didn't know you two were study buddies." His grin widened as he set the book down in front of Dove, completely ignoring Steve's presence. "Found you another treasure. Cryptids of the New World. Thought it might help with your.. research."
Dove hesitated, glancing at Steve, who was now leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression torn between irritation and amusement. "Right," she said slowly, trying to piece together a plausible excuse. "About that.."
Eddie leaned in slightly, his grin shifting into something more curious. "About what?"
Dove paused, the seconds stretching uncomfortably as she scrambled for the right words. "The, uh.. situation resolved itself," she finally said, waving her hand dismissively. "Turns out, it was just some weird frog."
Eddie froze, his expression shifting from curiosity to outright confusion. "A frog?" he repeated, his voice flat with disbelief.
Before Dove could respond, heavy footsteps approached their table. The three of them turned to see Hopper, his expression dark and his badge glinting under the fluorescent lights. His sharp gaze shifted from Dove to Steve and back again.
"You two," Hopper said, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. "With me. Now."
Dove blinked, her mouth opening to ask a question, but the look on Hopper's face made her snap it shut again. Steve straightened in his chair, alarm flashing in his eyes.
"Uh, Chief?" Steve started, his voice hesitant. "We're kind of in the middle of something."
"Not anymore," Hopper snapped, jerking his thumb toward the door. "Move it."
Dove let out a quiet sigh, quickly stuffing her notebook and trig textbook into her bag. As she zipped it shut, Eddie leaned over the table, his brows knitting together in a mix of curiosity and concern.
"What the hell did you two do?" Eddie whispered, his voice low but sharp, though there was a flicker of amusement in his tone, like he might actually be impressed. "Do I need to call a lawyer? Start pooling bail money?"
Dove gave him a faint smile, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "That's okay, Eddie," she said, her voice light but not quite convincing. "It's not a big deal."
Eddie raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer as if to study her. His voice dropped to a teasing whisper, though his eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Come on, Princess, you gotta tell me what's really going on."
Dove glanced at Hopper, who was waiting impatiently near the library doors before turning back to Eddie, her smile softening. "It's nothing you need to worry about," she said carefully. "Just a little misunderstanding. I've got it under control."
Outside, the autumn air was crisp and carried a faint smell of damp leaves. Hopper marched ahead, his heavy boots crunching against the pavement as he led them to his truck. Dove's mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.
With a resigned sigh, Steve opened the door and climbed into the truck, Dove following close behind. As soon as they were settled, Hopper started the engine, the low rumble filling the cab as he pulled out of the lot without another word. The tension in the truck was palpable, the air thick with unspoken questions as the small-town streets blurred past them.
When they arrived at the station, Hopper parked with a sharp turn and climbed out without a word. He opened the back door, gesturing for them to follow. Dove glanced at Steve, who gave her a brief shrug before stepping out.
Hopper led them inside, bypassing the main office and heading straight for the back. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above as they were ushered into an interrogation room. The room was small, the gray walls stark and unwelcoming, a single table with five chairs taking up most of the space. A faint smell of coffee and stale air lingered. Dove's eyebrows shot up. Nancy and Jonathan were already inside, sitting next to each other, their shoulders stiff with tension.
"Sit," Hopper ordered, his voice clipped as he motioned to the chairs.
Dove and Steve exchanged a glance before sitting across from Nancy and Jonathan. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, the walls seeming to press in on them as silence settled like a heavy weight.
Hopper lingered for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the group before he turned and walked out without another word, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. The quiet that followed was thick and uneasy.
A minute later, the door opened again, and an older woman walked in. She was composed, every inch of her appearance meticulously professional. She wore a dark business suit, her graying hair pulled back into a neat bun. In her arms she carried a thin manilla file.
"Apologies for the theatrics," she said smoothly, her voice calm and measured as she moved to the head of the table. She placed the file down with a precise movement before pulling out the chair and sitting, her posture perfectly straight. Her sharp gaze swept over the group, lingering briefly on each face as if she were assessing them.
For a moment, she didn't speak, letting the tension in the room simmer. "I'm Dr. Marion Bennett," she began, her tone even but firm. "I work for a sector of the government tasked with.. unusual matters. More importantly, I am tasked with keeping those unusual matters out of the public eye." She reached for the folder she had brought in, sliding it across the table as she pulled out four neatly printed stacks of paper. One by one, she placed a stack in front of each of them, her movements deliberate and precise.
Dove's eyes dropped to the document, her stomach tightening as she scanned the text. The header was stark and official, filled with government jargon that boiled down to one unmistakable intent: secrecy. She began to scan through it, reading as the conversation continued around her.
"This," Dr. Bennett began, her voice smooth but firm, "is a formal nondisclosure agreement. It ensures that everything you've seen, heard, or experienced stays between us. Sign it, and you're free to go."
Steve frowned, leaning back in his chair as he eyed the document in front of him. "We didn't have to sign one of these last year," he said, his tone skeptical. His gaze flicked up to Dr. Bennett, his arms crossing over his chest. "What's changed?"
Dr. Bennett's calm demeanor didn't falter, though her expression sharpened just slightly. "You're under new management," she replied smoothly, lacing her fingers together as she rested them on the table. "The circumstances have evolved, Mr. Harrington. Consider this a.. tightening of protocol."
Dove's eyes narrowed as she read. "So, let me get this straight," she began, her voice calm but laced with disbelief. "By signing this, we agree not to speak to anyone about anything involving the Upside Down or the lab. And we also.. allow you to conduct searches of our homes? Without notice?" She glanced up at Dr. Bennett, her eyebrows raised.
Steve's head snapped toward Dove. "Wait, what? Search our houses?"
Dove held up the paper, tapping a line with her finger. "Right here. Section four, subsection B. It says, and I quote, 'The agency reserves the right to access the signatory's residence and personal belongings for the purpose of ensuring compliance.'" She lowered the paper, her jaw tightening. "That's a pretty broad definition."
Nancy leaned forward, her face pale as she scanned her own document. "How is that even legal?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Bennett's smile thinned further. "It's just a precaution. One that's necessary given the nature of what you've been exposed to. I assure you, we're not interested in invading your privacy. This is about ensuring the safety of everyone involved."
Jonathan shook his head, his grip on the pen tightening. "This doesn't sound like safety to me."
Dove set the paper down and leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking with Dr. Bennett's. "If we don't sign this, what happens?" Her voice was steady, but the challenge in her tone was unmistakable.
Dr. Bennett's expression didn't waver. "I don't think you'll want to find out."
Dove let out a sharp laugh, the sound cutting through the tense silence of the room. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she fixed Dr. Bennett with a pointed stare. "Are you seriously threatening us right now?" she asked, her tone incredulous.
Dr. Bennett's composure faltered for the briefest moment, her lips pressing into a thinner line.
Dove leaned forward, her voice growing sharper. "You do realize we just saved the world, right? A bunch of teenagers. While you were doing, what exactly? Besides sitting on your self-important ass, letting this whole mess get worse? So instead of threatening us with vague consequences and asking us to sign away our rights, you could start by saying thank you."
Dr. Bennett's jaw tightened, and for the first time, her polished exterior cracked ever so slightly. "This isn't about gratitude," she said, her voice clipped but still measured. "It's about containment."
"Containment," Dove repeated, her tone dripping with disbelief. "If you wanted containment, maybe you should've done your job in the first place."
Nancy's eyes widened slightly, and Jonathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but neither of them said a word. Steve glanced between Dove and Dr. Bennett, looking like he wasn't sure whether to jump in or sit back and enjoy the show.
Dr. Bennett exhaled slowly, her hands still clasped tightly on the table. "Miss Henderson," she said, her voice now tinged with a sharp edge. "I suggest you tread carefully. This isn't a negotiation."
Dove's eyes narrowed. "You don't get to sit here and act like we're the problem when all we've done is clean up your mess. So yeah, it is a negotiation now. Because if you want our cooperation, maybe you should start by giving us a reason to trust you."
Dr. Bennett's carefully composed demeanor faltered for the briefest moment, her eyes narrowing as she took in Dove's words. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken tension.
Steve shifted in his seat beside Dove, clearly bracing himself for whatever was about to happen. Nancy and Jonathan exchanged another wary glance, their unease palpable.
Dr. Bennett's fingers tightened slightly as they remained clasped in front of her. She leaned forward just a fraction, her gaze locking onto Dove's with a quiet intensity. "Trust?" she said, her voice low and measured. "You want trust, Miss Henderson? Trust is built on discretion, on understanding the importance of keeping things quiet to avoid widespread panic. It's built on compliance. The measures outlined in that agreement are in place to ensure national security."
Dove's expression hardened, her posture straightening as she leaned slightly forward, her hands flat on the table. "If you want us to keep quiet about your secret experiments, fine. Done. But I will not give up my constitutional right to protection from unlawful search and seizure. What you're asking for is control, not security."
Nancy finally spoke, her voice quiet but resolute. "She's right. This isn't about national security. It's about keeping the lab's mess under wraps, and you're using scare tactics to do it."
For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of unspoken defiance pressing down like a storm cloud. Dr. Bennett finally exhaled through her nose, a subtle but telling sign of frustration. "I strongly advise you to reconsider."
"And I strongly advise you to rewrite this agreement," Dove shot back, not missing a beat.
Dr. Bennett's eyes narrowed, her calm demeanor thinning further as she watched Dove rise from her chair. "Miss Henderson, sit down," she said sharply, her voice cold and authoritative.
Dove ignored her, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Unless you have evidence or a warrant, you can't detain us. And since we're not under arrest, I'm pretty sure we're free to leave." She straightened, her gaze steady and unflinching as it met Dr. Bennett's. "If you want to try and argue otherwise, go ahead. I'm sure a judge would love to hear how you're threatening a group of teenagers into signing away their rights."
Steve glanced at Dove, a flicker of admiration crossing his bruised face, before he stood as well. Nancy hesitated, her eyes darting to Dr. Bennett, then to Jonathan, before they both followed suit.
Dr. Bennett's expression hardened as she watched them, her hands now resting flat on the table. "You're making a mistake," she warned, her voice tight with barely contained irritation.
Dove paused at the door, her hand on the handle as she turned back to face Dr. Bennett. "When you're done amending that agreement, you know where to find us," she said, her voice calm but cutting. With that, she opened the door and stepped out, the others following closely behind.
The hallway was silent except for the echo of their footsteps as they walked briskly toward the exit. None of them spoke, the tension from the interrogation room still clinging to them like a second skin. Dove's grip on her bag tightened, willing herself not to panic, her mind replaying every word exchanged with Dr. Bennett.
As they pushed through the station doors and into the crisp autumn air, Nancy fished her keys out of her pocket. The four of them made their way to her car, parked haphazardly near the curb.
Nancy unlocked the doors, sliding into the driver's seat without a word. Jonathan climbed in next to her, his expression unreadable. Dove and Steve got into the back, the heavy silence from the interrogation room following them like a shadow. As the engine started with a low rumble, Nancy instinctively reached for the radio, turning it on to break the tension.
A crackling voice filled the car, the news anchor's tone urgent and serious. "In breaking news, a shocking tape has surfaced, allegedly exposing a government facility's involvement in the death of Hawkins, Indiana teenager, Barbara Holland. The tape, sent anonymously to several major news outlets in Chicago, features what appears to be a firsthand confession detailing a cover-up surrounding the events leading to Holland's disappearance. Authorities have yet to comment—"
Nancy abruptly turned the volume down, but not before the words hit like a hammer.
In the backseat, Dove's gaze flicked to Nancy and Jonathan, catching the way Nancy's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel and how Jonathan's jaw tightened. They exchanged a quick, subtle glance, one that spoke volumes.
Dove narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. "What do you two know about that?" Neither answered immediately, but their silence spoke louder than any words. Dove's eyes darted between them, her suspicion growing with every passing second. Then it hit her. She froze, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "Please tell me you two did not send out those tapes."
Jonathan shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tensing as he avoided her gaze. Nancy kept her eyes glued to the road, but her grip on the steering wheel tightened even more.
Steve blinked, glancing between them in confusion. "Is that bad?" he asked hesitantly, his tone wary.
"Yeah, Steve, it's bad," Dove muttered, leaning back in her seat and running a hand through her hair. "I never would've gone toe to toe with Dr. Bennett if I'd known Bonnie and Clyde over here decided to blow the whistle on a major government conspiracy."
Nancy's eyes flicked to Dove in the rearview mirror, her voice tense but firm. "The story that went with the tapes was watered down. It won't trace back to us."
Dove's gaze snapped to Nancy, her brow furrowing in disbelief. "You better hope that's true," she said, her tone sharp. "Because the targets on our backs just got a hell of a lot bigger."
Nancy pulled into the school parking lot, the tension inside the car as heavy as the overcast sky outside. Steve's car sat where he'd left it, an island in the sea of empty asphalt.
Dove unclipped her seatbelt, muttering a quiet "thanks" to Nancy before stepping out. Steve followed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as they made their way to his car. Neither of them said a word as they climbed in.
The drive to Dove's house was suffocatingly silent, the soft hum of the engine doing little to ease the weight between them. Steve's fingers tapped against the steering wheel, the occasional glance he stole at Dove going unnoticed—or maybe ignored.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You know," he started, his tone light but edged with sincerity, "what you did back there? Standing up to Dr. Bennett? That was totally badass."
Dove let out a dry laugh, her gaze fixed out the window. "It was stupid."
Steve frowned, clearly not agreeing with her assessment. "Stupid? No way. You were like a lawyer back there. All you needed was one of those fancy briefcases."
Dove shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "Steve, I'm serious. It wasn't smart. Pushing back against someone like her—someone who holds all the cards? That's how people end up in places no one ever hears about."
He smirked, undeterred by her sharp tone. "So what you're saying is, I should be grateful I got a front-row seat to your big courtroom debut?"
"Steve," Dove sighed, her tone a warning.
"I mean, come on," he continued, his voice teasing but softening just enough to ease the tension. "You've got to admit, I made a great sidekick. Kept my cool, didn't interrupt, totally nailed the whole strong, silent type thing."
Dove's lips twitched, though she tried to suppress it. "You mean the whole sitting-there-looking-confused thing?"
Steve shrugged nonchalantly, though the smirk playing on his lips betrayed his confidence. As he pulled into Dove's driveway, the car came to a smooth stop, and he glanced over at her. "You know, it really sucks that our study date got interrupted," he said, his tone casual but laced with something more hopeful. "How about I take you out for real?"
Dove raised an eyebrow, her hand resting on the door handle as she considered him. "Tell you what, Harrington," she said, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips as she pushed the door open. "If you pass that trig test tomorrow, I'll consider it."
"Piece of cake," Steve called after her as she stepped out of the car. "I've got the best tutor in Hawkins."
Dove glanced back at him with a wry smile, shaking her head as she walked up the driveway. "We'll see," she said, her voice light but carrying a challenge.
November 22, 1984
A couple of weeks had passed, and the dust from their latest ordeal had settled—at least on the surface. Life in Hawkins trudged on, but the undercurrent of unease lingered, unspoken yet palpable.
Barb's funeral had been a somber affair. The closure Nancy and Jonathan had hoped it would bring felt bittersweet. The official story invlolved a chemical leak from Hawkins Lab and though the ceremony provided an opportunity for Barb's family and friends to say goodbye, the real truth of what happened was buried with her.
Steve had become a steady presence in Dove's life, in a way that felt surprisingly natural. It became routine—impromptu study sessions, late-night drives, and occasional arguments with Dustin about whose turn it was to pick the movie.
To his credit, Steve had passed his trig test—barely, with a C-minus—but it was a victory nonetheless. True to her word, Dove let him take her out on a proper date. It had been simple, nothing extravagant—a shared milkshake at the diner, some playful banter, and more lingering glances than either would admit. Neither of them said it outright, but the dynamic between them was shifting. Dustin, of course, noticed and had been quick to offer his unsolicited commentary, half in jest and half as a protective younger brother.
Nonetheless, Dove couldn't escape the feeling that they were standing on a precipice. Dr. Bennett's thinly veiled threats echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of how precarious their situation was. Every so often, she felt the unsettling sensation of being watched, a chill creeping up her spine. For now, though, they were in a fragile truce with the forces around them, and Dove was determined to make the most of the quiet moments before the storm inevitably came again.
Thanksgiving at the Henderson house was always a lively affair, the table groaning under the weight of turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, and more pies than anyone could reasonably eat. The smell of roasting herbs and warm cinnamon filled the air, blending perfectly with the sound of laughter echoing through the house.
Dove sat at the head of the table, trying to maintain her dignity as Dustin and Eddie launched into their latest round of teasing. Dustin was mid-story, waving his fork for emphasis as Eddie leaned in, already grinning in anticipation.
"So then I'm like, 'You've never seenanyof it?' And he's just standing there with that blank Steve Harrington face," Dustin said, mimicking a clueless expression. "He asked me what a Wookiee was!" Dustin threw his hands in the air, like the mere memory was too much for him to handle.
Eddie slapped the table, nearly sending his plate flying. "Oh my God, Princess, this is the guy you're dating?" He was laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach. "Does he at least know whoDarth Vaderis, or is that asking too much?"
Dove groaned, her face in her hands. "We're notdating," she mumbled, her voice muffled by her palms.
Eddie raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with mock sincerity. "Oh? How many times have you gone out? Three? Four?"
Dove peeked at him through her fingers. "Four," she admitted reluctantly.
"Right," Eddie said, leaning back and crossing his arms with an air of triumph. "That's literally the definition of dating."
"It'snot," Dove argued, though her voice lacked conviction. "We're just.. getting to know each other."
"Right, right," Dustin cut in, his grin wicked. "Getting to know each other over dinners. And movies. And that one time he came by to 'help with your trig homework.'"
"Dustin," their mom interjected with a raised eyebrow, though her tone was light, "let your sister be, or I'm going to tell Eddie the story behindThe Dustinator."
Dustin froze mid-laugh, his grin vanishing. "You wouldn't," he said, eyes wide with panic.
"Oh, I would," she replied, her smile sweet but full of mischief.
Eddie perked up, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Wait,TheDustinator? That sounds incredible. Do tell."
Dustin's face turned a shade of red that rivaled the cranberry sauce. "No, we don't need to do this. Let's move on!"
But their mom only smiled sweetly, ignoring his protests. "Oh, it's a great story. You see, when Dustin was about eight—"
There was a knock at the door, cutting her off. Dove pushed her chair back and stood up. "I'll get it," she offered, but no one paid her any mind, too caught up in the story unfolding at the table.
Dustin's anguished groan was the last thing Dove heard before she opened the door, shaking her head at her family's antics. But the teasing and warmth from the dining room faded instantly when she saw who was standing on the other side.
Dr. Bennett stood on the porch, looking as composed and professional as ever with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Two men flanked her, both stone-faced and wearing dark suits, their presence radiating authority and unease. Dr. Bennett held a manila folder tucked under her arm, her sharp eyes locking onto Dove with unwavering intensity.
Dove's stomach sank, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. She glanced back toward the dining table, where Eddie was laughing loudly. Taking a deep breath, Dove stepped outside, closing the door behind her with deliberate care.
"You've got some nerve showing up here," Dove said, her voice low enough to avoid drawing attention from inside.
Dr. Bennett's smile was thin, almost mechanical. "This isn't a social call, Miss Henderson," she replied coolly. "We need to talk."
Dove's eyes flicked to the two men, noting their tense stances and unreadable expressions. "Yeah? Talk about what?"
Dr. Bennett extended the folder toward her, her movements calculated and precise. "About this."
Dove raised an eyebrow as she reached for the folder, her fingers brushing the edge of the crisp manila. "Another draft?" she asked, her tone dry.
Dr. Bennett's smile didn't waver, but it lacked any warmth. "The final draft," she said evenly.
Dove didn't bother opening it, letting the folder dangle loosely in her hand. "Great. I'll have my people call your people," she quipped, already turning back toward the door.
"Miss Henderson," Bennett's voice stopped her mid-step, sharper this time.
Dove turned slowly, her expression guarded. Her gaze dropped briefly to the two men flanking Bennett. Their hands now rested casually on their holstered guns—not overtly threatening, but the message was crystal clear.
Her chest tightened, but she forced a smirk onto her face. "Subtle," she said, her voice light, though her pulse quickened. "You're really selling me on this whole 'trust' thing, Doctor."
Bennett's expression remained unreadable as she stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation, Miss Henderson. You're playing a very dangerous game, and you don't even realize it."
Dove's smirk faltered, just for a second, before she forced it back. "If this is your version of trust-building, it's not very convincing," she retorted, keeping her tone light but sharp.
Bennett stepped closer, the professional mask slipping further. "You don't want to refuse this time," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because next time, it won't be me you have to deal with. And I promise you, the people who will come knocking won't be as.. polite."
Dove narrowed her eyes, studying Bennett carefully. Despite the woman's cold tone and the subtle threat hanging in the air, there was something else—something deeper. For a fleeting moment, Bennett almost seemed genuinely concerned.
After a long pause, Dove finally nodded, her voice measured. "I'll read through the documents."
The sound of the front door creaking open made Dove's stomach drop. The men standing behind Bennett moved quickly, their hands retreating from their holsters as they pulled their suit jackets closed. Dove turned her head sharply to see her mom stepping out, a warm but curious smile on her face.
"Everything alright out here?" her mom asked, her voice casual but her eyes scanning the scene.
"Everything's fine, Mom," Dove said quickly, her tone clipped. "Go back inside."
Her mom didn't budge. Instead, she stepped out fully, her posture relaxed but deliberate, positioning herself just slightly in front of Dove. It was a subtle movement, but Dove recognized the protective intent behind it.
Dr. Bennett's professional mask snapped into place, her expression warm and disarming. She extended a hand. "Good evening, Mrs. Henderson. I'm Dr. Bennett, a professor at Notre Dame. I was just dropping off some information for your daughter."
Dove's mom hesitated for a moment before shaking Bennett's hand, her eyes flickering between the three of them. "Notre Dame?" she repeated, her tone polite but skeptical. "It's a little early for college applications, isn't it? Dove's only a junior."
Bennett's smile didn't falter. "We've been keeping an eye on her," she said smoothly, her voice carrying an undertone that Dove understood immediately but her mom missed entirely. "She's an incredibly promising young woman. We want to make sure she sees that Notre Dame is her only true option."
Dove's chest tightened at the words, her fingers curling around the folder. She could feel her mom glance at her, sensing something was off, but she didn't push it.
"Well, that's.. flattering," her mom said, her tone a mix of genuine pride and confusion.
"We take great pride in identifying potential," Bennett replied, her voice calm and unwavering. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Without another word, Bennett turned and walked to the car, her heels clicking against the pavement. The two men followed, their movements precise and practiced, their eyes flickering back to Dove and her mom one last time before they climbed into the vehicle. The car pulled away, its taillights fading into the dark.
Dove's mom turned to her, her brow furrowing. "That was.. strange," she said, her voice low. "Showing up here on Thanksgiving? I mean, they must really want you to go to Notre Dame."
Dove forced a smile, though her hands tightened around the folder at her side. "Yeah," she said softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "Dream school, right?"
Her mom gave her a warm smile, reaching out to squeeze her arm. "You must be doing something right."
Dove nodded faintly, her throat tight as she clutched the folder to her chest. They stepped back inside, the warmth of the house and the sound of laughter from the dining room hitting her like a wave. She forced a smile as she glanced toward the table, where Eddie and Dustin were still deep in conversation, oblivious to the tension outside.
"I'm just gonna take this to my room," Dove said, holding the folder up slightly.
Her mom gave her a quick nod. "Alright, sweetheart. Don't take too long; dessert's almost ready."
With a murmured response, Dove started down the hallway, her fingers clutching the folder so tightly the edges dug into her skin. When she reached her room, she shut the door softly behind her and let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the wood.
Her mind was spinning, her thoughts a chaotic storm. She stared at the folder, knowing what it contained and the choices it would force her to make. It felt like a ticking time bomb in her hands, its weight far greater than its physical form.
Dove crossed the room and set the folder on her desk, her hand lingering over it for a moment. Her chest tightened, the memories of Dr. Bennett's words and the subtle threat etched into the men's movements replaying in her mind. She sat on the edge of her bed, her foot tapping nervously against the floor as she debated opening it.
But something stopped her.
From downstairs, a burst of laughter floated up, cutting through the quiet. Eddie's voice, loud and teasing, was followed by Dustin's exaggerated protests and her mom's warm chuckle. The sound tugged at Dove's heart, pulling her away from the suffocating weight of the folder on the desk.
She stood, smoothing her shirt as she took one last glance at the unopened folder. Dove turned off her bedroom light and made her way back into the dining room, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the warmth and noise of her family enveloped her once again. When she walked in Dustin was midway through a story, Eddie rolling his eyes dramatically while their mom stifled a laugh.
Dove slid back into her seat, and Eddie immediately turned to her with a grin. "Took you long enough, Princess. Dustin was just trying to convince us that sweet potato pie is the king of Thanksgiving desserts."