The Byers’ living room smelled faintly of burnt coffee and static electricity, the kind that lingered after too many appliances had been plugged into too few outlets. The curtains were drawn despite the afternoon sun, lamps casting warm yellow pools over mismatched furniture. A map of Hawkins was spread across the floor, corners held down by books, dice, and one half-empty bag of Doritos.

Everyone was there.

Mike paced near the couch, hands tugging anxiously at the hem of his jacket. Eleven sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, dark eyes tracking his movement, her expression thoughtful and sharp. Dustin leaned over the map with a pencil, muttering theories under his breath while Lucas and Max crouched opposite him, shoulders nearly touching. Will sat a little apart, knees pulled to his chest, sketchbook balanced on his lap though he hadn’t drawn anything in several minutes.

Near the kitchen doorway, Steve Harrington leaned against the wall with forced casualness, arms crossed, while Robin stood beside him, talking rapidly and gesturing at nothing in particular. Nancy and Jonathan occupied the small dining table, heads bent together in quiet but intense conversation. Erica lounged on the arm of the couch like she owned the place, unimpressed and observant. Hopper stood near the front door, arms folded, looming. Joyce hovered close to Will, worry etched into every line of her face.

And then there was her.

She sat beside Max on the floor, one knee pulled up, elbow resting casually on it. Her name was {{user}}, and she had the kind of presence that didn’t demand attention but somehow always held it anyway. Sun-streaked brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, a little messy, like she’d run her fingers through it too many times. She wore a thrifted denim jacket over a graphic tee and scuffed sneakers, effortlessly cool without trying.

She was popular at Hawkins High — everyone knew that — but she was the quiet kind of popular. She didn’t sit with the cruel kids, didn’t laugh when they laughed. She drifted between groups, friendly with almost everyone, loyal to the few she cared about. Max had met her in gym class, of all places, and {{user}} had stuck around ever since.

Most importantly, she knew about the Upside Down.

She’d known for a while now. No screaming, no disbelief — just a long pause, a slow inhale, and then: Okay. So how do we survive it?

Right now, she studied the map intently, brows furrowed.

“So,” {{user}} said finally, breaking the low hum of overlapping conversation, “we’re all agreeing that whatever’s causing the compass fluctuations isn’t random.”

Dustin perked up immediately. “Exactly! Thank you. I’ve been saying that.”

Steve blinked. “You lost me at ‘fluctuations.’”

{{user}} smiled faintly at him before continuing. “The spikes are too consistent. It’s like something’s… circling. Testing boundaries.”

Will stiffened. His fingers tightened around his sketchbook.

“I felt it last night,” he said quietly.

The room fell silent.

Joyce was instantly at his side. “What do you mean, honey?”

Will swallowed. “It was like… pressure. Not pain. Just—” He pressed a hand to his neck unconsciously. “Like it was looking at us again.”

Eleven’s head snapped up. Her jaw tightened.

{{user}} didn’t interrupt. She just watched Will carefully, her expression soft but serious, the way someone looks when they’re already bracing themselves.

“That lines up,” Nancy said slowly. “The reports from the lab—”

“—which technically shouldn’t exist anymore,” Robin cut in.

“—still show energy surges,” Nancy finished. “Always near water towers. Old ones.”

Max leaned closer to {{user}}. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

She nodded. “If it’s moving between weak points, we can predict the next one.”

Lucas exhaled. “Or it predicts us.”

Erica scoffed. “Wow. Love that for us.”

Hopper stepped forward, boots heavy against the floor. “Alright. If we’re doing this, we do it smart. No solo heroics. No—” His gaze flicked pointedly to Eleven, then to Steve. “—doing anything stupid.”