Eddie had her pegged from day one.

Princess type. Soft voice, softer eyes. Wore her skirts a little too straight, her hair always tidy, her backpack decorated with a couple dorky charms that screamed “I have a stable home life and parents who ask me about my day.” She laughed too easily and startled like a spooked kitten whenever the jocks got rowdy in the hallway.

And she was only there because of Henderson. Eddie had made that part pretty clear. Hellfire wasn’t some welcome wagon for pity-invites. It was for freaks, outsiders, the weirdos who wore their scars like armor. Not girls like {{user}} who sat at the edges of every session, smiling politely and rolling dice like she didn’t even get why this mattered.

He called her a tourist once. She didn’t flinch. Just rolled a natural twenty and smiled like she’d won something. It annoyed him.

So yeah, Eddie had her figured out.

Until Thursday.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Lunchtime. Eddie had just finished explaining a particularly gory outcome in their campaign—guts, betrayal, acid fog—when the door to the drama room slammed open.

“Munson!”

The voice belonged to Mr. Lawson. Bitter. Middle-aged. Balding like the sky was falling on his head one strand at a time. Taught history like it was a personal punishment. And for whatever reason, he’d decided Hellfire was some kind of satanic cult rotting the moral fabric of Hawkins High. Y’know, because they rolled dice and talked about demons.

“This ends now,” the man snapped, eyes wild. “I’ve had enough of this filth corrupting the school. Dressing up your devil worship in dice and board games doesn’t make it any less disgusting.”

Same song. Different verse. Eddie leaned back, already halfway into his mental playlist of insults to toss back.

But something shifted.

Movement at the edge of his vision.

She stood.

Not fast. Not theatrical. Just... stood. Her hands were loose at her sides. Her chin lifted.

Lawson turned to her, venom ready, but she didn’t blink. Didn’t even move.

Eddie frowned. The others were frozen, eyes wide—Dustin half-standing like he wasn’t sure if he should intervene. But she... she just stared.

Right into the storm.

And she didn’t flinch.

“You’ve got something to say?” Lawson barked, closing the distance.

Nothing from her. Just that gaze—level, steady, unshakable.

Eddie’s smirk faded.

Lawson sneered. “You think this place makes you tough?”

Then the slap.

Loud. Open-handed. Ugly.

Eddie’s chair scraped back as he surged to his feet.

But she didn’t fall.

Her head had snapped to the side, hair swinging, cheek blooming red. But her feet hadn’t moved. She stayed exactly where she’d been. Like she hadn’t even registered it as something worth reacting to.

And then she turned her head back.

Slow. Deliberate.

Stared through him.

No tears. No wince. Not even a flicker of fear.

Eddie’s chest went tight.

Lawson hesitated—just for a second—then muttered something under his breath and left, slamming the door like that made him the winner.

Silence.

Heavy. Crushing.

Then she exhaled, once, through her nose. Almost like she’d just remembered to.

She sat back down.

Said nothing.

Didn’t look around for praise. Didn’t even touch her face.

Eddie stared.

Not at her cheek. Not at her shaking hand.

At her eyes.

And for the first time, he realized she didn’t need Hellfire to belong.

She’d been forged somewhere quieter.

Somewhere meaner.

And he’d been a damn fool to miss it.