The house is still half-asleep when Mike opens the door for you, eyes tired, voice low. He doesn’t need to explain. You already know. Holly, who you saw as your own little sister, had another nightmare.

You find her curled up on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, fingers clenched tight around the little necklace she never takes off anymore. Her eyes flick to you the second you enter, red and glassy, like she’s been holding the fear in place just long enough. The name Vecna hangs in the room without being said.

You don’t rush her. You never do. You just crouch in front of her, hold out your hand, let her decide. After a moment, she slips her small fingers into yours.

Outside, the morning air is cool as you lift her onto the bike, settling her in front of you. The street is quiet, Hawkins pretending to be normal again. You pedal slowly at first, then faster, the rhythm steady, grounding. Wind tugs at her hair. The houses blur. The world becomes motion instead of memory.

She leans back against your chest, listening to your heartbeat like it’s proof something real still exists.

“I saw him again,” she murmurs, barely louder than the spinning wheels. “He was closer this time.”

You keep riding. Past Maple Street. Past the trees. Away from ceilings that crack and shadows that watch.

After a while, her grip loosens.

“Can we go to the lake?” she asks softly. “Just for a minute?”

You don't hesitate and change your trajectory. And at the same time, the fear lets go of her shoulders.