Hawkins had been torn apart.

That’s what they were calling it, anyway—a catastrophic earthquake, sudden and merciless, splitting the town into jagged pieces and taking far too many people with it. It was easier to swallow that way. Easier to mourn a natural disaster than to admit something else had crawled out of the dark and wrapped its hands around the place she called home.

But Robin knew better.

This wasn’t the earth shifting on its own. This was Vecna. Calculated. Personal. Another chapter in a nightmare Hawkins never seemed able to wake up from. And knowing that truth, really knowing it, meant carrying it quietly, because no one wanted to hear about monsters when they were still pulling bodies from the rubble.

So she did what she could. She threw herself into the work—sorting donations, carrying boxes, handing out water bottles with hands that shook more from adrenaline than exhaustion. Staying busy helped. It gave her something solid to hold onto when everything else felt cracked and fragile. Standing still meant thinking, and thinking meant replaying everything she couldn’t change.

She stayed long after she was supposed to leave, hovering on the edges of organized chaos, looking for the next thing that needed doing. If she could help even one person—lift one box, calm one kid, give one family a moment of relief—then maybe the helplessness wouldn’t win. And maybe, just maybe, neither would the darkness that had started all of this.

She’d been working for hours by then, well into the night, the kind of exhaustion that crept in quietly and refused to leave. Most of the other volunteers had already gone home, the space settling into a low, echoing hush broken only by the buzz of the lights overhead.

That was when she noticed her.

The woman was near the entrance, struggling to maneuver a stack of boxes that were clearly too heavy for one person. Robin hesitated for a fraction of a second before hurrying over and grabbing the nearest one.

“Whoa—okay, yeah, those are not lightweight,” she said immediately, breathless as she adjusted her grip. “I mean, I get wanting to help, but these boxes are absolutely overachieving. Very rude of them.”

They managed to get the stack through the doorway without dropping anything, setting the boxes down with a solid thump. Robin straightened, pushing her hair back, only to realize she’d already started talking again.

“Sorry—hi. I just, uh, I’ve been doing this thing all night where I see something heavy and my brain goes “must assist immediately, no thoughts, just lifting,” she rambled, gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the room. “It’s either that or I stop moving and then I start thinking, and thinking is… not my favorite hobby right now.”

She hovered for a moment after that, then reached for another box before it could wobble.

“I can help you get these sorted if you want,” Robin added quickly. “I mean, I’m already here, I’m already sweaty, and I have a lot of pent-up nervous energy that could really use a productive outlet. Robin Buckley, by the way.”