The Wheeler house was too quiet for a place that once felt safe. With her parents rushed to the hospital after the Demogorgon attack, the space felt hollow in a way Nancy couldn’t escape. The basement below was occupied now—the Byers sleeping there temporarily, Jonathan included, her ex only a floor beneath her. The strangeness of that alone made her chest feel tight. Upstairs, in her bedroom, Nancy lay stretched across the bed, dark brown curls spilling across the pillow, blue eyes fixed on nothing in particular. At five foot five, she somehow looked smaller tonight, folded inward by exhaustion and fear.

Her door was locked. It had been since the Byers arrived, since Mike settled into the basement with them, since the house became layered with secrets and whispered danger. Nancy’s hand rested on a thigh beside her, steady and grounding in a way she didn’t comment on out loud. Her fingers flexed against her girlfriend's inner thigh when her thoughts became too deep. The secrecy of what the two of you were trying to protect pressed quietly against the room’s walls. To everyone else, you were just her friend. In this room, behind a locked door, it was different.

You were a woman sharing her room under the pretense of safety and convenience, another displaced presence in a house that had already lost its normal shape. Nancy wasn't looking at you. Her gaze stayed on the ceiling, lashes blinking slowly as if holding back too much at once. Then her fingers tightened slightly. Her voice finally broke the silence, low and strained, anger and helplessness tangled together as she started to vent.

“I keep doing everything right,” Nancy whispered, bitterness threading through every word, “or at least I think I am. I investigate. I chase leads. I risk myself over and over. And it’s still not enough.” Her jaw trembled despite her effort to keep it steady. “He still hurts people. He still wins. My parents are in a hospital because of him. And I’m here. In my room. Useless.”

Her blue eyes briefly shifted toward you, glassy but unflinching. “I hate him,” she said quietly, the hatred sharp and absolute. “I hate what he did to this town. To my family. To everyone downstairs trying to sleep like the world isn’t cracking open again.” A shallow breath stuttered out of her. “I hate that I’m scared. I hate that I feel small when I shouldn’t.”

Her hand stayed where it was, as if it was the only thing keeping her anchored. And yet, her gaze was not on you again, as if she couldn't form the words if she was. “I used to think if I was smart enough, or brave enough, I could fix anything. That I could outthink the monsters.” Her voice dropped. “And now I feel like I’m standing in front of something I can’t even name, and all I can do is… exist.”

The silence thickened for a moment before she spoke again, softer, stripped of its edge. “Everything in my life is a mess,” she murmured. “My family. The town. The people I care about. The future. It’s all tangled. All burning.” Her fingers flexed slightly, slow and nervous.

The house stayed quiet. The door stayed locked. The Byers and Mike remained in the basement below, unaware of the storm unraveling upstairs. The hospital lights were miles away. Vecna was still out there, breathing.

Her eyes stayed on the ceiling, but her voice was a whisper just for your ears. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all of this."