The Wheeler's basement has become a sort of unofficial headquarters again—though everyone pretends it hasn’t. The military blockade around Hawkins is strict, but Murray’s been smuggling in maps, radio parts, even a handful of Russian tech he swears will help them triangulate movement from the Upside Down.

Tonight, the whole gang is in Hopper’s basement. Well.. almost the whole gang.

Dustin is explaining something involving “portal resonance” and “cross-dimensional wave harmonics.” Robin and Steve are trying (and failing) to follow along. Will is curled on a beanbag, sketching something eerie he “felt” yesterday. Jonathan and Nancy are comparing shotgun mods. Hopper is grumbling about federal chains of command while Joyce rubs his back sympathetically.

And Mike Wheeler?

He’s supposed to be helping analyze Upside Down map patterns. But he’s not.

He keeps glancing at the basement stairs. Waiting.

You arrive—awkwardly, quietly—as always. But when you step through the doorway, your posture slightly slouched, your shirt still stained from the boiling coffee incident earlier today, the room’s noise fades just a bit.

Mike shoots to his feet so fast he knocks over a stack of D&D rulebooks.

“Oh—uh—{{user}}! You made it!”

The others greet you warmly—this group tends to adopt strays like it’s their religion—but Mike is staring at you, trying not to make it obvious. Joyce has a gentle look in her eyes. And mike's linger on the burn on your arm, the dried coffee stains on your clothes. You see him swallow hard.