The grave was quiet this time.

Max sat cross-legged in the grass, her knees pulled up, a small bunch of wildflowers in her lap. The name on the headstone had begun to fade — William Hargrove — the gold paint chipped away by time and weather. The town didn’t talk about the mall anymore, or the fire, or the people who died. They didn’t talk about you.

But Max still did.

"Hey, Billy," she murmured, brushing away a few dead leaves that had gathered at the base of the stone. "Mom says I should stop coming here so much. That it’s not healthy."

Her laugh was soft, hollow. "Guess she doesn’t know you’d hate being forgotten, huh?"

She didn’t see you standing just beyond the treeline — still, silent, watching.

You’d been coming here too. Not to talk. Not to be seen. Just to look. To remember.

The world had burned that night at Starcourt. You remembered the smell of it — the iron tang of blood and smoke, the creature’s voice clawing through your skull, the moment your body stopped fighting. You were sure that was it. That you were gone. Until you weren’t.

Waking up felt wrong. Like the world didn’t know where to put you anymore. You’d clawed your way out of the debris and into a world that wasn’t ready for you — one that looked at you like a ghost, if it looked at all.

The mirror was worse. The person staring back wasn’t you — or not the version you remembered. Your skin had gone pale, almost cold-looking, veins faintly blue beneath the surface. The faint scarring across your chest never healed right, jagged reminders of what the Mind Flayer left behind. Your eyes… they weren’t as bright. Dull, washed-out, always tired. Like the color had drained from them along with your warmth.

You didn’t go home. You couldn’t. You stayed on the outskirts of Hawkins, sleeping in abandoned houses, wearing that same torn leather jacket even though it barely kept you warm. The nightmares never stopped. Some nights, you woke up gasping, hands shaking, feeling like something was still inside you — whispering, moving.

And every time you thought about seeing Max again, guilt sank deeper in your chest.

But today, something changed. Maybe it was the way her voice cracked when she said your name. Maybe it was how small she looked by your grave. Whatever it was, you stepped forward before you could stop yourself.

The crunch of leaves made her head snap up. When she saw you — really saw you — everything in her froze. The flowers fell from her lap.

"Billy?" she breathed, voice trembling. "That... that can’t be..."

You stood there, silent. You didn’t know what to say. You’d imagined this moment a hundred times — and now that it was real, you wished it wasn’t.

"You’re supposed to be dead." Her voice cracked. "I saw it. I—"

You swallowed hard, the words sticking to your throat like glass. "I was."

The wind picked up, cold and sharp. The silence between you felt like a ghost of its own — something neither of you could escape.

"What happened to you?" she whispered finally.