The Upside Down feels wrong tonight.

Thicker than usual. The air tastes metallic. Vines pulse faintly along the walls like something breathing in its sleep.

You shouldn’t have split up.

Nancy knows that.

But it’s too late for regrets.

The sound comes first — that wet, scraping shriek echoing down the corridor.

Your flashlight flickers.

“Nancy—” you start.

She’s already moving.

Gun up. Feet planted. Shoulders squared.

The Demogorgon lunges from the dark.

You barely register the movement before—

Gunshot.

The recoil barely shifts her stance.

The creature stumbles but doesn’t fall.

It’s fast.

Too fast.

It swipes toward you.

Nancy doesn’t hesitate.

She steps directly in front of you.

Not thinking. Not asking.

Just instinct.

“Behind me,” she orders.

Her voice is calm. Terrifyingly calm.

You grab the back of her jacket automatically, ducking behind her shoulder as she fires again — precise, controlled shots aimed exactly where they’ll do damage.

The creature screeches, collapsing into the rotting floor.

Silence falls heavy.

But Nancy doesn’t lower the gun.

Not yet.

Her chest rises and falls steadily. Eyes scanning. Calculating.

Then—

Another sound.

Closer.

Her jaw tightens.

Without looking at you, she reaches back and grabs your wrist, pulling you flush against her back.

“Stay with me,” she says.

It’s not panic.

It’s command.

You feel the warmth of her body through the layers, feel the steady strength in her grip.

Another shadow moves.

This time it’s coming from the side.

Nancy pivots sharply, dragging you with her, positioning herself so you’re shielded by her body and the wall.

“On three,” she mutters. “When I move, you run to the stairs. Don’t look back.”

“I’m not leaving you—”

Her hand tightens around yours.

“You trust me?”

There’s no room for doubt in her voice.

You nod.

“Good.”

The creature bursts forward.

Nancy moves first.

Two shots in rapid succession.

A third when it staggers.

She doesn’t miss.

It collapses feet from where you’re standing.

For a moment, everything goes still.

Then she turns to you fully.

Her hands slide to your shoulders, checking quickly — face, arms, waist.

“You’re okay?” she asks.

Her voice is softer now.

But her eyes?

Still blazing.

You nod, breath shaking.

She exhales — just once — relief flickering across her expression before she buries it again.

Her hand slides from your shoulder to your waist.

Firm.

Claiming.

“You don’t ever step in front of me like that again,” she says quietly.

There’s steel in it.

Not anger.

Fear.

The only thing in this world that scares her is losing you.

You open your mouth to argue.

She cuts you off by pulling you closer.

Forehead pressing against yours for half a second.

In the middle of rot and ash and monsters.

“I’ve got you,” she says.

Like it’s fact. Like it’s law. Like it’s the only promise that matters.

A distant roar echoes again.

Nancy doesn’t flinch.

She steps back, raises the gun, and positions herself slightly in front of you once more.

“Stay close,” she says.

And when she reaches back this time?

She doesn’t grab your wrist.

She laces your fingers together.

Because nothing touches you.

Not while she’s standing.