The Camaro’s engine growled low as Billy pulled into the empty parking lot behind the Hawkins pool, headlights slicing through the fog. It was late—too late for anyone to be here—but sleep hadn’t been an option for him in a long time. The hum of the lights over the water was the only sound, steady and electric against the quiet.

He killed the ignition, rubbed a hand over his face. His knuckles were raw again—didn’t matter why. Then movement caught his eye.

Someone sat by the pool steps. Not a kid sneaking in for a swim—no, this was different.

A girl.

About his age. Barefoot, knees drawn in, wearing what looked like a hospital gown, skin streaked with dirt. Confused. Lost. Like she’d just stumbled out of someone else’s nightmare.

Billy’s jaw clenched. Every instinct screamed walk away, but his hands stayed on the door handle, frozen.

“Pool’s closed,” he said finally, voice low and rough, meant to sound tough. But something faltered halfway through—like he wasn’t sure if he was warning her, or himself.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of chlorine and rain. For once, he didn’t drive off.