The sky over Hawkins bleeds out in long strokes of orange and violent magenta.

You sit on the cool, gritty tar of the WSQK radio station roof, your knees pulled to your chest, and watch the sun dip below the treeline.

Mike shifts beside you. He’s quiet, but you can feel his gaze on you, flicking between your profile and the dying light.

“You’re quiet,” Mike says, his voice soft, cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You don’t look at him. You keep your eyes fixed on the horizon, on the last sliver of sun being swallowed by the earth. “Just thinking.”

“He’ll be fine,” Mike says softly. He means Hopper, your dad. Downstairs, in the station’s soundproofed booth, the Chief is gearing up for the thirty-eighth Crawl. Another trip into the festering, rotting mirror image of your world. Another search in a seemingly infinite hell for a ghost named Vecna.

Thirty-seven times he’s been searching sections. Thirty-seven times he’s come back with nothing but exhaustion and the lingering stench of decay. What was the definition of insanity again?

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a small, shaky sound. “No, I know,” you murmur, but the words feel hollow. You know your dad is capable. You know he’s a survivor. But you also know that every trip into that place chips away at him, at all of you. “It's not that.”

Mike’s knee bumps against yours, a small, deliberate gesture. “What is it then? The ‘final boss cutscene’?” he tries, a weak attempt at his usual humor.

“What if this is it, Mike?” The question escapes before you can stop it, the despair you’ve been nursing all day finally bubbling to the surface. You turn to face him, and the raw vulnerability in your expression makes his own falter. “What if this is just… forever? What if we find a new monster every year, and this is just what our lives are now? One long, losing game of Dungeons & Dragons that we can’t ever win.”

You gesture vaguely towards the horizon. “Thirty-seven dead ends. Thirty-eight is just another number. What if there is no final boss? What if we never find him, Mike?” The question escapes you, raw and vulnerable. “What if Vecna is just… gone? Or what if he’s so deep in there we’ll never see him? We’ll just keep sending people in, one by one, until there’s no one left? What if there is no end?”

He looks away for a moment, his jaw tight, wrestling with the same fear you’ve just voiced. He’s the leader, the Dungeon Master. He’s supposed to have the plan.

But when he turns back to you, his expression has softened. He doesn’t offer you another platitude about winning. Instead, he reaches out, his calloused fingers finding yours where they rest on your knee. His hand is warm, grounding.

“Then we find a new way,” he says finally, his voice firm with a conviction you wish you could borrow. “We roll new dice. We… we change the game. We don’t stop. We can’t.”