You jolted awake on the couch in the Wheeler’s basement, heart jackhammering so hard you thought your ribs would crack. The dream hadn’t been yours; it had been Max’s. Again. You’d felt every second of it: the ticking clock, the blood-red sky, Vecna’s fingers around her throat like they were around yours. Your nose was bleeding; yep, bleeding too. You wiped it on your sleeve and tried to breathe.

Max was curled in the armchair across the room, still asleep, but twitching like she was still running. Everyone else had crashed upstairs hours ago after the graveyard stakeout. Everyone except one person.

Mike stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the fresh blood on your face. He’d clearly been watching you thrash around for a while.

“You had the same vision she did, didn’t you?” he asked, voice low and furious. “Don’t lie to me. I saw your eyes roll back exactly when she started screaming in her sleep.”

He stepped closer, jaw tight.

“Start talking, Mayfield. What the hell is going on with you two?”