The warehouse explodes into motion.
"GO—GO—GO!" Steve shouts.
Eddie bolts first, boots slamming against concrete. Dustin grabs Lucas's wrist and yanks him forward. Mike's hand finds Will's without thinking — fingers locking, grounding.
They run.
Headlights flare brighter. Jason's truck screeches to a stop, doors flying open.
"There!" Jason yells. "That's him!"
Shouts echo. Footsteps. The sound of too many people who think they're right.
They burst out the back of the warehouse into open night.
"Split up!" Steve orders. "They can't chase all of us!"
Lucas hesitates. "Jason's gonna follow me."
Steve meets his eyes. "Then you make him tired."
Lucas nods once — and sprints left, disappearing into the dark.
"Dustin, Eddie — with me!" Steve barks.
They veer right.
Mike doesn't even think before pulling Will the opposite way.
This is instinct. Survival. Something feral and quiet.
They crash through brush, branches clawing at their jackets. Mike's lungs burn. Will stumbles —
"Sorry," Mike gasps, tightening his grip. "I've got you."
Behind them, voices shout.
"Split up! Check the trees!"
Flashlights sweep the woods like knives.
They duck behind a fallen log, breath ragged.
"Don't move," Mike whispers.
They crouch low, mud soaking through their jeans. Will presses a hand over his mouth to keep his breathing quiet. Mike's heart is so loud he's sure everyone can hear it.
Footsteps crunch closer.
Jason's voice slices through the dark. "Lucas! I know you're out here!"
Another voice: "We lost Munson!"
Jason snarls. "Then we find him. Or the people helping him."
A flashlight beam sweeps inches from their faces.
Will freezes.
Mike moves without thinking — shifts, blocking Will with his body.
The light passes.
Gone.
Silence floods back in.
Will lets out a shaky breath. "Mike…"
Mike doesn't answer right away. His hands are still gripping Will's sleeves like letting go might break something.
"You okay?" Mike asks quietly.
Will nods. "Yeah. You?"
"Yeah," Mike says, though his hands are trembling.
They stay crouched there, pressed together, listening to the woods breathe.
After a moment, Will whispers, "You didn't have to do that."
Mike frowns. "Do what?"
"Stand in front of me."
Mike shrugs, eyes fixed on the dark. "Seemed logical."
Will looks at him — really looks. Moonlight catches the sharp line of Mike's jaw, the fear he's trying not to show.
"You're shaking," Will says.
Mike exhales a laugh. "Guess I'm not as cool under pressure as I thought."
Will hesitates, then reaches out, gently wrapping his fingers around Mike's wrist.
It's not romantic. Not yet.
It's survival.
But Mike still goes still.
"I get scared a lot," Will says softly. "I just hide it better."
Mike swallows. "You don't seem scared."
Will gives a sad smile. "That's the trick."
Their eyes meet — steady, intimate, something forming in the quiet.
A distant yell breaks it.
"JASON! OVER HERE!"
Mike pulls back slightly. "We need to move."
They slip deeper into the trees, slower now. Smarter.
Across town, Max Mayfield sits cross-legged on her bed, phone glowing in the dark.
No reply.
She refreshes Lucas's profile. Nothing new. No story. No post.
Her stomach twists.
She opens their messages.
Max:Hey, you alive?
Max:You kinda disappeared last night.
Delivered.Not read.
Max exhales slowly.
Something's wrong.
She flips on the TV.
"…Hawkins Police continue the search for Eddie Munson, last seen fleeing the scene…"
Max's blood runs cold.
She grabs her jacket.
Lucas runs until his legs scream.
Jason's voice is everywhere. Echoing. Angry.
"You think you can just disappear?" Jason shouts. "You owe me answers!"
Lucas ducks behind a shed, chest heaving.
He pulls out his phone.
One text.
Lucas:I don't know anything.
He doesn't send it.
He turns the phone off.
Steve slams Eddie against a chain-link fence, breathless.
"Listen to me," Steve says, gripping Eddie's jacket. "You did nothing wrong."
Eddie laughs hysterically. "Tell that to half the town!"
Dustin's eyes dart around. "Steve, we can't stay here."
Steve nods. "I know. I know."
Sirens wail in the distance.
Police. Or worse.
Will and Mike reach an old drainage tunnel, half-hidden by vines.
Mike crouches, peering inside. "This goes under the road."
Will grimaces. "It's gross."
Mike smirks. "Welcome to hiding from angry mobs."
They crawl in.
It's dark. Damp. Cold.
They sit shoulder to shoulder, backs against the concrete, knees pulled in.
For a long moment, neither speaks.
Then Will whispers, "I thought I was gonna die back there."
Mike's throat tightens. "Me too."
Silence.
Then, quietly: "I'm glad it was you," Will says.
Mike turns. "What?"
"That I was with," Will explains. "When it got bad."
Mike doesn't look away this time. "Yeah. Me too."
Something clicks. Not loud. Not dramatic.
But permanent.
Hopper stands at the edge of the woods, staring at the chaos.
Jocks. Flashlights. Fear.
This isn't justice.
This is a lynch mob.
He grabs his radio. "All units, stand down civilians. This is a police matter."
No one listens.
Hopper swears under his breath and heads in.
Max bikes hard, wind burning her eyes.
She skids to a stop near the old mill.
Footprints. Tire tracks. Too many.
"Lucas…" she whispers.
Back in the tunnel, Will pulls out his sketchbook, hands shaking.
Mike watches. "You draw when you're scared?"
Will nods. "It helps me breathe."
He sketches fast — rough lines. Two figures running. Hands locked.
Mike's chest tightens.
"That's us," Mike says.
Will freezes. "Is that okay?"
Mike swallows. "Yeah."
More than okay.
Somewhere above them, footsteps pass.
Then fade.
Will leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed. "I don't want this to end."
Mike's voice is barely audible. "Me neither."
They sit there, breathing each other in, unaware that everything has already changed.
And across Hawkins, Max Mayfield pedals harder, heart pounding, certain now of one thing:
Whatever Lucas is mixed up in —
it's bigger than basketball.
And it's not over.