By morning, Hawkins has already decided what it believes.
Jason Carver's arrest is everywhere.
On the radio.
On the TVs behind diner counters.
Whispered in hallways.
Argued about on porches.
"Emotional distress," people say.
"Poor boy lost his girlfriend."
"Went too far."
Some defend him.
Others don't.
But everyone agrees on one thing:
Chrissy Cunningham is still dead.
And no one knows who did it.
The jocks sit together at school, quieter than they've ever been.
No Jason.
No leader.
Just hollow looks and clenched jaws.
They don't talk about Eddie anymore.
They don't talk about Lucas either.
They just watch.
Eddie Munson sits alone on the curb outside his trailer, cigarette unlit between his fingers.
Lucas drops down beside him.
For a while, neither of them speaks.
"They're still looking at me like I did it," Eddie mutters finally.
Lucas nods. "They'll keep looking until we prove you didn't."
Eddie laughs weakly. "You ever notice how innocence doesn't matter once people decide?"
Lucas looks straight ahead. "Yeah. I do."
For the first time, Eddie doesn't feel like the only outsider.
Dustin sprawls on Steve's floor, staring at the ceiling.
"So," he says, "Jason's gone. But the real bad guy isn't."
Steve leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Which means this isn't over."
Eddie paces. "Chrissy didn't just… drop dead. Someone was with her."
Steve nods slowly. "And whoever it was is real quiet right now."
Dustin sits up. "Which means they're scared."
Steve meets Eddie's eyes. "We don't stop."
Eddie exhales. "Didn't think we would."
Max sits cross-legged on Lucas's bed, fingers laced tightly together.
"You didn't tell me," she says.
Lucas looks down. "I didn't want you dragged into it."
She scoffs softly. "Too late."
Silence stretches.
"I was scared," Lucas admits. "When Erica was gone… I thought—"
Max reaches for his hand. "You're not alone anymore."
Lucas squeezes back, grounding himself in the weight of her presence.
Outside, Hawkins feels darker than it ever has.
Mike's basement is quiet in a way that feels intentional.
Will sits on the old couch, knees pulled up, sketchbook closed for once.
Mike fidgets nearby.
"I keep thinking," Mike says softly, "if we hadn't gone to that bar… if..
Mike trails off.
The hum of the basement fills the space where his words die.
Will shifts on the couch. "You can't do that."
Mike glances at him. "Do what?"
"Rewrite everything until it's your fault," Will says quietly. "It isn't."
Mike exhales, rubbing his palms together. "Jason almost got Eddie killed. Erica—" His voice cracks. "You could've gotten hurt. I don't know how to just… sit with that."
Will studies him for a moment, then says, "You stayed."
Mike looks up.
"You didn't run," Will continues. "You stood in front of Jason. You went back to the warehouse. You keep going back."
Mike swallows. "So do you."
A beat.
Will's fingers twist together. "I'm not brave. I just—" He stops, searching. "I don't like the idea of you doing this without me."
Mike's chest tightens. "I don't want to do anything without you."
The words hang there. Heavy. Honest.
Will's breath catches, barely noticeable, but Mike sees it anyway.
"Mike," Will says, voice low, "if whoever killed Chrissy is still out there… and if they find out we're looking—"
"I know," Mike says. "I'm scared too."
Will finally looks at him fully. "Then why keep going?"
Mike doesn't hesitate. "Because Eddie didn't do it. And because if we stop, they win."
Will nods slowly. Then, softer: "And because we protect each other."
Mike's mouth opens, then closes. He nods once. "Yeah."
Silence settles again—but this time it's warm.
Will shifts closer without really thinking about it. Their shoulders touch.
Neither pulls away.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaks.
Nancy freezes halfway down the steps.
She hadn't meant to listen.
But she hears her brother's voice—steady, determined in a way that makes her chest ache.
"I don't care what Jason said," Mike continues. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
Will murmurs something she can't quite hear.
Nancy stays still, heart pounding.
She knows that tone.
The this-is-bigger-than-us tone.
And she knows trouble when she hears it breathing.
Hopper's office smells like stale coffee and frustration.
Photos of the crime scene are spread across his desk.
Chrissy's body.
The pills.
The forest.
None of it adds up.
"She wasn't killed where she was found," Hopper mutters to himself. "No signs of struggle. No overdose indicators consistent with time of death."
He rubs his eyes.
"Someone moved her."
Someone careful.
Someone who knew the area.
That night, the town feels quieter than it should.
Too quiet.
Eddie lies awake in his trailer, staring at the ceiling, every shadow feeling like an accusation.
Lucas sits on his bed, phone clutched in his hand, unread messages from teammates he no longer trusts.
Max scrolls through news articles about Chrissy, jaw clenched.
Steve paces his living room.
Dustin rereads the same paragraph of a comic book without absorbing a word.
And in Mike's basement, Will finally falls asleep against Mike's shoulder.
Mike doesn't move.
He stares at the wall, jaw set.
Because somewhere in Hawkins, the truth is still hiding.
And this time, Nancy Wheeler is already paying attention.