Nancy Wheeler doesn't bring it up at breakfast.
She doesn't bring it up in the hallway.
She waits.
Because Nancy has always been good at one thing:
Knowing when something is wrong…
…and not letting it go.
That afternoon, she finds Mike outside the school library.
He's halfway through shoving books into his bag when her voice cuts through the noise.
"Mike."
He freezes.
Nancy steps closer, arms crossed.
"What are you doing?"
Mike blinks. "What?"
"Don't do that," she says sharply. "Don't play stupid."
His shoulders tense.
"I heard you," Nancy continues, quieter now. "In the basement."
Mike's stomach drops.
Nancy's eyes narrow. "You're mixed up in something. Something dangerous."
Mike swallows. "It's not—"
"It is," she interrupts. "Jason Carver got arrested. Eddie Munson is still being hunted by half the town. And Hopper's running around like the world's ending."
Mike looks away.
Nancy softens, just slightly. "Talk to me."
A beat.
Then Mike exhales.
"Chrissy didn't just… die," he says.
Nancy's gaze sharpens.
"We were there that night. Eddie was there. People think it was him, but it wasn't. Jason went insane. He kidnapped Erica—"
Nancy's face flashes with alarm. "He what?"
Mike nods. "We stopped him. Hopper stopped him. But Chrissy's killer is still out there."
Nancy is quiet for a long moment.
Then she says, very calmly:
"You are not doing this alone."
Mike's eyes widen. "Nancy—"
"I mean it," she says. "You're my brother. And if something is happening in this town—if girls are dying—then I'm already involved."
Mike hesitates.
Then, finally: "Okay."
Hopper's lead comes from something small.
Something almost nothing.
A lab report tossed onto his desk.
His deputy shrugs. "Toxicology came back weird."
Hopper straightens. "Weird how?"
The deputy flips the page around.
"No alcohol overdose. No common narcotics either. Just… trace residue. Powder-based."
Hopper's jaw tightens.
"That's not what Jason said she was buying," he mutters.
He grabs his coat.
Because something about this is starting to feel wrong.
Not messy.
Not accidental.
Careful.
That night, someone watches the Wheeler house.
From across the street.
A figure half-hidden behind a tree line.
Still.
Patient.
Inside, Mike laughs quietly at something Will says.
Nancy watches from the stairs, unease crawling up her spine.
Because she can't shake the feeling—
That they're not the only ones paying attention anymore.
The next morning, Hawkins explodes.
The news hits like a bomb.
A second girl.
Dead.
One of Chrissy Cunningham's cheerleading teammates.
Her name flashes on the screen in bold white letters:
SOPHIE HART — 17
Joyce turns up the volume in the Byers kitchen.
Dustin's mom gasps.
People stop walking in the grocery store aisles just to listen.
And Hopper—
Hopper feels his blood go cold.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, already moving.
The crime scene is worse than the first.
The girl lies sprawled behind the old rec center.
Her skin pale, lips slightly parted.
And there—
Hopper crouches, eyes narrowing—
White powder dusted around her nose.
Around her mouth.
Like she'd inhaled something.
Or someone had made sure she did.
A young officer nearby whispers, "Another overdose?"
Hopper snaps his head up.
"No."
The officer flinches.
Hopper stands slowly, scanning the scene.
Chrissy first.
Now Sophie.
Both cheerleaders.
Both connected.
Both dead too cleanly.
Too quietly.
His voice comes out rough.
"This isn't random."
The officer swallows. "Then what is it?"
Hopper's eyes darken.
"It's a pattern."
By lunchtime, the halls of Hawkins High are a storm.
Students huddle in terrified groups.
Teachers whisper.
Cheerleaders cry in the bathroom.
Max grips Lucas's sleeve. "This is getting worse."
Lucas nods. "It's not stopping."
Dustin's voice shakes. "Two deaths in a week. That's not—"
Eddie finishes, hollow. "That's not Hawkins."
Will sits stiff beside Mike, face unreadable.
Mike leans closer, whispering, "Someone's doing this on purpose."
Will's eyes flicker.
And somewhere across the cafeteria—
Someone watches them.
Not a student.
Not a teacher.
A presence.
Gone the second Mike looks up.
That night, Hopper pins two photos on his board.
Chrissy Cunningham.
Sophie Hart.
Two girls.
Same circle.
Same white powder.
Same silence.
He stares at them until his eyes burn.
Then he mutters:
"What the hell are you?"