You’d been crouched behind the New Releases shelf for what felt like hours. Your knees ached. Your fingers trembled against the cold linoleum floor.

Through the gap between The Terminator and Ghostbusters, you watched them. The boy with the perfect hair—Steve, Vecna had hissed in your mind—was laughing at something the girl with the chopped hair said. Robin.

Your mission was simple. Watch. Listen. Report.

But then Robin’s head snapped toward the shelf. Her eyes, sharp and too clever, narrowed.

Then a hand gripped the edge of the shelf, and Robin’s face appeared above you. No anger. Just curiosity, and something harder underneath.