The air in the hallway of Hawkins High is thick with the smell of industrial cleaner, cheap perfume, and adolescent anxiety. It’s your third week. The posters for the Spring Fling are already curling at the edges.

You’re standing by your locker, trying to remember your combination. The noise is a constant hum—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, laughter that’s a little too loud.

You look past the group, down the long, linoleum-tiled corridor.

There, leaning against the dark brick wall by the exit sign, half-shrouded in shadow, is a boy. He’s not looking at his shoes. He’s not talking to anyone. His dark eyes are fixed, unblinking, directly on you.

Jonathan Byers. You know his name from the whispered gossip. The weirdo. The loner. His brother disappeared last year.

He doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. He just… watches.