͏b͏r͏o͏k͏e͏n || ͏b͏i͏l͏l͏y ͏h͏a͏r͏g͏r͏o͏v͏e

T H I R T E E N

"He was tiny two days ago," Max muttered, hugging her arms around herself.

"Well, he's molted three times already," Dustin explained.

"Malted?" Steve whispered to me, scrunching his face like the word offended him.

"No—molted, Steve," I corrected softly. "It's when something sheds its skin to grow. Like hornworms."
He stared at me like I'd just recited Shakespeare.

"Wow," he whispered. "You're actually smart."

I rolled my eyes and jabbed him in the arm.
"Congrats, you discovered I have a brain."

"When's he gonna molt again?" Max asked, picking up her pace.

"It's gotta be soon. And once he does, he'll be fully grown—or close. Same with the others," Dustin said, his voice tightening.

"Yeah, and he's gonna eat a lot more than just cats," Steve added grimly, shifting his grip on the nailed bat.

Lucas halted so abruptly that Max bumped into him.
"Wait—a cat? Dart ate a cat?!"

"No! What? No," Dustin lied, eyes darting.

"What are you talking about?" I said bluntly. "He ate Mews."

"Mews? Who's Mews?" Max asked.

"It's Dustin's cat," Steve said.

"Dude!" Dustin shrieked.

I held up my hands. "Okay—was Dustin's cat."

Dustin looked like he wanted to throw himself into a ditch.

"I KNEW IT!" Lucas cried, pointing dramatically. "You kept him!"

"No! No, I—no, he—" Dustin stammered wildly. "He MISSED me! He wanted to come home!"

Lucas glared. "That is the worst lie I've ever heard."

"I didn't KNOW he was a Demogorgon!" Dustin yelled back, voice cracking.

"Oh, so NOW you admit it?" Lucas shot back, more wounded than angry.

I stepped between them, raising my voice. "Boys, pick a time to fight that isn't the middle of a monster-infested forest, please."

"I care!" Lucas pushed on. "He put the party in jeopardy! You BROKE THE RULE OF LAW!"

"So did YOU!" Dustin snapped.

"What?"

"You told a stranger the truth!"

Max scoffed loudly. "A stranger?"

"You wanted to tell her too!" Lucas accused.

"But I didn't, Lucas! There's a difference!"

Their voices tangled, rising, overlapping—my head throbbed. And then—A bone-deep, animalistic screech ripped through the trees.

It froze the air.
It froze my blood.
It froze every single one of us except Steve, who tensed like a struck wire.

"Guys," Steve said quietly, eyes locked ahead. His voice carried the kind of fear that silenced rooms.

The kids kept arguing.

"Guys," I said sharply.

Nothing.

"HEY!" I barked. Finally, blessedly, they shut up.

Another screech echoed—closer this time.

Steve followed the sound, shoulders squared, bat raised.
I motioned frantically for the kids to move.