Next day passed without Hopper showing up.
Something felt off to Eli, even if his mind had not caught up yet. After class, the crunch of wheels on stone usually came without fail. A tap at the door would follow soon after. The usual silence between them settled like an old coat.
It didn't.
Sunlight moved across the kitchen floor. A piece of bread turned black at one edge when Marcy got caught up in a news story. Music played past the time she usually switched it off. Eli remained seated even after his bowl held only milk, waiting without saying so. Silence followed every spoonful.
He didn't ask.
Something always made Hopper leave it out.
What happened at school wasn't exactly broken. It slipped under the radar, which somehow hurt more.
Lessons came fast, clipped short by teachers who meant business. Down the hallways? A hush, though not complete silence - more like volume turned low out of habit, not rule. Eli saw it: a kid jerking when lockers slammed, another blinking too hard at dropped books. Nothing big on its own. Yet together, those little jumps added weight. You had to watch closely to catch them piling up.
He paid attention.
Too much, maybe.
Halfway through the meal, it hit him - hours had passed without any real energy or exhaustion. Not sleepy, not awake. Simply moving ahead. As if his limbs decided tasks on their own, while he tagged along behind.
Fry dangling midair, Dustin stretched over the table. "Still with us?"
Eyes flickering open, Eli muttered a quiet yes. Apology followed close behind
He's noticed you do it often, Mike remarked. Calmly. Not upset. Simply wondering why.
What are you up to? said Eli.
"Checking out," Lucas said. "Like you're listening to something we can't hear."
His lips parted, a reply ready - until he froze. Words failed him completely.
"I don't know," he admitted. "It feels like something's off, but I can't tell where."
Dustin grimaced. "Cool. Love that."
It slipped away again. Lately, that was just how things went. Without noticing, people started treating Eli's quiet moments like normal - no questions asked.
It settled there, heavy, like a stone he hadn't asked to carry.
⸻
That night Hopper appeared, though not quite himself. His presence felt off somehow, like a familiar voice played too slow.
Not a coat tossed across his arm. Not even a restless pose. There he was, planted on the steps, fists buried deep in his coat, spine curled as if the world had gained weight by morning.
Into the room stepped Marcy, one brow lifted. "Been through a war?"
Hopper snorted "Doc says the same"
Eli waited.
Hopper looked at him. "We're not going out tonight."
Eli nodded okay
Eli thought about it. "Didn't feel like a training night."
Hopper looked at the boy a moment before moving his head from side to side. "At twelve years old, your voice ought to carry less weight."
Over by the driveway, he gestured loosely. Move along now, stay close while we go
Footsteps faded quickly. Beyond lampposts, rows of homes blinked awake - porch bulbs on, flickering sounds drifting out from behind glass. The man moved careful, one leg dragging just enough to show strain. He stopped pretending it didn't hurt.
He waited some time before saying anything. It came out quiet. I went too far, he admitted
Feet frozen, Eli stood still. Right after, so did Hopper.
"I'm not apologizing for teaching you to handle yourself," Hopper said. "But I crossed a line. Somewhere between helping and… projecting."
Frowning, Eli asked about the projection
Fear, he stated without pause. That one belonged to him
He leaned back against a mailbox. "I'm not in shape. I'm not sharp. And lately I've been compensating by pretending I can make you both."
That sank in for Eli. More clicked than Hopper meant it would.
"You didn't hurt me," Eli said carefully.
"That's not what I mean," Hopper replied. "You don't break people by hitting them. You break them by keeping them wound too tight for too long."
He stared at the ground below. Not tense, he thought
"That's the part that worries me," Hopper said. "You should."
Eli hesitated. "You said I was compensating."
Hopper nodded. "Yeah. You've been using discipline and awareness to cover gaps. Stuff your body shouldn't have to brute-force through."
"What spaces?" said Eli.
Hopper exhaled. "Coordination. Recovery. Knowing when to stop before you burn yourself out."
What hit him struck more sharply than Eli had thought it would.
"I'm pulling back," Hopper continued. "No escalation. No surprises. We reset. Normal conditioning. Normal limits."
He gave a slow nod. "Alright."
Hopper narrowed her eyes. "That story does not hold up." The look on his face gave it away
"No," Eli said. Yet he paused. "Actually, I feel afraid."
"About what?"
"I can tell where I stop," Eli said. "And I don't think what's coming does."
Hopper's jaw tightened. "You don't know that."
"I don't know what it is," Eli said. "But I know what I am."
Hopper looked away. "That's where I run out of answers."
⸻
Darkness stretched long beside Eli that evening. Sleep stayed far away. Hours passed without rest. Night pressed close, heavy and slow.
It wasn't worry that kept him awake. His system just refused to power down like it should.
Lying flat, eyes fixed upward, he went over the hours - class, eating, moving through streets - yet his mind felt altered. Not spinning out of control. Breaking into parts instead.
Filing things on its own, his mind didn't wait to be told.
The stone came back to him - Hopper's toss from yesterday. It landed somewhere behind his thoughts now.
Not a leap. Not fear taking hold. Movement came first, thinking after.
Back then, he figured it was just part of learning.
Something seemed different now. It just did not sit right.
A quiet weight pressed at the back of his eyes. Nothing sharp. Nothing spinning. Only a slow pushback. As if moving through air that had thickened.
Slowly, he rose to a sitting position.
A sudden sharpness came, just for a moment, before settling into stillness - as if it became aware he was paying attention. That quiet shift lingered longer than expected.
Something felt off. What are you up to? That was Eli's question, quiet inside his head.
Silence answered instead of words. The alarm stayed quiet. Nothing made it clear why.
Borders showed up where he least expected them.
Fences? Forget them. Obstacles? Overrated.
Limits.
Up he rose, balance kicking in without thought - yet only so much. Leaning past that limit, the fix vanished, leaving him to move on purpose. Balance quit when pushed too far.
"Never saw that before," he said under his breath.
A step here, then another - his walk had changed. It flowed better now, yet held back somehow. Not unlike a vehicle stuck at one pace, even when the foot pushes down with force.
Fear sat heavy in his gut when it hit him.
"Why are you stopping me?" he whispered.
Nothing answered.
It was the nothingness that shook him, worse than any real threat ever could.
Pushing came first - slight at first. Movement picked up speed then. The turn grew tighter after that.
A sudden push came, not sharp yet steady - like fingers pressing down where he couldn't go beyond. It arrived without warning, quiet in its insistence, holding space instead of breaking it.
Breathing fast, Eli stepped away, pulse racing.
This wasn't something you did earlier.
This shift didn't come out of nowhere.
Maybe a choice was made. Or perhaps necessity stepped in.
Breath came fast as he perched there, hips tilted forward, hands braced on thighs. The mattress dipped under his weight near the frame.
"If you're limiting me," he said quietly, "what are you afraid I'll do?"
Silence.
⸻
By morning, changes showed clearly.
Plain stuff. Nothing loud here.
Just everywhere.
Up he rose, steady on his feet. A book slipped from the shelf; caught it midair. Spun around the corner - no fall this time, balance just right.
Funny thing - Mike saw it before anyone else did. He pointed at the way you moved down the hall
Frowning, Eli asked what seemed strange about it
"Like… smoother," Dustin said. "Less like you're thinking about it."
He turned his head slightly. "More practice now?"
He moved his head from side to side. "Not much."
Felt more like nothing at all, really.
That time, a strange tingling crawled across his arms.
Whatever helped him at that moment had not been his decision.
Facing upward in the dark, Eli counted cracks along the ceiling. Something unseen pressed close, keeping him still.
He wasn't stronger.
He wasn't faster.
Someone kept an eye on him.
He did not know who it was - or what they wanted.
Far off, a gust shook the walls now and then.
Hawkins stayed quiet.
It hit Eli then, standing there like a chill - he'd never questioned whether safety came with limits. What guarded him could also be setting boundaries. For once, that thought didn't seem strange. Maybe protection had always been a kind of fence.