Rain had settled over Hawkins like a quiet weight, the kind that made every sound softer, slower.
The streetlamps flickered half-heartedly, struggling against the drizzle, and Alex pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he stepped outside. The air smelled of wet asphalt, damp earth, and something faintly metallic, a tang that didn't belong entirely to the storm.
He had intended just to stretch his legs, maybe walk to the diner for a cup of coffee. But something about the night—Claire's words, the way her cassette player had warped as if reality itself were bending—had lodged in his mind like a splinter. Hawkins was too quiet. And quiet was rarely innocent.
The bell over the diner door jingled as he entered. The smell of fried eggs and coffee hit him immediately, comfortingly mundane. He had learned, over the past couple of days, that part of surviving here wasn't just preparing for the abnormal—it was living through the ordinary long enough that it would keep you grounded.
Claire was already there. Sitting in a booth near the window, her coat hanging on the back of the seat, hair damp from the rain, notebook open in front of her. She was scribbling something furiously, tapping the end of her pen against the paper when she noticed him. Her eyes lifted and, for just a moment, something unspoken passed between them: curiosity, suspicion, and maybe, Alex thought, amusement.
He slid into the seat across from her. "I wasn't sure if you'd come back," he said.
"I didn't have a choice," Claire replied dryly, her tone somewhere between annoyance and interest. "I need to know why my tape keeps… whatever it's doing. And you seem like the only person willing to touch it without panicking."
Alex smiled faintly. "Fear isn't very useful when dealing with small anomalies. You'll find that most things in Hawkins respond better to calm hands than panic."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's comforting. Really."
He ignored the sarcasm, studying her instead. She was meticulous without trying to be, aware without being overbearing. The kind of person who noticed the small inconsistencies most others walked right past. That would make her useful… or dangerous.
"Does it happen at night, too?" he asked, leaning back.
"Mostly." She hesitated. "Sometimes I think it's like… the world is stretching for a second and then snapping back." Her voice dropped, almost to herself. "Like the fabric is thinner in some places."
Alex's pulse ticked faster, only slightly. That choice of words would have been meaningless to most people. To him, it rang a bell, subtle and sharp. The system pulsed quietly in the background, a faint hum at the edges of his awareness.
SYSTEM ALERT
Environmental anomaly detected. Potential Upside Down signature. Observe, do not engage.
He ignored it for now. No need to worry Claire with terms she wouldn't understand yet. "Could be a mechanical fault. Sometimes tapes warp if they're exposed to humidity."
She didn't look convinced. "It's not mechanical," she said. The conviction in her voice made Alex pause. This wasn't just curiosity or stubbornness. She had seen—or sensed—something.
He studied her face. Claire wasn't just interested in anomalies—she was the kind who chased them until they were solved or until they solved her. He made a mental note: she might be an asset… or a complication.
"Let's take a walk," he said after a pause. She blinked. "Outside?"
"Rain's not going to solve itself. And neither are your signals."
She stood, grabbing her coat. Alex followed, stepping into the drizzle. Streetlamps cast halos of light through the mist, the puddles reflecting distorted fragments of the world. For a moment, it felt like walking inside one of her warped cassette tapes—distorted and off-kilter.
They walked in silence for a few blocks, the quiet stretching between them. Alex noticed the way Claire glanced at the street corners, the way she paused occasionally as if listening to something he couldn't hear. The town slept, but she was awake in ways most people never had to be.
"You said you're… system-aware," she said finally, breaking the quiet. Her tone wasn't accusatory, just curious.
Alex hesitated, considering how much to reveal. He could lie, deflect, or test her intuition. He opted for a partial truth. "I notice patterns. More than most. Helps me solve problems before they get… worse."
Her expression didn't change much, but her eyes sharpened. She nodded slowly. "I like that," she said. "I like people who see the cracks."
He didn't reply immediately. He couldn't. That felt… honest in a way that words often weren't. They reached the edge of the quarry, rain dripping from tree branches into shallow puddles. The ground was muddy, slippery, and smelled of minerals and wet leaves.
Alex knelt and picked up a small, smooth stone. Turning it over in his fingers, he noticed faint scratches—almost like etchings—but not human-made. He pocketed it, silent, knowing that small clues like this often led to larger truths.
SYSTEM UPDATE
Environmental analysis: unusual mineral composition, Probability of Upside Down proximity: low, rising.
Claire watched him but didn't ask. She seemed to understand, in her own way, that there were boundaries even curiosity couldn't cross yet.
"See anything unusual?" she asked after a moment, her voice softer.
Alex glanced at her. "Depends on your definition of unusual."
She smirked. "I'll accept that."
They walked back toward the diner. The rain had slowed, leaving only a fine drizzle that made the world glimmer like wet glass. Alex's mind ticked over everything they had observed: the warped tape, the signal inconsistencies, the faint metallic scent in the air. Hawkins was quiet, too quiet—but he already knew it was a warning, not a promise.
SYSTEM REMINDER
Core task: Prepare. Observe. Learn.
He glanced at Claire as they approached the diner steps. Something about her presence felt stabilizing and unpredictable at the same time. Dangerous, in a good way.
"You know," he said lightly, "you might end up being more trouble than these signals."
She laughed softly, and it wasn't a polite laugh—it was one that carried curiosity, amusement, and a trace of challenge. "Maybe I like trouble," she said.
Alex smiled faintly. That was the beginning of something he couldn't yet define—a complication he didn't necessarily want, but couldn't ignore.
Back inside the diner, he ordered coffee while Claire scribbled notes about the anomalies they had observed. Outside, Hawkins settled back into its quiet rhythm, unaware of the subtle tension gathering in the rain-soaked streets.
Alex sipped his coffee and considered the day. He was preparing for far worse than warped cassette tapes. But for the first time since waking in 1982, he felt something that wasn't purely strategic or calculated: anticipation, tinged with intrigue.
And that, he realized, might be just as dangerous as any monster hiding in the dark.