The trees past Hawkins made quiet seem like it meant something.
Not empty - chosen.
Eli spotted it whenever nobody else did. As talk faded and wheels turned sluggish, grinding through leaves and soil, everything hushed - like the woods were leaning closer. Listening close. Waiting on something.
They headed out once more that afternoon, sunlight tilting down fast despite the early hour. That's how November rolls - it squeezes time so nothing ever feels quite slow enough.
Dustin nudged a stone with his foot, making it bounce off into the bushes. "Honestly, I doubt this is where we should even be looking."
"We're looking," Mike said. "That counts."
Lucas looked at his compass, paused, then glanced a second time, squinting as if it were playing tricks. "Still pointing the same way it was last night."
"That's how compasses work," Dustin said.
Eli trailed just behind, hands buried in his hoodie, body relaxed yet watchful. Instead of speaking, he listened - letting their words shape the walk. His gaze fixed on tree edges, low spots in the dirt, patches where leaves looked undisturbed, like they'd been flattened by something moving through.
The System stayed quiet.
Not often now.
Yet Eli sensed it anyway - this soft weight at the edge of his mind, kind of like someone standing just behind him. Not shoving. Only there.
They came to a little open spot by an old toppled tree, the log cracked and dark as if hit by lightning long before. Mike eased his pace, eyes darting side to side.
"This is where we turned back last time," he said.
"Yeah," Lucas replied. "After… you know."
After the sound.
After the wrongness.
No one spoke up, yet everyone held on to it. How quiet the forest got all of a sudden. How Eli didn't flinch from fright - but like he knew something - then quietly guided them off without saying what was wrong.
Eli sensed their gaze resting on him at that moment.
"What's up?" he said.
Mike hesitated. "You always know when something's off."
"I don't," Eli said honestly. "I just… pay attention."
Dustin squinted at him. "That's literally the same thing."
They stopped there. Not that they usually went ahead anyway. Eli turned into one of those steady things - kinda like a post in a fence, invisible till you press against it and see it keeps standing.
They headed home as daylight started fading. The bikes rattled while talk flowed again. Meanwhile, the forest let go of that quiet hold.
⸻
That evening, Eli practiced alongside Hopper.
Not by the station - way too crowded - with everyone looking. Instead, just past that broken-down shed close to Hopper's land, where the soil stayed firm and dry, while wind carried a mix of motor grease plus damp leaves.
Hopper chucked over some old gloves. "Use your hands."
Eli bundled it up slow - how Hopper taught, not squeezing hard, not letting it hang loose either.
"Today," Hopper said, rolling his shoulders, "we're making it a little more annoying."
Eli lifted one brow slightly.
"Movement drills," Hopper clarified. "And you don't get to know what I'm doing ahead of time."
"That's every drill," Eli said.
Hopper snorted. "Smartass."
They began at a crawl. Every time - slow from the start. Hopper moved around, footsteps soft on gravel while shifting position, checking how Eli responded but never attacking. Eli changed his posture, shuffling rather than stepping, keeping balance low and steady.
"Don't chase," Hopper muttered. "Let me come to you."
Eli gave a quick nod, breathing slow, watching Hopper's shoulders rather than his hands.
Then Hopper moved.
A fast move forward. Then a feint to the left. Eli responded without thinking, leaning back slightly while turning his frame to keep balance. Hopper gave a light tap on his side - a small signal showing the gap.
"Too much," Hopper said. "You gave ground you didn't need to."
They reset. Again.
This time, Hopper moved quicker. Still, Eli noticed that old squeeze in his chest - the urge to charge forward, to fight push with push - yet he held back. Instead, by shifting sideways, he guided Hopper's arm past him, then slipped free without fuss.
Hopper stopped. Took a look at him.
"Better," he said. "You thinking less."
They moved for close to sixty minutes. Not steady - quick spurts, fixes, starting over. When it was done, Eli's arms throbbed while his legs shook from a heavy tiredness - the kind that hits when you wake up stuff others never use.
Once Hopper ended it, Eli panted - yet grinned anyway.
"Entertaining?" Hopper said, lifting one brow.
"Yeah," Eli admitted.
Hopper nodded, satisfied. "Good. Means you'll stick with it."
The system didn't say a thing.
Yet Eli noticed it walking back - how his feet hit the ground easier, how his arms hung loose rather than stiff. Not tougher. Simply... righter.
⸻
The following days ran into one another, somehow feeling weighty yet oddly usual.
School. Then homework. Looking around. While waiting.
Eli practiced bit by bit these days. In the mornings, ten minutes pre-school - drills focused on steps and staying steady. Come evening, a round or two of bodyweight moves like squatting and pushing up off the floor. When Saturday or Sunday rolled around, he'd train more if Hopper had free hours.
He never said a word about it. Also didn't track anything at all.
He simply got on with it.
The kids saw it regardless.
You still never get worn out? Dustin wondered one day while they were biking up a slope.
"I get tired," Eli said. "I just don't stop right away."
Lucas gave him a look. "Seems pretty bad for you."
"It's not," Eli replied. "It's… intentional."
Mike stayed quiet, though - later on, once they'd paused by the quarry's edge, he passed Eli water, no words needed.
Eli grabbed it, caught off guard. "Appreciate that."
Mike shrugged. "You always give us a heads-up when something's weird. Fair trade."
That counted.
Eli sensed it - no system alert, no mission pop-up - just a hush clicking softly into position.
⸻
The actual fright showed up a couple of nights after that.
Sirens ripped across Hawkins right after supper - so loud and quick that Eli froze, fork half-raised. Without thinking, Marcy lowered the radio's volume.
"Another search party?" she asked.
"Maybe," Eli replied, but his chest was tense.
Later on, stretched out on the floor of his room rather than in bed, legs up, soles flat. Hopper's words kept coming back while he moved carefully - tight abs, breath even, focus stuck on what his body was doing.
Once the alarms died down, the stress slipped away.
The system just sat there. It didn't act at all.
That's when it hit Eli - exactly what mattered.
He was counted on to keep his own actions in check these days.
⸻
That Saturday, Hopper pulled from storage a worn-out practice mitt.
"Light contact," he warned. "This ain't about power."
Eli smirked, even though he didn't mean to - "I get it."
They practiced moves - no real hits, just flow of motions. Move forward. Defend. Shift sideways. Respond with a push rather than a punch. Hopper kept adjusting him, now and then nudging his shoulder or hip to break his stance.
Eli tripped - then quickly balanced again. He adjusted his stance on his own. No instruction needed before he started fresh.
Hopper hesitated, eyes on him - maybe a flicker of satisfaction there.
"You're doing good, kid," he said.
Eli gave a small nod, his throat feeling clenched. "Appreciate it."
No System chime.
No notification.
A mark spreading on his arm from when Hopper's gear bumped it before.
A mark he'd picked up.
⸻
That night, while Eli was lying in bed, achy but kind of happy, his mind drifted to Will Byers. He pictured the trees. The timing seemed off - tense, like something ready to snap.
He had no clue about when the next real break would come.
Still, one thing was clear to him:
When it did, he wouldn't freeze.