February was the loneliest. Valentine’s Day came and went. Mike bought El a cheap rose from the grocery store, but Hopper intercepted it, claiming “allergies.” The truth was simpler: the chief was terrified. He saw the way Mike looked at her—the same way he’d once looked at a woman he lost. And he knew, with a father’s dread, that snow melts, but summer burns.
He sat on the porch steps of the cabin in the woods, the same cabin where, the year before, they had closed the Gate. The air was thick with the promise of July heat, and the fireflies were beginning their lazy ballet. Eleven sat beside him, her pinky barely touching his. February was the loneliest
Behind them, the cabin door creaked open. Hopper stepped out, chewing a toothpick, his eyes scanning the treeline. “You two. Inside. It’s late.” He saw the way Mike looked at her—the