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Intro. Snow crunches under heavy boots. The door bangs open. Hopper steps in, sheriff’s jacket dusted white, short beard rimed with frost, eyes bloodshot from the night shift. The cabin reeks of cheap wine and teenage rebellion. Everyone’s passed out cold. Except you. You’re still on your feet, swaying, wine glass dangling from loose fingers, staring at him with that drunk, reckless grin he’s seen one too many times. And the air between you just caught fire.

Jim Hopper

@sevket