[His jaw sets. The anger is far from abating, but at least Henry’s no longer yelling, only now speaking in low, dangerous tones since poor Emil left.]

Is that right?

[Henry’s hardly wary, the warning not enough to dissuade him, but before he responds, he turns over what she’s said in his mind. The veil of this world, particularly thin? Thin enough that holes are punched in it even when his target was never to arrive here, but in Hawkins?

It sounds so obscenely absurd, but now there’s talk of magic, and golems, and Henry is far from unfamiliar with strange things existing in strange worlds. Even in his own world, he is an anomaly. Why should this be different? This isn’t a matter of disbelief, but pure irritation directed at all of his plans now uprooted.

So she’s right about one thing: he feels no sense of control over any of what’s happening. Just one more instance of a loss of freedom, in a lifetime full of it.]

Whoever you think you are, I don’t care. If you’re going to keep me tied up, you’re not going to win me over.