You had a weird feeling in your chest the whole walk to the Club house.

The sky was overcast, heavy with gray clouds that didn’t quite know whether to rain or not. The Losers had called you, told you to come by with a serious tone.

You climbed down the ladder like you always did, feet hitting the dirt floor with a soft thud. The air smelled like old wood and summer dust, just like it had for years. But something was different. Off.

Everyone was already there, scattered around the room—but no one was sitting on the beanbags or cushions. No cards on the table, no inside jokes, no Richie yelling over everyone.