Chapter 3: The Demogorgon Leaves No Footprints

The Hawkins Police Department's front desk operated, Holmes had concluded, on the same principle as most bureaucratic antechambers: it was designed to make visitors feel their problem was smaller than they'd thought. The young officer — Powell, his nameplate read, though he had not yet earned sufficient narrative presence in Holmes's assessment to warrant the distinction — looked up from his coffee with an expression trained to communicate patient authority, recognized Holmes from the previous evening, and achieved instead something closer to resigned defeat.

"Chief Hopper isn't—"

"In," Holmes said. "Yes. I can hear him." He was already past the desk.