Standing in the middle of a scene straight from a horror novel, Peter looked oddly … normal.

She’d half expected him to be flying and brandishing a pirate sword when she saw him next. It made her feel all the more ridiculous now, seeing him again. Of course he wasn’t Peter Pan. He was just a normal boy, not some magical being from a bedtime story.

The fact that he was wearing cargo shorts and a faded blue T-shirt wasn’t strange, but the shorts were way too big and they were held up by a knotted length of rope. The shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, the neckline frayed and unraveling. They were both covered in dirt.

Wendy gave her head a shake. She refused to be lured into a false sense of security by this boy who had taken her to a hunting shack in the middle of the woods.

“Are you going to kill me?” Wendy blurted out.

He blinked. “What?”

“Are you going to kill me?” she repeated. Hot, sticky blood trickled down her calf. She’d seen this same scene play out in at least a dozen different movies. She would go missing, her face would be plastered all over the news, her parents would have to go through the same torture all over again—

Peter laughed, but his eyebrows were still drawn in confusion. “I— What— Wendy, why would I want to kill you?” he asked, taking a step forward.

“STOP!” Her hand shot out, fingers splayed as if she could hold him back while she was stuck in a decrepit old cot. Wendy was surprised when he did actually stop, looking all the more confused.

He didn’t look particularly large, but ropes of muscle still wound their way around his lithe build. Wendy’s free hand went to her forehead, trying to steady herself. “Please, just stop.”

“Stop what?” Peter’s hand went up to touch his cheek again. “I’m not doing anything! Wendy—”

“Stop—stop calling me Wendy!” Her eyes darted around the room again. The only way out was through the door, and on the other side of it was the woods. Who knew how deep he had taken her or how far she was from home.

Peter cocked an eyebrow at her. “You … don’t want me calling you your name?” he said slowly.

“No.” He shouldn’t even know her name to begin with!

Peter frowned and scratched the back of his neck. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said, his hand dropping to his side in defeat.

“Did you kidnap Benjamin Lane and Ashley Ford?” Wendy demanded.

“Kidnap?” He gave her a bewildered look, blue eyes going wide. “What—”

Frustration growled in the back of her throat. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”