Wendy walked up to the second floor and at the top, as always, she was met with the door to her old room. She stood there for a moment, plate in hand, and stared at the handle. Even though John and Michael weren’t here, it still felt like she could open the door and there they would be, sitting on her bed, riffling through her art supplies so they could make a treasure map or draw pictures of make-believe beasts.

She rested her hand on the doorknob. It felt like cold electricity under her fingertips.

If Peter was right, and they were able to stop his shadow, she would finally get her brothers back.

A surge of energy ran from her core and down her arm to her hand. For the first time in five years, Wendy gripped the doorknob and gave it a turn.

But it was locked.

Deflated, Wendy’s hand fell back to her side. Of course it was locked. How had she not predicted that? Her father had probably locked it up after she refused to go inside. It had probably stayed locked ever since.

Wendy rubbed her stinging eyes. Even though she was alone, she felt silly and embarrassed. Without a second glance at the door, Wendy turned and went to her bedroom. She left her dinner on her dresser, having lost her appetite completely. She needed to clean up, so she went into the bathroom and scrubbed away at her skin in the shower until the smell of dirt and ash was replaced with jasmine and green tea.

She changed into her oversized sleep shirt and turned on the fairy lights that twinkled around her window. But before she lay down in bed, Wendy paused. Ever since she had entered the woods earlier that night, she’d felt a heavy weight. Not only of the anxiety around keeping Peter a secret, or the responsibility of needing to stop the shadow so she could save her brothers, but something else. Something dark. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Wendy looked out her window. The lights from the main part of town blinked lazily in the distance. For the first time all summer, she crawled up onto her bed, pulled her window shut, and locked it tight. It was still hot and humid, but she was willing to sleep uncomfortably warm if it meant not being worried that something would crawl in through her window while she slept.

She jerked her curtains shut and shoved the comforter off her bed, leaving only the white cotton sheets.

The acorn was still on her nightstand from where she had left it that morning. Taking it into her hand, Wendy leaned back against her pillows and gently rolled it between her fingers.