The moment she does, she regrets it. Pitch-black air clogs her chest, rock walls hemming her in. Wendy can’t see two inches in front of her face. She wants to let her breath out, but she’s afraid if she does she’ll become wedged. What if she’s trapped here forever without John and Michael ever knowing what happened to her?

But there’s no space to turn around, and she isn’t certain she can back out either. Besides, she can already hear Peter’s taunts if she even tried. She forces herself to keep going. All at once, the tunnel widens. Wendy stumbles forward, a cork shot from a bottle.

The first thing she notices is it’s strangely warmer inside the cave. It’s as though there’s a fireplace burning somewhere, just out of sight. Wendy’s eyes adjust slowly. The ground slopes away, smooth and uneven at once, like cooled, melted wax. It’s like standing in a cathedral, or a forest made of stone. Pillars of rock divide the space, dripping from the ceiling and growing up from the floor. She can’t see every part of the space, and in fact, Wendy has the dizzying sense she’s only looking at a fraction of the cave. It might extend forever in every direction, another impossibility, larger than it seemed from the outside. She turns to look at the narrow entrance behind her, but she can’t make it out anymore.

“Come on.” Peter grabs her hand again, making her jump. His palm is sweat-slick against hers, and she feels his pulse rabbiting through his skin. What kind of secret could be worth all this?

Peter tugs at her, but Wendy drags her feet. She wants to slow down and see everything, but Peter is a force of nature, unstoppable. He continues to pull at her, and reluctantly, she follows him.

As they move deeper, a ruddy light colors the rock pillars burnt orange, like a sunrise. It’s as though the un-trees around them are on fire. Crystals glimmer, embedded everywhere, winking as stars in the dark. Wendy catches glimpses of niches and alcoves scattered about in unlikely places, making her think even more of a church, though she can’t imagine Peter or any of the Lost Boys ever gathering to pray.

Off to one side, she catches a glimpse of a chamber, and in its center, a pyramid of pale-colored, rounded stones.

“Keep up, slowpoke!” Peter tries to hurry her on, but Wendy digs her heels in, her breath catching. And all at once she sees they aren’t stones at all, they’re skulls—human skulls, a whole pile of them, and when she looks closer, she sees other bones stacked in niches in the walls.

“Peter!” She yanks her hand from his, and he turns to frown at her. When he follows her gaze, his expression doesn’t change— impatience, not fear or shock.