Wendy takes another step back and her heel catches on the uneven stone. She trips, hitting the ground hard, pain jarring all the way up her spine and making her teeth click together. The monster—it’s still looking at her, and she is looking at it. The shape of it. She knows it. It’s impossible. It…

Wendy feels a needle between her fingers, dragging thread through darkness and skin as Peter writhes and screams. That shadow, the one she sewed back onto him, withered and died. And the thing in the pit is…

“Wendy, what’s wrong?” Peter stands over her, blocking her view.

Her gaze snaps back to him, momentarily free of the creature so she can think again. She breathes, mouth open, shallow breaths on the edge of panic. The angle and the light make Peter look taller, his head scraping the cavern ceiling. He’s too big. Too terrible. A sliver of orange light has gotten trapped in his eyes, shivering like a flame.

“Monster.” Wendy’s voice breaks; she covers her face with her hands.

Neverland is so beautiful—the mermaids with their scales shining in the sun, their voices like flutes made of glass; Tiger Lily’s brown fingers next to hers, showing her how to weave reeds into crowns. Flying. Wendy has never had such adventures, never felt so free. This can’t be the truth of it.

“Look at it.” Peter crouches, pulling her hands away from her face and gripping her wrists. There’s a seriousness to his expression she’s never seen before. All at once, he looks like a totally different boy from the one who flew through their nursery window, who led them in games of follow the leader. He looks much older than his slight frame implies, like being here, now, next to the monster, has made him into another person entirely. “Look at me, Wendy. My secret.”

His face is inches from hers, his breath harsh. Behind Peter, the shadow-monster snorts again, its sides heaving like bellows.

“No.” Wendy shakes her head. Tears slide hot against her skin.

She wants Peter to be the boy who swooped in through her window. She wants the stars and the rushing dark, the velvety sky never letting her fall.

Behind Peter, his shadow moves. It doesn’t come closer, but Wendy feels the weight of it nonetheless, as if its long fingers— tipped in wicked nails—hold her wrists instead of Peter’s.

“Wendy!” Peter shakes her hard enough that she sees stars. Not flying. Falling.

“You’re hurting me.” She tries to pull away, but his grip tightens.

“You have to look at it, Wendy.”

“It’s horrible.” She doesn’t mean to, but she turns her head so she can see boy and monster both.