The air refuses her for the first time since she stepped out of the nursery window, too shaken, too frightened to believe in anything as pure and good as flying. She plunges through the dark, pine branches and needles whipping at her and snapping beneath her weight. She strikes the forest floor, and somehow nothing breaks, but the breath is knocked out of her. Silence. Her ears ring. From very far away and very close by, Peter calls her name.

NEVERLAND – NOW

Wendy doubles over again, shuddering. There’s a taste in her mouth like bitter medicine and salt, like ash and wet leaves and smoke and meat served too raw. Her stomach clenches, but there’s nothing to bring up. She’s there in the cave with the shadow. She’s back in St. Bernadette’s being dropped into a tub full of ice. She’s clawing and fighting to get away from both.

“Wendy.” Tiger Lily speaks her name as though she’s saying it for the third or fourth time. She catches Wendy’s wrists, and only then does Wendy realize she’s raking at the sleeves of her blouse, nearly tearing the fabric.

“The monster…” Wendy falters; her voice breaks. “I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I know what it is and where to find it. Him.” Her voice is steadier now, but Wendy still feels sick, dizzy.

Peter. His shadow. His first words to her in the nursery were a lie. I lost my shadow. Will you help me? Will you sew it back on?

Wendy touches her pockets. She touches the hilt of Hook’s sword. Her hands shake. Ever since she returned from Neverland, people have been calling her a liar, telling her she doesn’t know her own mind. The only consolation she had was her own steadfast knowledge of the truth—Neverland, solid and real all the way through. But Peter twisted that, he took it away from her. He made her forget.

“Peter showed me. He was proud. He… It was terrible. But he ripped it out of my mind. Like he tore a piece of me away, so I couldn’t know to be afraid of him, and I couldn’t remember for so long.”

Wendy takes a shuddering breath. She feels small again. Hurt. Betrayed. Peter turned her own mind against her. He made her memories into a lie. Tiger Lily’s arms go around her, and a tremor passes between them. Wendy can’t tell where it begins or ends. He hurt them both. A boy. A monster.

“Come.” Tiger Lily helps Wendy stand, leads her back to the ashes of the fire and the circle of light spilling through the rock above.

Wendy sits, and the tightness in her chest eases. The dark corner of the cave, the painting of the monster on the wall, wants to tug at her attention, but she refuses to look its way.