Her back and stomach both scrape the stone, but if she stops inching sideways like a crab, she’ll become wedged. She continues until the passage widens, gasping aloud in relief as she finds herself within a cave, lit by some source she can’t see that produces a deep orange glow. The relief lasts only a moment. Deeper inside the cave, something rumbles.

She can’t tell precisely where the sound comes from; it seems to come from everywhere, vibrating the stone underfoot and the ceiling overhead. Jane glances up, sure the cavern will collapse on them at any moment, but it remains solid. Comforted that they aren’t in immediate danger, Jane allows herself to study the cave—stalagmites and stalactites like melted wax, rising from the floor, dripping from overhead. There are veins of what look like quartz running through the stone, but just like everything else she’s seen in Neverland so far, the cave is a patchwork that makes no sense. Igneous and sedimentary and metamorphic rock all mixed together like pieces of a quilt.

Jane wishes she had time to study the cave properly, but her mother leads them on, peering into the darkened spaces between stone columns as if searching for something. She shakes her head and murmurs something to Tiger Lily, words too low for Jane to hear.

Jane glances at Timothy to make sure he isn’t too afraid. His hand is still in hers, holding tight, and his eyes are wide in a mix of wonder and fear. There is something awe-inspiring about the cave, equal parts built and grown. She can’t imagine anyone putting it here; it looks like the kind of place that’s always existed. At the same time, the niches and shelves of rock seem too regular in places to be natural formations. Her mother points to a wide stone ledge.

“You and Timothy climb up there and stay out of sight.” The spot is half hidden beneath an underhang, cloaked in shadows.

Jane opens her mouth to protest, but the set of her mother’s jaw stops her. By now, Jane is certain her mother being here isn’t one of Peter’s tricks, but at the same time, Jane barely recognizes her. She looks and sounds the same as always, but there’s something wild about her, something strange, as though the person she is in Neverland isn’t the same as the one she is back home.

And her mother’s expression reminds Jane more of Uncle Michael—haunted. But underneath that is anger. Maybe even rage. It leaves Jane afraid to speak, and paradoxically, it is what convinces her that this is her mother in truth. Nothing Peter could conjure up would ever be this fierce and so beautiful at the same time. Her mother looks like a warrior, a queen, something out of one of her own stories about the Clever Tailor and the Little White Bird.