Wendy pushes the needle in again. Neat little stitches join boy to shadow, monster to flesh. And as they do, she watches the memory rush back in, as violently as her own returned. It’s like black ink swirling through Peter’s veins, a visible thing. He bucks, shuddering, and the ground shudders with him. Stones bounce and rattle into the pit.

“Keep going,” Tiger Lily says.

The strain in her voice makes Wendy look up, and she almost drops her needle. The seams in Tiger Lily’s skin have split and widened. Light the same color as the bloody light filling the cave burns from within, and flakes of ash rise around her body. Wendy reaches for her, but Tiger Lily jerks back.

“No. Finish it.” Tiger Lily grits her teeth. Her eyes are brighter even than her skin, and Wendy doesn’t dare disobey.

The air around Tiger Lily shimmers like the air around Peter’s shadow, capturing flecks of ash and drawing them back to settle on her cheeks, on her arms. Wendy sees the force of Tiger Lily’s will, holding herself together. If she stops now, everything they’ve been through will mean nothing.

“Hold on.” Wendy turns her attention to her stitching once more.

The cave shudders again, a chunk of stalactite breaking free to crash to the ground, narrowly missing her. She thinks of Jane and Timothy, hoping they’re safe, hoping they aren’t afraid. Peter’s lithe body arches, trying to pull away from his shadow, trying to tear the stitches free.

Tiger Lily tightens her grip. Her hands smoke where they grasp Peter’s shoulders, but she doesn’t let go. Wendy braces herself. She asked Jane to be brave; she must be brave as well. She pushes the needle in, concentrating on making the stitches just the way Mary taught her years ago. She ignores everything, the crumbling stone, Tiger Lily burning, all her attention on Peter.

He’s still the little boy he ever was—ancient and new and burning like a fever under her touch. It seems an eternity, but finally Wendy tugs the last stitch into place. She allows her hands to shake at last, fear and adrenaline catching up with her. She almost drops her little scissors as she snips the thread, making a knot. It is done.

Her hands fall back to her sides, exhausted. And from the other part of the cavern, Jane screams.