Wendy’s pulse stutters. Jane is covered in blood, crimson smearing her arms, her nightgown. She struggles with a weight, Timothy, trying to haul him upright. His body is rag-doll limp. Wendy’s heart lurches—callous gratitude. The blood is his, not Jane’s. The wound from Arthur’s sword, the one that was just a play-acted thing, is now horribly real.

“Mama!” The word pierces, all heartache, as Jane catches sight of her. The expression she turns on Wendy is utterly stricken.

Wendy has never seen such raw grief. With one look, Jane begs her to make everything better, to fix it, but there’s nothing Wendy can do. The knowledge wrenches everything inside of her. She wants to fall to her knees, hold Jane and take all of her hurt away. But she can’t. The cave is still coming down around them, and if she spares Jane’s feelings now, they will both die.

“Mama, you have to help him.” It’s there, the knowledge inside her little girl. Jane is smart enough to understand the truth, but right now, it’s too much for Jane to hold. And she shouldn’t have to, but Wendy can’t afford to be kind. Not until they’re safe. Not until they’re free.

“No.” The word drags rough from Wendy’s throat. She should say something comforting, but there is no mercy left in her, no mercy left for her either. Because Wendy stitched Peter’s shadow back to his skin; she made Timothy’s wound real.

She knows what will greet her if she touches Timothy’s throat. No rabbit-racing beat of pulse. No sluggish struggle for breath. No flutter of hope against her palm. Wendy makes herself look at the baby roundness of the boy’s face, and burns the image in her mind. She doesn’t know him, but maybe she did, once upon a time. A child. Just a little boy, younger than her daughter, lost and so very far away from home.

“Come away, Jane.” Wendy holds out her hand.

Jane clings to Timothy even harder, staring at her mother as if looking at a stranger. At least Timothy didn’t die alone; at least her daughter was there to hold him tight, maybe sing him a lullaby. It doesn’t ease Wendy’s heart any, knowing this, and if anything it makes it weigh more heavily inside her.

“We have to help him. I promised I’d keep him safe.” Jane’s voice breaks, shuddering as she gasps for breath.

Wendy closes her eyes. A moment. A breath. Against her lids, she sees Tiger Lily burning. Life is unfair, that’s what happens when you grow up. She’d told Peter, now she has to swallow the bitter lesson herself. She opens her eyes. She can’t hate herself for what she’s about to do; Jane will do plenty of hating for both of them, but only if they survive.