She takes a step back, and Peter leaps up, catching her wrist as the sound echoes across the camp, calling the boys awake. She has the sudden impression that they mean to tie her up, burn her like a witch. Perhaps they will eat her.

“Wendy has thought of an excellent new game!” Peter exclaims as sleepy-eyed boys join them, the menace vanished all at once, his expression pure delight.

Fear still hasn’t loosened its grip on her. She feels unsteady, struggling to keep up.

“A game?” She repeats Peter’s words dumbly.

“Moonlight hide and seek,” Peter says, his expression sly. Is it possible he doesn’t realize she meant to leave? Or does he know and he’s already forgiven her?

He darts forward, tapping a boy of middling height with pudgy cheeks and large hands.

“Tag! You’re it!” Peter dances away, spinning out of reach. “Everyone run and hide and Bertie will come find us.”

Then he’s gone, rabbiting away into the dark. A beat and the other boys scatter, leaving her and Bertie blinking at each other. Bertie rubs a hand over his face then shakes himself; she thinks of a bear waking from a long winter sleep.

Bertie’s smile when it spreads across his face is slow, and nowhere near as wicked as Peter’s, but there is a calculating gleam to it. They come to the same realization at the same moment—if he can tag her before she runs, she’ll be it instead of him. He swipes at her, but the motion is clumsy and she twists away. His fingers just miss her. Part of her knows that being it would give her more chance to escape, but instinct—the ingrained rules of the game that tell her being it is bad—takes over, and she bolts. The terror of being caught—the idea of being forced to hunt through the dark for all the boys who must know this island far better than she does—sweeps everything else from her mind.

She darts among the trees, running a zig-zag pattern, hoping to throw Bertie off her trail. Unlike the boys, she may not know the best places to hide, but she’s certain she can at least outrun him.

She hears boys crashing through leaves and branches, making no effort to be quiet. Sound distorts oddly among the trees, so she can’t quite tell which direction it’s coming from. She wishes Bertie would break off to pursue one of the others, but he remains focused on her, lumbering after her through the brush—a terrible, heavy sound. She doesn’t dare look back, pushing herself into an extra burst of speed.