Wendy tests her footing on the canted deck. The boards complain, but her foot does not go plunging through. How many years has the ship lain baking in the sun, all the moisture sucked dry, as though it always belonged on the sand and never upon the sea? The last time she was here, she and John and Michael spent most of their time tied to the main mast, until Peter saved them. She never saw this part of the ship back then. She has no idea what a real pirate ship might look like, but now that she’s here, she takes in Peter’s idea of one. The remains of tangled sleeping nets hang from the ceiling in one narrow room. In what must have been the galley, she finds overturned crates and emptied barrels. And in every space she crawls through, the pervasive sense of haunting remains, of being watched and yet utterly alone.

Finally, at the ship’s prow, she finds a large cabin that must have belonged to Hook. Shreds of rich brocade—dark like new blood—hang from the railing above a narrow bed. There’s a writing desk, overturned and smashed against one wall. A sea chest thrown open, its contents scattered around the room. The frame of a full-length mirror still holds shards of silvered glass. They glint dully in light slanting in through a window that once looked out to sea and now points toward the sky.

The heavy, warped glass distorts the light, turning it a sick-yellow color, like weak tea. A shadow passes in front of the glass, flickering through the shard of mirror at her foot, catching her attention. An eye peers up at her from the broken glass. Wendy swallows a shout, clapping a hand over her mouth to hold in the sound. It’s Hook’s eye, dark and glittering.

She reels back, bracing herself against the wall, heart pounding. From this angle, the mirror only reflects the blank wood of the ceiling. She slides a foot forward, edging toward the broken glass. She makes herself look, holding her breath. Nothing. It is only a mirror, and nothing looks back at her save her own reflection.

Even so, her nerves remain strung tight, the haunted feeling clinging to her. She tries to imagine a storm terrible enough to cause this kind of destruction. Had Peter finally tired of endless battles against his old foe and dreamed up a wave big enough to pick up Hook’s entire ship and smash it against the shore?