When the sun comes up, it’s a surprise—a glitter of light breaking all at once through the leaves. Was she truly lost in the story, or did daylight simply pounce like a tiger, sudden and rude, like everything else in Neverland? The camp’s stillness shatters with a sound that is half cock’s crow and half war cry; Timothy bolts upright, going from half-sleep to alert fear in an instant. She looks down from the platform into the camp.

Peter stands beside the ashes of last night’s fire, as if dropped out of the sky and landing just there as the sun rose. Even from here she can see his cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright and his hair wild. Unlike the mess of Timothy’s hair though, there’s something sharp-edged and dangerous about Peter’s locks. It makes her think of a broken crown resting upon his head, and the leaves caught there might almost grow from his scalp.

His hands rest on his hips, elbows jutting sideways, and his expression is impatient as the camp wakes and gathers around him.

“We have to go.” Timothy nudges her. It’s not a suggestion. Without waiting, he scrambles down, and she follows, her pulse going harder in a way that has nothing to do with the climb.

“We’re going hunting.” Peter casts his voice like a net, snagging everyone as she and Timothy join the circle. “We must have a proper feast to welcome our new Wendy.”

Peter’s gaze skims over the boys and stops on her. It feels like a pin driven though the center of her body, holding her down the way she mounts her butterflies at home. She opens her mouth, feeling as though something is expected of her, but the moment she does, her mind goes blank.

It’s more than the sticky sweet drink; it’s Peter himself who makes her forget, who turns her strange. She has only a moment to think it then she finds herself blinking, a step or two closer to where Peter stands, as though a moment of time has slipped away without her marking it.

She closes her mouth. When did she open it? Did someone ask her a question? Peter’s expression digs at her, simultaneously seeking approval and daring her to contradict him. She fights the urge to squirm, even though everything in her wants to crawl away. Like every game Peter has proposed since she got here, she doesn’t understand the rules to this one either; she only knows she can’t be the first to look away.