“You’re always the leader when there’s trouble, aren’t you, Darling?” He wrenches her arm until she has no choice but to face him.

At the corner of her eye, Evans lowers his hand, looking sullen. Jamieson digs his fingers into the muscle of her arm, and Wendy bites back a yelp. She will not give him the satisfaction.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Jamieson leans closer, showing teeth stained yellow-brown by tobacco.

Everything about his expression is unpleasant. It leaves Wendy feeling vaguely sick, but she raises her chin, keeping her lips pressed together. Jamieson’s stance makes her think of Hook, leaning over her on the bridge of his ship. If Jamieson thinks he can frighten her, he has no idea.

“Yes,” she says, voice even. “Always the leader. Just like last time, and the time before.”

It doesn’t matter whether or not he believes her. It’s as though he can smell Peter on her skin, his wildness, his magic, and it’s enough to make him want to break her. She holds Jamieson’s gaze even as his expression hardens, malice glittering.

His smile, already sickening, shifts to something entirely predatory. It’s only then Wendy realizes her mistake. Dr. Harrington is in Switzerland at a medical conference. There is no one to rein Jamieson in. Her pulse turns erratic, beating madly against her skin. She opens her mouth, but it’s too late. Jamieson shoves her hard enough to make her stumble. He still has a grip on her arm, so the motion wrenches her shoulder painfully, and now she does let out a sound of pain despite herself.

“Leave her alone,” Mary bellows, squirming like lightning in Evans’ grip.

“Get her out of here.” Jamieson’s tone is dangerously close to a snarl, but Evans looks almost as frightened of Mary as he does of his fellow attendant.

“What should I do with her?”

“I don’t care. Lock her in her room.” Jamieson turns away, turning his attention back to Wendy.

“Get up.” He kicks at her legs even as he hauls her upright. Wendy grits her teeth, breathing fast, determined not to make another sound.

She staggers upright, lurching toward Mary again as Evans drags her away. Jamieson kicks her legs out from beneath her again, only his painful grip holding her partly upright. Wendy’s hair hangs in her face, not grown back to its full length but enough to get in her eyes. She glares at Jamieson through the locks, breathing hard until he pulls her up again and she grits her teeth against another cry.

He grabs her chin with his free hand, turning her head as if looking for some mark on her skin. Behind the anger, there’s almost bafflement in his eyes, as if even he is seeking to understand why he hates her so.