Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
HOOK
The moment they shove me into the room, I already know how this is going to play out.
The door slams shut behind me with a heavy thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding into place, locking me inside.
I stand there for a moment, letting the silence settle around me. Then, as if on cue, I smirk.
"Locked up like a common criminal," I mutter under my breath. "How charming."
But of course, the Queen's idea of a prison is far too posh for someone like me. The room itself is draped in dark silks, lit by flickering candles that cast long shadows across the walls. The furniture, though grand, is worn, the kind of wear and tear that suggests it’s not used often.
There’s a bed too large for anyone with sense, a vanity, and a wardrobe that’s seen better days. But I’m not here to admire the décor.
I immediately turn to the door and test the handle. I know it’s locked, but it’s always worth checking. I press my ear to the wood, listening for footsteps or guards on the other side, but there’s nothing. Silence. Either they’re confident I won’t escape, or they don’t care if I try. Fools.
I pace the room, eyes flicking to the window.
Outside, the night is dark, with just enough moonlight filtering through to illuminate the twisted architecture of the palace.
The Queen clearly has a flair for the dramatic—spires, turrets, and odd, intricate decorations climbing up the walls like they were made for someone to scale. Perfect.
First, I try the adjoining door tucked away in the corner, half-hidden behind heavy curtains.
I grip the handle and give it a twist—locked.
Of course. I move to the window, pushing it open, and the cool night air hits my face.
I lean out to inspect the wall. The Palace’s decorations aren’t just for show—there are enough ledges, vines, and grotesques to make climbing up almost too easy. It’s like she gave me the key herself.
“Well then,” I say, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s go out for a little stroll, shall we?”
I swing one leg out of the window, grabbing hold of a stone gargoyle jutting from the side of the palace.
The climb isn’t comfortable—sharp edges dig into my hands, and my boots scrape against the stone—but I’ve done worse.
Far worse. I pull myself up, moving with the practical ease of someone who’s made a career out of slipping in and out of places he doesn’t belong.
As I climb higher, I glance down at the courtyard below.
Guards patrol, their helmets gleaming in the moonlight.
I make a mental note to avoid that particular area.
After a few minutes of climbing, I reach a ledge wide enough to stand on.
I peer through the window in front of me.
It’s an empty room, dark, save for the faint glow of embers in a fireplace.
I ease the window open and slip inside, landing softly on the floor. The room smells like old wood and dust, clearly abandoned for some time—chairs draped in sheets, books stacked haphazardly on the floor. Not much to see here. I move quickly, slipping through the door and into the corridor beyond.
The palace is a maze of twisting hallways and grand staircases. I keep to the shadows, avoiding the patches of moonlight spilling through the windows. I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I trust my instincts. The Queen is hiding the amulet—I can feel it. Its magic pulses, calling to me.
I pass a room where a couple of guards are laughing and playing cards at a table. Pressing myself against the wall, I hold my breath as they continue their game, oblivious to the fact that I’m just a few feet away. Once they’re distracted again, I slip past, moving deeper into the palace.
I duck into a stairwell and begin to climb.
The air grows colder the higher I go, the walls closing in as the grand palace gives way to something more.
.. forgotten. Dust gathers on the steps, cobwebs cling to the corners.
I keep moving, breathing steady, steps careful.
Neverland’s magic feels closer now, tugging at me like a thread.
I reach the top of the tower, a heavy door in front of me. It creaks as I push it open, the sound echoing in the hollow space beyond.
Inside, the tower is a graveyard of forgotten things. Old furniture piled in corners, broken mirrors, and chests filled with moth-eaten clothes. It’s the kind of place no one’s visited in years—maybe decades. But it’s the mirror in the centre of the room that catches my eye.
It’s massive, taller than me, framed in tarnished gold with intricate designs curling around the edges like vines. It’s old—older than anything I’ve seen in this palace.
Interesting.
I step closer. The mirror is dark, its surface dull and cloudy, like it hasn’t been polished in years. But something about it pulls me. There’s power here. Is this what I was feeling?
I run my fingers along the cool surface of the frame, and sparks fly up where my touch leaves a trail.
“You were calling to me,” I say, wiping the dust from the surface.
Straightening up, I tilt my head with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, I know you. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is—” I pause, smirking. “Oh, don’t tell me. I already know it’s me.”
I chuckle at my own joke, but the sound dies in my throat as the mirror begins to change.
The dark, cloudy surface ripples like water, and slowly, an image starts to form.
The mirror sighs—not in a way that’s audible, but I can feel it.
The air around me shifts, and the mirror seems to sag, as though tired. Exhausted.
“I know that feeling,” I mutter.
“Captain Hook,” it says, its voice raspy, like it’s been asleep for centuries and is only now waking. A faded, ghostly face appears in the surface. “You are...” It pauses. “Far from the fairest.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, do go on.”
The mirror’s surface ripples again, and this time it shows me something—a dungeon, dark and damp, buried deep beneath the palace. Chains hang from the walls, and in the centre of the room, a figure sits huddled on the cold stone floor.
Is that...? I step closer, squinting at the image.
She’s sitting cross-legged, her hair a tangled mess, but there’s fire in her eyes. She looks determined. Angry.
“This,” the mirror says, its voice low and ancient, “is the answer you seek.”
I frown, staring at the image of a woman who seems familiar. “What do you mean?” I reach out, my hand brushing the surface of the mirror. “What answer?”
The mirror ripples again, the image of the girl fading in and out, like it’s struggling to hold on. “She is the key... the one who will unlock what you need.”
I narrow my eyes. “Unlock what, exactly?”
The mirror’s light dims, its surface growing dull again as the image disappears into fog.
“She is your answer,” the mirror whispers, and the light fades entirely, leaving me standing alone in the tower.
“Who the hell is she?” I mutter. “And what is she doing here?”