Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
ALICE
It opens—kind of. If opening means the edge shifts just a fraction, creaking like it hasn’t moved in years. Hook grabs the bars, his jaw tight as he pulls. I step in beside him, my hands gripping the cold, mud-caked metal. Together, we strain against the hatch’s stubborn resistance.
“Pull,” Hook growls through gritted teeth.
“I am,” I snap back. My arms burn, my back aches, but I don’t let up. I throw everything I have into it because this place is everything we have. My feet are planted firmly in the dirt, my grip tightening as I pour every ounce of strength into the effort.
The hatch groans, just slightly, but it’s enough to spark a flicker of hope. My heart leaps, maybe a little too early, but I let it, even as my muscles scream.
“It’s moving,” I gasp, feeling the metal shift under the strain of our combined effort. “It’s actually moving.”
“Don’t stop.” Hook braces himself harder, his heels digging into the dirt. He lets out a guttural shout, his teeth clenched as he pulls so hard the veins in his neck stand out like cords.
I follow his lead, pushing past the pain in my arms. The metal screeches in protest, every inch gained a fight, but the gap widens just enough. A rush of cold, sour air hits me—damp and foul. It smells like freedom.
“Come on, you stubborn bloody thing,” Hook barks, giving it everything he has. “Fucking come on.”
And then, with one final heave, the gate moves enough that we might actually get through.
Hook lets go first, stumbling back as though the thing has thrown him. He rubs his hands together, panting. “Goddamn thing,” he mutters, his eyes narrowing at the gap. “That’s going to have to do.”
I stumble back too, wiping grime from my hands, though at this point, it hardly matters. My dress is already ruined. “You think we can fit through there?” I ask, eyeing the narrow opening.
Hook glances at me, his lips twitching into a grin. “Well,” he drawls, “it’s about all we’re getting. You could always slip out of that dress. Might make it easier for you.”
I glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “No.”
He shrugs, but his grin widens. “Suit yourself.”
Rolling my eyes, I step closer to the opening, peering through into the tunnel beyond. It’s cramped, barely more than a crawlspace, but it’s the way out. “After you, Captain,” I say, waving him forward.
“Never let it be said Hook isn’t chivalrous.” He bends to squeeze through the gap. “I see you’re finally learning some manners.”
“Just go,” I mutter, crossing my arms as he ducks into whatever is behind the gate—a tunnel, I think.
His broad shoulders barely clear the opening, and for a second, I’m sure he’s going to get stuck. But with a grunt, he vanishes into the darkness. His voice echoes back to me. “Well, you coming? Or do I need to carry you through?”
Shaking my head, I huff and follow him.
The air inside is damp and stifling, the walls pressing in uncomfortably close. Wonderland really isn’t a place for anyone with claustrophobia—or any phobia, for that matter. Maybe that’s why everyone here is so mad. Maybe the place drives them to it, and madness is just how they cope.
My hands scrape against the rough stone as I crawl forward, my knees sinking into the wet, uneven ground. “This is disgusting.”
“A means to an end, love,” Hook calls back, his voice annoyingly calm.
I press on into the darkness, just able to make out Hook ahead of me. But then he stops suddenly, without warning, and I nearly crash into him.
“Could you not?” I snap, but he raises a hand to silence me.
“Don’t you—” I start, but his hand clamps over my mouth as he presses into me, pushing me back.
“Stop talking for once.”
I’m about to argue, ready with some sarcastic quip, but then I hear it. A faint skittering sound—claws scraping against stone. My heart skips a beat before hammering painfully in my chest.
“Oh no.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Please tell me that’s just an echo.”
Hook glances down at me, his sharp eyes locking onto mine. There’s no humour in them now, no sly grin or mocking glint. He shakes his head, his expression grim. “Afraid not.”
Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant.
The sound grows louder, closer with each echoing click.
My breath catches, my throat tightening.
Hook’s jaw is clenched, his gaze darting down the dim passage ahead of us.
Instinctively, I step back, but his hand grips my arm firmly, holding me in place.
His entire body tenses, like a coiled spring, ready to snap into action.
A dull thud reverberates behind us, sharp enough to make me jump.
Hook flinches too, just slightly, and I feel the movement through his hand.
Maybe it’s instinct, or maybe there really is a gentleman buried somewhere beneath all that bravado, but he twists, positioning himself between me and whatever’s coming.
His hand drops to the knife at his hip, steady and deliberate.
The footsteps grow louder, echoing through the oubliette we’ve just escaped. A flicker of light begins to spill through the darkness—not ours, something else. My stomach churns, and without thinking, I reach out, my hand gripping Hook’s waist as I pull him back with me.
The scrape of metal fills the passage, and then she appears.
A woman steps into view, tall and striking, with fiery red curls that bounce even in the dim light.
Her eyes, sharp and green as fresh leaves, cut straight into mine.
She strides forward with an unsettling calm, her movements fluid and unnervingly graceful.
Her clothing—a patchwork of leather and fabric—looks like it was salvaged from a dozen different lives.
“Who the hell are you?” Hook snaps, his body shifting to square up to her, his tone hard.
She arches an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk that practically screams challenge. “You two are throwing lights around like a bloody fireworks display, and you’re asking me who I am?” Her voice is low and rich, laced with a mocking edge that grates against my nerves.
I narrow my eyes, suspicion prickling at the back of my neck. “You’re a hatter,” I say.
Before she can respond, Hook scoffs, stepping slightly closer to me. “No flies on you today,” he mutters.
I shoot him a glare, but of course, he doesn’t care.
The woman gives a small, theatrical bow, brushing a red curl off her shoulder. “Sophia,” she says smoothly. Her gaze shifts to Hook. “And you must be the infamous Captain Hook.”
I swear Hook growls, a low rumble in his chest. His scowl deepens, and he towers over her. “Enough with the introductions. What do you want?”
Sophia tilts her head, utterly unfazed by his hostility. These two are either a perfect match or destined to kill each other. Their egos are practically sparking off one another.
“Thorin sent me,” she says.
The name sends a jolt through me, and I take a step back, my breath catching in my throat. “Thorin?” I whisper.
Hook’s scowl sharpens, his voice laced with venom. “The Queen’s butcher?”
Sophia sighs, rolling her eyes as though she’s heard it all before. “The Queen’s guard,” she corrects. “And yes, he sent me. Saw the little light show you two were putting on. Honestly, you might as well have sent an engraved invitation saying, ‘Here we are. Come and get us.’”
Hook’s lip curls, his grip tightening on his blade.
“Thorin sent you?” he repeats. “Forgive me, love, if that sounds a bit strange. What exactly did he send you for? To take us in? Cut us down? Is he so yellow-bellied he couldn’t come himself and had to send.
..” He pauses, giving her a slow, disdainful once-over.
“...you in his place. What a fine man he must be.”
Sophia doesn’t flinch. She crosses her arms over her chest, squaring up to him without hesitation. “You make a lot of assumptions, Captain. No, I’m not here to take you in. I’m here to help you.”
“And why would you do that?” Hook’s voice is a sharp edge. “Why would the Queen’s guard send someone to help us?”
She takes a beat, her expression unreadable. “Not all the guards are as loyal to the Queen as she might think.”
My stomach twists painfully.
“Convenient,” Hook says. “Her prized hound has suddenly grown a conscience?”
Sophia exhales sharply, irritation flashing across her face.
“Oh, spare me your cynicism, Captain. No, Thorin’s no saint, but even he has limits.
We all do. Wonderland has been rotting under the Queen’s rule for years.
” Her gaze flicks to me, and her words falter, as if she knows something she’s reluctant to say.
Hook doesn’t miss it. He steps closer, towering over her. “And?” he presses. “What aren’t you saying, love?”
Sophia’s expression shifts, her smirk fading. For a moment, there’s something raw in her eyes—sadness, pain. “Not everything you see is as it seems. Not everything is as it should be.”
“Riddles?”
“No.” She shakes her head, a small, bitter laugh escaping her lips. “There’s so much that can’t be spoken. So many words that stick in my throat.”
Maybe Hook’s patience is running thin, because he closes the distance between them, his voice hard. “So Thorin sent you, is that right? Not to help us, but to help himself?”
“To help Wonderland,” she says firmly. “To help every world—including yours, Captain. Or are you not here to save your precious Neverland? He heard you tell her—your magic is fading. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Hook’s knuckles whiten around the hilt of his dagger, and I glance between them, my pulse pounding.
“And you,” I ask softly. “What’s your part in all of this? You’re risking your life to be here, right? If the Queen—”
“If the Queen hears me, sees me, then yes. My end will whisper through the hearts of her people for a long time. But her reign is taking us to ruin. Now is the time for bravery, not cowardice. Or she’ll snuff out every light, every piece of us.”