Chapter 75
Chapter Seventy-Five
ALICE
Hook doesn’t answer my question.
He keeps walking, boots steady on the uneven stone, shoulders squared. The path winds up, sharp and endless, the silence pressing between us. I hold my breath, waiting, but he doesn’t look at me.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
The thought lingers, unwelcome. But no—he didn’t deny it, didn’t scoff or roll his eyes. He just kept walking.
My legs burn, but I refuse to stop. Not when he hasn’t. Not when he seems unaffected by all of this—by the exhaustion, by the climb, by the question I just threw at him.
Minutes pass. The Hall of Memories looms ahead, jagged and unnatural. Its glow shifts and fractures, as if the building itself can’t decide whether it exists.
Still, Hook says nothing.
The silence is worse than his usual sharp remarks, so I break it. “Do you have a ship?” The words come out too quick. “In Neverland, I mean.”
His head tilts slightly, but he doesn’t stop. “Obviously.”
I frown.
His mouth twitches, barely a movement. “The Jolly Roger.”
The name should sound grand, but the way he says it is different—not boastful. Almost reluctant.
“And you sail the seas of Neverland... to do what?”
“To be far away from people who ask too many questions.” His eyes flick to mine, and there’s a heat there, a darkness that sends a shiver down my spine.
I snort, but it’s breathless. “So, you’re just out there alone, glaring at the sea?”
He quickens his pace. “Something like that.”
I move ahead of him, stepping into his path. He stops just short of colliding with me, eyes darkening. His gaze drops to my mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up to meet mine. My heart pounds in my chest, a wild, reckless rhythm.
“And what about your name?” I press, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why Hook?”
His fingers flex at his side before curling into a fist. “Why do you care, Alice?” My name on his lips is a low growl, intimate and dangerous.
“I’m making conversation.”
A muscle flickers in his jaw. “Not anymore,” he says, voice tight.
“Anymore?”
His patience frays, his breath sharp and uneven. He steps closer, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones. "Did anyone ever tell you, you talk too much? Ask too much?"
Before I can react, he moves—fast. His hand presses against my shoulder, backing me up against the stone wall.
Not hard. Not rough. But deliberate. Possessive.
His body is close, so close I can feel his heartbeat, can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
The heat from him is overwhelming, setting my skin on fire.
I don’t move. I can’t. I’m trapped in his gaze, in the raw, primal connection that’s pulsing between us. His hand lingers on my shoulder, thumb brushing against my collarbone, sending sparks of electricity through me.
My pulse stutters.
But I’m not afraid of him. “Fine. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it.”
For a moment, he just watches me, something unreadable tightening his features. Then, voice lower now, rougher, he says, “No. I don’t.”
Something curls through my chest. Not irritation. Not fear. Something else entirely.
He turns from me first, stepping away like none of it happened. The moment snaps, the air settling between us, though my skin still burns where he touched me.
I exhale, slow and steady, and fall back in step beside him as the Hall of Memories rises before us.
Sharp, jagged spires reach impossibly high, shimmering like glass caught between dimensions.
Up close, the glow isn't soft or warm—it's fractured, unstable, as if light itself struggles to exist here.
My stomach clenches.
"We're here," I breathe.
"Finally.”
We step onto flat ground—smooth marble replacing the rough path. White stone walls tower around us, ancient and imposing.
"Do we just... walk up to the door?"
Hook takes a step forward, his boots crunching against the marble. "Only one way to find out."