Chapter 24 Despondent, Desperate
Chapter Twenty-Four
Despondent, Desperate
Ilie awake beside an unconscious Peter Pan.
The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a faint silver glow across our bedroom. Shadows stretch long across the floor, the walls, the bed—thicker, darker than they should be, pooling in the corners. The air feels colder tonight, heavy with an unease that won’t settle.
And the silence?
It’s suffocating. Too complete. Too expectant, as though a single sound might fracture the world around me.
I stare up at the ceiling, eyes wide and burning, unable to still the creeping dread that coils beneath my ribs. My limbs feel heavy, pinned by fear. My breath comes unsteadily, each inhale catching in my throat.
Sleep hasn’t come, not since Thorne carried Peter to bed, his body tense, eyes avoiding mine. He told me only that the sedative, made from the same blue-cap mushrooms Peter had proudly shown me on our hunt, would keep him under until dusk tomorrow.
That was it.
No explanation.
No reassurance.
Just a curt nod and a warning not to disturb him.
I turn my head toward Peter. His face is slack with sleep, expression peaceful. His lips parted slightly, curls shadowing his forehead, chest rising with slow, even breaths.
He looks gentle. Almost innocent.
It doesn’t match the last version of him I saw—his face red with fury, shaking with rage, runes crawling like molten veins along his skin, pulsing crimson in time with Neverland’s agony. I can still feel it: the fury pouring through the floorboards, through the treehouse, through me.
The memory claws at my mind, digging in deep, refusing to release its grip.
Peter’s roar. Thorne slammed into the wall. Finn pinned against the counter. Vines thrashing through the windows. Neverland crying out like a wounded animal. And then Tinker Bell, forcing his jaw open, pouring the liquid down his throat as I screamed at them to stop.
Then everything had gone silent. Their downcast eyes. Their refusal to speak while I knelt beside his motionless body, sobbing into his shirt.
Hook’s voice drifts back to me, low and grave: Peter Pan is the sickness.
I press my lips together, fighting the sting in my eyes.
Why won’t they tell me what’s wrong? Why am I the only one left stumbling blindly in the dark when I’m the one who loves him most? Why does everyone who claims to care for him—Tink, Thorne, Finn—act like the truth is something I can’t be trusted with?
The thought of him dying slips in like a blade between my ribs. A brutal, paralyzing horror.
No.
No, I can’t think it. I won’t.
My throat tightens, my pulse fluttering painfully. I can’t stay here. Not like this. Not lying beside him in the dark, pretending everything isn’t falling apart around us. I can’t keep waiting—hoping—that he’ll finally pull back the curtain and let me in.
Hope feels like another lie tonight. So I slip from the bed. Because if they won’t give me answers, I’ll find them myself.
Perhaps if I walk along the beach again, Hook will find me. And this time, I won’t let him slip away behind riddles and warnings. I’ll demand to know what he meant. What he knows.
I glance warily at Peter’s unmoving form. If he wakes and finds me gone…
I don’t want to imagine that monster again.
I can’t.
But if there’s even the smallest chance I can help him, save him, then any risk is worth taking. Even this one.
I dress quietly, tugging on a pair of trousers and a light knit sweater, the fabric brushing my still-tender skin. Bending down, I lace my boots with shaking fingers, pausing only to steady myself when the room tilts.
Then I look at him one last time.
Still. Silent.
My beautiful Peter Pan. Too far away for me to hold.
My voice sticks in my throat, the words I want to speak too fragile, too frightened to form.
I love you.
So I say nothing. I slip out the door and into the night.
The forest is eerily still.
Bioluminescent flora casts a soft, ghostly glow across the narrow path ahead, painting it in rippling hues of blue, green, and violet. It should be beautiful. But tonight, it just feels wrong.
My steps slow. A prickle of unease crawls up my spine, raising goosebumps across my arms.
I’m being watched.
I halt, scanning the darkened trees, squinting into the shifting tangle of shadow and color. Nothing moves. Just the soft pulse of glowing flowers and the faint rustle of leaves in a breeze I can’t feel.
And yet… something is wrong. Deeply wrong.
I force myself to keep walking. Faster now. The silence presses in, too thick, almost deliberate—like something is waiting for me to break it.
A sharp crack snaps through the silence.
I whirl around so fast the world blurs, my breath stuttering in my throat. Two red, glowing orbs blink at me from the trees.
I scrub at my eyes, desperate, certain I’m imagining it, that this is some nightmare bleeding into wakefulness. But when I look again, the eyes are still there. Unblinking. A low, wet huff of breath follows.
I spin to the right. Another pair of eyes watches me, even closer.
The forest remains deathly silent, but malevolence pours through it now, like a scream held behind clenched teeth. The reality of my situation hits me all at once. I’m alone. And shadow beasts are stalking me.
Terror detonates inside me. My limbs go numb for a single, devastating heartbeat, and the world tilts. My vision tunnels. My knees nearly fold. But some primal instinct cuts through the fear.
Flee.
I turn and bolt.
My boots sink into moss-soft earth, each stride jarring up my spine. My lungs burn instantly, raw and ragged. Every breath feels serrated, as though I’m inhaling shards of ice. My heartbeat slams against my ribs in a frantic, animal rhythm.
Peter…
The desperate thought bursts through me.
Save me.
I choke on my own breath, furious at myself.
He’s not coming. Not this time.
Behind me, the forest groans, a deep, resonant creak that sounds almost pained. Almost alive. But unlike the last time I ran—from Peter, from my nightmares, from the monsters in both—Neverland doesn’t fight me.
Branches twist away from my face. Vines recoil from the path like struck serpents. The bioluminescent flora flares brighter, casting shimmering light ahead—like a trail of stars guiding me through the dark.
It feels like the island is pushing me forward. Urging me on. Protecting me. Helping me escape.
I risk a glance over my shoulder and instantly stumble, nearly collapsing.
The path behind me is gone, swallowed whole. Trees have grown together in a tight, impenetrable wall, bark pressed close like clenched teeth. Vines coil thickly, knotted like muscle. The glowing plants have vanished, their light snuffed out.
It looks like a mouth snapping shut, creating a barrier between the beasts and me.
My breath comes in short, broken sobs, tearing at my throat.
I stagger backward, almost tripping over roots that weren’t there a second ago—and suddenly the forest gives way beneath my feet.
I burst out onto the beach. Sand shifts under my boots as I stumble, gulping down air that tastes of brine and frigid wind.
My chest aches like I’ve outrun death itself.
The path is still gone, devoured by the woods. The bioluminescent glow flickers back to life, as though nothing ever moved at all. No red eyes. No huff of breath. No shadows coiled and waiting.
Just stillness.
My knees buckle. I take a few staggering steps before collapsing into the sand, arms trembling violently. My whole body shakes—legs like water, chest twisting with aftershocks of terror. I press a hand to the ground just to steady myself, but even the sand feels untrustworthy.
I have never run that fast in my life. And I don’t think I’ve ever been that afraid.
I lie there for what feels like hours, staring up at the dulling stars as my breathing slowly evens out and feeling creeps back into my aching legs.
The tide laps gently at the shore, and the wind carries nothing but empty silence.
It isn’t until the first pale brush of gold touches the horizon that I sit up.
The sea glitters with the promise of morning, but no pirate ship crests the waves.
Foolish.
It had been foolish of me to think he would come. To think my fear and desperation alone could summon Hook out of the dark. I hug my arms around myself, feeling the first tickle of embarrassment creep up my throat.
“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”
The voice startles me so badly I yelp, whipping my head around so fast that a sharp pain stabs at my neck.
Thorne stands just behind me, a small basket in one hand, fishing rod in the other. A wry smile tugs at his lips, his fox-like features mischievous in the dim morning light.
“You scared me,” I snap, glaring at him.
He chuckles under his breath. “So was I right?”
I press my lips into a thin line and turn back toward the sea. I can’t tell him who I was waiting for, not after last night’s terror and his silence.
He sighs softly, and then I hear the gentle crunch of sand as he lowers himself beside me.
We sit together in silence for a long time.
A gull cries overhead. The tide rolls in, steady and slow.
A breeze gently lifts the hair from my shoulders.
I feel him shift beside me, restless, running a hand through his short-cropped blond hair.
“Why don’t you come with me today?” he asks.
I blink, startled. “What? Why?”
Thorne meets my gaze. His brown eyes are open, earnest in a way that makes the seemingly permanent knot in my chest wobble.
“Because…” He hesitates, jaw working. “I think I know who you’re waiting for. And I think I know why.”
My pulse jumps. “You actually want to help me?” I can’t hide the tremulous hope in my voice.
He grimaces, half pained, half resigned. “I really shouldn’t. Peter might actually kill me.” He glances out at the water, expression darkening. “But… I’m worried about him, too. We all are.”
“Then why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong with him?”
“Because we don’t exactly know what’s wrong with him,” Thorne says quietly.
“We’ve seen it, though—his moods shifting, his temper sparking too fast and out of control, the way he keeps running off to fight the shadow beasts alone.
But he made us swear not to say anything to you.
” He hesitates, jaw tightening. “I think Tink knows more than she lets on.”
His shoulders sag.
“I know you want to help him, Wendy. So let me help you.”
The smile that breaks across my face is too sudden, too wide—it makes my cheeks ache. Tears sting my eyes again, stupid and grateful all at once. I nearly throw my arms around him, but stop myself at the last second, swallowing the impulse.
Thorne stands, brushing sand off his dark trousers. “So get your ass in the boat,” he says, flashing a grin. “Let’s go.”
We walk side by side toward the dock, the sand giving way beneath our feet. But the closer we get, the tighter the knot in my chest becomes—an uncertain, uneasy twist, like a warning I can’t quite decipher.
“Just to be clear,” I say, “you’re taking me to Hook, right?”
“I am.” I nod.
The dock groans beneath us as we step onto the worn wooden planks. I climb into the boat first, settling onto the narrow bench while Thorne moves easily about the deck, checking the ropes, readying the sail. He looks at home here, but tension coils in the set of his shoulders.
I hesitate, my next question hovering on the tip of my tongue. I don’t want to pry, and he could lie or refuse to answer, but I need to know.
“Thorne,” I say carefully. “What exactly is your relationship with Captain Hook?”
He freezes. His fingers tighten around the rope until his knuckles whiten. Slowly, he looks at me. His face has gone taut, eyes shuttered, the sunlight unable to soften the tension in his jaw. I watch the line of his throat as he swallows hard.
“It’s complicated, Wendy,” he says at last, voice quiet but firm. “But please trust me—I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m still a Lost Boy.”
I nod, though the knot in my chest doesn’t ease. His answer is vague, but it confirms one thing—there is something more between him and Hook. Some history. Some connection they’d both rather keep hidden.
But despite that, I believe him.
I can trust Thorne’s loyalty. To Peter Pan at least.