Chapter 26 The Truth Beneath the Wreckage
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Truth Beneath the Wreckage
Hook watches me for a long moment before letting out a ragged laugh.
“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. I think you’re just as tricky as that Peter Pan.” He spits the name, but his eyes gleam with cruel delight. “Alright then. Get on with it. Tell me what it is you want.”
I don’t hesitate. “You said Peter is a sickness. On the beach that day—what did you mean?”
Hook’s head tilts slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “So… you’ve seen it?” His voice drops, low and knowing. “That monstrous side of him?”
My mouth goes dry. I nod once.
His smile spreads slowly, sharp as a blade. “Like a demon possessed,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “It only worsened after he returned the Lost Boys to that other world. I thought that might be the end of it, finally. Just us left—pirates, faeries, mermaids… well, and Peter Pan unfortunately.”
“But something was wrong,” Hook continues, his voice softer now, though no less chilling. “I noticed it right away. He was aging.”
Thorne leans back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze drifting up toward the window. He looks like he’s heard this story before—too many times.
Hook presses on, his tone darkening in its bitterness. “And as he changed… so did Neverland. The sea grew restless. Storms struck without warning. The trees twisted, gnarled and ravenous. As though the island itself had sprouted fangs. As though it were alive…”
A chill crawls across my skin. I think of the forest opening for me last night and closing behind me like a mouth snapping shut.
“As the sea raged, our hideout became wreckage under its onslaught. That’s when we built this sanctuary.”
He gestures around the hall. I glance at the towering timber walls, the lanterns strung overhead. This place is miles beyond the ramshackle village on the coast.
“My run-ins with Peter became more dangerous the older he got,” Hook says, swirling the wine in his goblet.
“It wasn’t about besting me anymore. Or even killing me.
He wanted to obliterate me. Dismember me.
Tear me to pieces like a feral animal.” He lets out a humorless laugh.
“That blasted ticking crocodile? Child’s play in comparison. ”
The picture he paints is terrifying—and heartbreakingly familiar. I think of Peter looming over me, eyes black with rage, runes glowing beneath his skin. I hadn’t only been afraid for him. I’d been afraid of him.
Hook pauses, his mouth twisting with something like disdain. “And the shadow beasts…”
I sit up straighter. “Do you know what they are?”
He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I have my suspicions. I was grateful for them—at first. They gave Peter something else to hunt. Something that wasn’t me.”
There’s a strange note in his voice now. Almost… pity?
“They stalk the island now,” he says. “Always watching. Always waiting. But the beasts do keep Peter occupied. That was the foundation of our truce. He agreed to leave us alone if we stayed out of his way.” His lips twist. “I was happy enough to oblige for the time being.”
I shift, hands curling into fists in my lap. “What about the runes?” I ask. “Have you seen them? On Peter?”
His gaze snaps to mine. For the first time, his smug mask slips—replaced with confusion.
“Runes?” he repeats. “What runes?”
I shake my head slowly, my mouth suddenly dry. My thoughts spin in flashes of crimson light, the trembling treehouse, the heat flooding my veins as I scream his name. Why can only Peter and I see them?
I lean forward, hope threading through my chest. “Never mind that. What do you think the shadow beasts are?”
Hook’s eyes narrow, a dangerous gleam sparking there. “I think they’re caused by him, Wendy Darling.”
My brow furrows. “What? How could he cause them?”
Thorne doesn’t speak beside me, but he’s still as stone. His fingers curl white-knuckled around the table’s edge. He knows where this is going. And whatever it is… I’m not sure I want to hear it.
Hook’s smile sharpens, all teeth and venom. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you? The red eyes. The rage. The way the island twists and trembles when Peter loses control.” He leans forward, voice a low hiss. “Tell me—have you noticed Peter Pan no longer casts a shadow?”
My pulse stutters.
“Those beasts? They move like shadows torn loose. Hungry. Mindless. Full of his anger, his impulses, his madness. Living fragments of a wayward boy who can’t contain himself anymore.”
The room tilts. The world narrows. Peter’s missing shadow. The rage. It all lurches into place with a sickening click.
They’re him.
Pieces of the boy I love splintered and feral and roaming the island like wounded animals.
A cold dread pours through my veins. If Hook is right, then Peter isn’t just sick. He’s coming apart.
I can’t breathe. The truth feels too enormous, too cruel to hold.
“But he wouldn’t create monsters. He wouldn’t…” I swallow hard. “Not on purpose. It’s not his fault—”
Hook slams his silver hook into the table with a crack that jolts through me. “Not his fault?” he snarls, eyes burning. “Peter Pan is the rot of Neverland. He’s unraveling this place thread by thread.”
His voice drops to a hiss, trembling with hate. “And if I kill him—maybe,” he lifts his hook again, slow and menacing, “this island will be able to breathe again.”
If I kill him.
The words echo in my skull, louder than the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I’m going to be sick. My gaze snaps to Thorne, searching for anything—denial, outrage, fear. But all I find is cold fury. He’s glaring daggers at Hook, jaw clenched tight. And that’s when I know.
I should not have come here.
I meet Hook’s gaze head-on, fists clenched on my lap. “That’s not happening,” I snap. “Thanks for your… insight. We’ll be going now.”
I shove my chair back from the table, the legs screeching against the floor. Thorne rises at once, standing beside me.
Hook only laughs. It isn’t real laughter. It’s cracked and rasping, a jagged sound that scrapes along my nerves. The kind of laugh that makes your skin crawl before your mind even understands why.
“Come now, Wendy,” he says, low and mocking. “You can’t possibly be this na?ve.”
“Jameson, please,” Thorne murmurs pleadingly.
I freeze.
Jameson?
My gaze snaps to Thorne, but he isn’t looking at me. His eyes are locked on Hook, desperation etched into every line of his face. I turn back to Hook. His expression is hardening by the second—the smug absurdity slipping away, replaced by a cold determination.
“I’m sorry, Thorne,” he says. “But you should know me better than that by now. Did you truly think your presence alone would keep her safe?”
Thorne’s fists clench, shoulders taut with the effort of not lunging across the room. Then he glances at me, and the look guts me because it’s a familiar one.
Regret. And something painfully close to betrayal.
“I’m sorry, Wendy,” he whispers.
And I believe him.
I edge around my chair, stepping backward toward the doors, never breaking eye contact with Hook.
“You can’t keep me here,” I hiss. “When Peter finds out—if you think he was a monster before, you haven’t seen how depraved he can truly get.”
Hook rises from his chair with slow, deliberate poise, his smile menacing.
“Ah, but that is central to my plan.”
He starts around the table, stalking toward me with measured steps. Each one lands heavier than the last—boots thudding like a countdown to my death.
I spin and bolt for the doors, wrenching them open. A wall of pirates stands outside, shoulder to shoulder, a living barricade.
“No. No, no, no…” I whisper, slamming the doors shut again and turning just as Thorne moves in front of me, shielding me with his body.
“Stop, Jameson. I won’t let you hurt her.”
Hook doesn’t hesitate. He lunges forward, grabbing Thorne’s face in one brutal fist, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. His silver hook comes up to Thorne’s neck. I flatten myself against the door, breath lodged in my throat.
“Move,” Hook snarls. “Unless you want to be locked up with her… hmm?”
“Please,” Thorne breathes.
Hook rolls his eyes—then, quick as a viper, shoves him aside. “Restrain him. I’ll deal with him later.”
Two pirates step from the shadows, silent as wraiths, seizing Thorne’s arms before he can recover. I hadn’t even noticed them.
Hook turns back to me. His gaze hits like a blow, pinning me to the door. I flatten myself against the wood and scan the room in a frantic sweep—windows too high, hallways blocked, pirates filling every gap. There is nowhere to run. No way out.
A tear slips down my cheek as my thoughts spiral. You’re so stupid, Wendy. So desperate to fix things. You walked straight into his hands. You came here willingly. If anything happens to Peter Pan, it’s your fault.
Hook stops in front of me—too close, close enough his presence feels like a hand around my throat. I press harder into the door, but there’s nowhere left to go. He smells of aged leather and rum. Nothing like Peter. The difference hits me so violently I choke on it.
“Stop!” Thorne shouts, thrashing against the pirates who hold him.
Hook ignores his outburst, lifting his hook slowly, almost gently, he drags the smooth curve along my cheek.
“You see, Miss Darling…” he murmurs, soft and mocking, “I’m going to kill Peter Pan. And I’m going to use you as bait.”
My head shakes violently, but no sound comes out. My tongue is frozen. My lungs flutter uselessly in my chest. Tears spill freely now, hot and humiliating.
“Shhh, don’t cry,” Hook coos, brushing a tear away with the flat of his hook. “If all goes well… you might even survive this.”
He grins, delighted with himself. “Perhaps I’ll even let you join my crew afterward.”
The same jest he made when he kidnapped me all those years ago. Except this time, he didn’t kidnap me. I came here willingly.