Chapter 27 Neverland’s Salvation
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Neverland’s Salvation
The dungeon door creaks open, a groan of rusted iron that makes me flinch. I scramble upright, breath catching as torchlight spills into the cell—and with it, the two pirates who dragged me down here.
My stomach lurches. They’re going to hurt me. But the taller one only jerks his chin.
“On your feet. Time to go.”
Relief doesn’t come. If anything, dread settles heavier in my stomach. My limbs feel cold and stiff, useless from hours spent curled on the dirt floor. I force myself upright, every joint aching, every muscle protesting. Before I can find my balance, they seize my arms and haul me forward.
My boots scrape on the stairs as I stumble, nearly pitching forward. Their grip on my arm tightens immediately, painfully yanking me upright again. By the time we reach the top, my legs are trembling beneath me.
We emerge into the dining hall. The air is immediately warmer, thick with smoke. Outside the windows, the sky is ablaze—deep purples and molten oranges bleeding into the dark silhouette of the jungle.
Sunset.
My stomach drops.
Has Peter woken yet?
The long table stretches before me, bare now, but the echoes of this morning remain. Hook’s cruel smile. His rasping laughter. The moment everything tipped irrevocably wrong.
The pirates drag me through the double doors that lead outside, halting before Captain Hook.
He stands at the base of the stairs, his back to me, cloaked in a long leather coat.
A wide-brimmed hat shadows his head, a single red feather jutting from it.
Sunset frames his silhouette in blood and fire.
Slowly, he glances over his shoulder. A pleased smile curls his lips.
I tense. “Wh-what’s going on?” My voice wavers despite my effort. “Where’s Thorne?”
Hook chuckles, low and amused. “We’re going on a little jaunt through the woods, Miss Darling.” He turns fully now, eyes gleaming. “And Thorne? He’s off retrieving the guest of honor.”
My blood runs cold.
Hook strides ahead, the hem of his coat swaying with each step.
The pirates gripping my arms follow, dragging me through the heart of the village.
Others begin to fall in behind us, one by one, torches flaring to life, their flames licking the dusk and casting long, leaping shadows.
A procession. Or more like a death march.
We enter a narrow jungle trail, overgrown and suffocating.
My boots sink into wet earth, the mud sucking at my soles like the island wants to hold me here.
Pirates flank me on all sides, torches crackling.
I trip over a thick root. One of them jerks me upright, fingers digging painfully into my arm.
The air is heavy—hot and wet, clinging to my skin like a fever. Every sound feels magnified. The sharp trill of birds. The rustle of leaves. The creak of a branch overhead. Even the distant sigh of wind sounds like a warning.
A nagging sense lingers at the back of my mind, the certainty that something is watching us.
I feel it pressing in from all sides. My gaze darts through the undergrowth, searching for a flicker of red, those glowing eyes I know too well, but the torchlight plays tricks.
Every leaf seems ready to move. Every shadow feels too deep.
“Where are you taking me?” I demand. My voice comes out thin. Frayed.
No one answers. Hook doesn’t even slow. His silence stretches tight, suffocating, winding around my throat like a noose.
I swallow hard, trying to quiet the panic fluttering in my chest. The jungle narrows further, the torches crackling louder now, as if feeding on my fear.
It feels like forever that we march through the forest, my dread growing heavier with every step, pressing down on my body. The trees crowd closer, their shadows thickening, branches knitting together overhead like the path is closing behind us.
And then the forest breaks open. Tall grasses spill out before us, silvered by the dying light.
The land slopes gently upward toward a low rise, and at its peak stands a raised stone dais, stark against the darkening sky.
Behind it rises a tall vertical post, reinforced with thick rope pulleys and a gleaming metal hook.
A gallows.
My breath catches painfully.
A wide wooden platform flanks the dais, raised high above the ground on thick timber supports. Rows of crude benches line the tops, and a retractable ladder hangs beneath it.
They release me and veer off toward the platform like spectators taking their seats at a show.
My stomach twists violently.
“Hook,” I demand, panic sharpening my voice. “What is this?”
He turns slowly, that familiar cruel smile curling across his mouth—and there’s no mistaking the pure delight that gleams in his eyes.
“You like it?” he asks, spreading his arms as if unveiling a masterpiece.
“Normally, this space is for celebrations. Duels. Trials.” His gaze slides back to the post. “But tonight…” He gestures with a flourish.
“Tonight, I had it modified. For a more intimate performance. A final show, you might say.”
Hands shove me forward. I stumble up onto the stone dais, boots scraping against uneven rock. One pirate grabs my wrists while another pulls a coil of rope from his belt.
I thrash, panic exploding through me, but it’s useless. They’re too strong. The rope bites into my skin as they bind my wrists together, rough hemp burning where it cuts into already-aching flesh. The knot is cinched tight, then fastened to the cold curve of the metal hook above my head.
For one suspended, dreadful moment, nothing happens.
Then one of them yanks the pulley. My body jerks upward, arms wrenched high above me, and pain detonates through my shoulders so violently that white light bursts behind my eyes.
My instinctive scream rips free as the ground falls away beneath my feet.
My legs kick wildly, searching for purchase that isn’t there, boots slicing uselessly through empty air.
“Stop!” I scream, my voice splintering. “You don’t have to do this!” My arms tremble from holding my weight, muscles screaming as they strain against the rope. Tears blur my vision, hot and relentless.
“I came to you because I was trying to help Peter,” I sob. “I was trying to fix him. To fix Neverland!”
Hook strolls to the base of the dais and tips his head back, looking up at me with idle curiosity, as though he’s admiring a piece of art. His expression is calm. Almost bored.
“Ah,” he purrs, voice carrying easily through the clearing, “but there’s the crux of it, Wendy Darling.
” He folds his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels.
“We may want the same outcome,” he continues smoothly, “but our methods differ.” His gaze sharpens, eyes glinting in the torchlight. “You want to heal him.”
He pauses, his gaze locking onto mine, so deep and unblinking it feels like an intrusion.
“I intend to end him.”
My heart slams so hard against my ribs it feels like it might break them from the inside.
The clearing tilts. For a terrifying second, I think I might pass out, but fear keeps me awake, keeps me hanging here in agony.
I don’t know how I know. There’s no logic to it, no proof I can point to, but somewhere deep in me, I feel a startling truth settle into my very being.
Hook is wrong. Killing Peter Pan won’t save Neverland. It will destroy it. It might destroy all of us.
“This is a mistake,” I cry. “You’re wrong.” But he’s already turning away, dismissing me.
The pirates lounge on the benches below me, laughter rippling through the crowd as tankards clink and coins exchange hands. Some jeer. Some shout crude encouragement. Others simply watch, eyes bright with anticipation, as if this is nothing more than entertainment.
I hang here helplessly above them, watching them watch me, waiting
For my fate.
For Peter’s.
For Neverland’s.
And then—I feel it. It begins in my chest, a low vibration humming through my ribs, through marrow and veins. Not fear this time. Not pain.
Anger.
Leaves rustle violently, despite the gentle breeze. The air tightens, charged, as if the sky is bracing for something. The ground beneath the dais trembles faintly, just enough that I feel it through the rope, rattling my bones.
Hook’s gaze flicks toward the treeline, then back to me. A slow, knowing smile curls his lips.
Peter’s awake.
A sudden blast of wind screams through the clearing, ripping sparks from the torches and sending them spiraling into the dark. My body swings violently on the rope, spinning, hair lashing across my face, stinging my eyes. I cry out again, dizzy and disoriented.
Hook cups his hands around his mouth and calls up to me, his voice thick with amusement. “Not much longer now, dear. I’m sure they’ll arrive soon.”
The word they sinks into me. My gaze darts to the jungle’s edge, heart hammering. He couldn’t possibly mean—
Red.
It blooms in the darkness like flickering flames.
The trees convulse, branches snapping as birds explode into the sky in a shriek of wings. And then they emerge, slipping from the forest, smoke given flesh.
Shadow beasts. Dozens of them. Their bodies carved from darkness, edges blurring and reforming, as though they can’t quite decide what shape to hold. Red runes pulse beneath their skin, glowing and oozing like exposed veins.
The pirates fall silent. Even the jungle seems to still. The brutal truth hits me all at once, and my body recoils before my mind can catch up.
He’s going to sacrifice me to them.
I twist on the rope, ignoring the agony screaming through my shoulders, and lock my gaze on Hook. “You’re going to kill me,” I scream.
He smiles wider. And suddenly, everything clicks.
I’m not bait.
I’m a sacrifice.
He believes Peter created these beasts. That they are fragments of him, his shadow, his brokenness. That if they tear me apart, it will shatter Peter completely. And when Peter falls, broken, he won’t be strong enough to stop the blade sliding between his ribs.
Hook turns to the crowd, lifting his arms as if delivering a sermon. “A king is nothing without his queen.”
The pirates erupt, stomping and roaring, the sound thundering through the clearing.
“You’re insane,” I yell, my voice raw.
Hook laughs—a blunt, scraping sound that crawls under my skin. The laugh of a man already celebrating his victory.
Silver lightning rips across the sky, illuminating the clearing—the beasts, the pirates, the dias, me. Violent thunder crashes immediately after, close enough to rattle my teeth. I’ve never seen a storm in Neverland. Here, the sky is always clear, the sun ruling the days and the moon the nights.
The pirates falter, unease rippling through them as the wind surges again, hissing through the tall grass.
Another bolt of lightning splits the sky, and the thunder that follows feels angry.
The trees sway violently, groaning in protest. The air crackles, thick with static and something more primal. A growing rage.
Fear finally creeps into the pirates’ faces. Bravado slips. Voices falter.
Below me, the beasts close in. Low growls roll from their throats, vibrating through the ground, through me. Red mist pours from their jaws, curling across the clearing.
Lightning flashes again, casting the scene into hellish clarity. Dozens of hungry red eyes locked onto me.
I shake violently, fingers scrabbling at the hook above me, nails scraping uselessly against cold metal. My arms burn, muscles trembling as they begin to fail. There is nowhere to go. No salvation for me. I hang here like meat over monsters ready to devour me whole.
“My darling.”
The familiar voice cuts through the chaos. Hope flares instinctively, and I crane my neck, heart leaping—and then I see him. A rush of fear instantly crushes the fleeting relief.
This isn’t Peter Pan come to save me.
Not the boy with the crooked grin.
Not even the monster who claimed me.
This is something else entirely.
His eyes blaze red, not a trace of green left behind.
Crimson runes pulse violently across his skin, glowing like molten iron, bleeding through him as if his body can no longer contain the magic tearing him apart.
Red mist coils from his skin, heat rolling off him in waves that scorch the air.
He is beautiful in a terrible, otherworldly way—rage made flesh.
“Did you think you could escape me through death?” His laugh rolls across the clearing, haunting enough to make my blood run cold. “Even if you close your eyes and let darkness take you, you’ll still feel me beneath your skin. After your heart stops. After your final breath.”
He moves forward, power rippling outward.
“I will follow you to hell, Wendy Darling—and drag you back to my side.”
I gasp—and the rope snaps.
My scream tears free as gravity claims me. I plunge helplessly downward, straight into the waiting jaws of the shadow beasts below.