He'd dreamt of hearing your laughter echo across the trees. Now the sound was gone, replaced by the steady rasp of your breathing. The boy who never touched the ground lay motionless on the sand, feathers torn, dust scattering with each exhale.

Hook crouched beside you, unsure why his hands shook. The sight of your broken wings-so small, so fragile-didn't fill him with triumph. It filled him with dread.

"Look what you've done to yourself, Pan," he whispered. "Chased too high, didn't you?"

You stirred, eyes opening just enough to meet his. The defiance was stillthere, dim but burning. "You're not... supposed to care."

He almost said he didn't. Instead he wrapped a strip of his coat around the worst of the damage, clumsy but careful. "Don't flatter yourself. I just want you in the air when I finally kill you properly."

But his voice cracked, and you both heard it.