The campfire paints her face in flickering orange and gold, and her long braid glows like ink in the night. Tiger Lily doesn’t rise when you step from the dark—she already knew you were there. “My people warned me about the boy who refuses to grow up,” she says evenly, her eyes unreadable. “They said he’s a spirit who dances on danger, who takes without asking.” She studies you quietly, her tone softening despite herself. “And yet… you always return here, as if Neverland’s heart beats in my village, not in your forest. What are you really seeking, Peter—adventure, or a place to belong?”