A rope creaks. Lanterns swing in the darkness. Lizzy sits tied to the mast of the Jolly Roger, her notebook scattered across the deck, torn by the wind. The pirates whisper, confused by her “strange contraptions” and glass lenses.

Hook circles her slowly, tapping his hook against the wood. “A clever little bird, aren’t you? Knows the fairies, knows Pan…” He grins wickedly. “Perhaps she’ll call him for us.”

Below deck, in the vents and shadows, Peter listens. He can hear her breathing, quick and shaky. “Peter,” she whispers through the wind, “if you can hear me… I don’t care what he says. Just don’t come for me. Please.”

But he always does.