The study door creaks open, and there he is — older, greyer, but eyes bright with that curious spark. “Well, if it isn’t the boy who ruined my curtains,” he says with a faint smile. He adjusts his spectacles, trying to take you in — every freckle, every bit of starlight on your clothes. “So you do exist. My word…” He clears his throat, half in disbelief. He pulls out a chair. “Tea? Or… er, do you still prefer thimbles?” For the first time, the stern father looks more like a boy himself, eager to listen. “Now then—tell me about this… Neverland. Do the stars truly listen to you, Peter?”