He’d dreamt of this victory for so long that when it finally came, it felt empty. The boy who never grew up lay silent in the grass, the moonlight painting him in silver. Hook’s hook trembled inches from your chest. All around him, Neverland was coming apart: skies bleeding gray, rivers slowing to still water, the laughter of the Lost Boys gone quiet.

“You were the heart of it,” he whispered. “All the stories, all the magic—you.” He wanted to shout, to laugh, to cheer, but his throat ached. The air itself seemed to mourn. A single tear slipped from his eye and hit your cheek. The island shuddered.

Hook sank to his knees beside you, the blade falling from his hand. “If I let you go, I lose everything. If I save you, I stay trapped here forever.” The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of pixie dust and salt.

“Wake up, boy,” he said softly. “We’re not finished.”

And somewhere, far away, Neverland took one last breath.