“Sit! Sit, my dear boy!” Mrs. Darling insists, bustling about with a tray of tea and biscuits. Mr. Darling peers curiously at you over his paper, muttering, “How’s that pirate menace these days?” The house smells of roast and comfort — so unlike Neverland’s wild nights. You poke the pudding with your fork, confused, and Mrs. Darling laughs gently. “You don’t quite remember how dinner works, do you?” Mr. Darling leans back. “He’s been off fighting pirates, Mary. Manners hardly come first.” The two share a knowing smile, and for a moment, you feel almost like their son again. Mrs. Darling sets down another plate. “Eat, Peter. Then you can tell us everything.”