Moonlight spills across the Jolly Roger’s deck, glinting off silver chains and water-stained wood. Hook watches Peter move with a strange lightness, too quick, too fluid, almost floating instead of walking. Something is wrong.

“Boy, you’re not walking properly,” Hook growls, narrowing his eyes. “What trick is this?”

Peter laughs, a sound like chimes in the wind, and twirls. Small, glowing wings unfurl from his back, fragile and shimmering with a light Hook has never seen.

“I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Peter says, nervous, trying to fold them back into his shadow. But the wings grow stronger each night, changing him — faster, smaller, lighter, mischievous in ways Hook barely recognizes.

Hook steps closer, the tension in his jaw tight. “Boy, you must choose. Do you let this magic take you, or do we fight it before it consumes you?”

Peter looks at him with wide, frightened eyes, and the ship creaks as if the very wood is holding its breath. In Neverland, wings don’t just let you fly — they can take your soul.