Lost In Neverland

Chapter 3: Into the Shadows

Gwen

The forest felt alive. Every rustle of leaves, every shadow that flitted between the trees, seemed to have a mind of its own. The air was thick and damp, clinging to my skin and making it harder to breathe. I stumbled over a root, cursing under my breath as I struggled to keep up with Peter. He moved through the darkness like he belonged to it, every step deliberate and confident. Meanwhile, I was like a newborn fawn, tripping over everything.

The eerie silence pressed down on me, broken only by the occasional crunch of leaves beneath my heels. "Do you ever stop and consider that maybe leading a girl into a creepy forest isn’t the best way to convince her you’re not a psychopath?"

Peter didn’t even look back. "If I wanted to hurt you, Gwen, you wouldn’t be walking."

"Oh, charming," I snapped, brushing dirt off my already ruined dress. "And I’m supposed just to trust that you’re Peter Pan?"

That made him stop. He turned slowly, his blue eyes narrowing as he looked at me like I’d just insulted him. "I am Peter Pan."

"Sure you are," I said, crossing my arms. "And I’m Cinderella. Peter Pan isn’t real. He’s a story. A book. Fiction."

His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer. "Does this look like fiction to you? Does this feel like a story?"

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off, his voice sharp and low. "You fell into my world, Gwen. You’re standing in Neverland. The Lost Boys are hunting us, and you’re telling me it’s not real?"

I swallowed, my confidence wavering for a moment before I forced a laugh. "You’re seriously trying to tell me you’re the Peter Pan? The kid who never grows up? Because, newsflash, you’re not a kid."

His gaze darkened, and for a second, I thought I’d pushed too far. But then he smirked, the expression laced with something bitter. "No. I’m not a kid anymore. The island saw to that."

"The island?" I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let me guess—magic?"

"Yes," he said, his tone daring me to mock him further. "Magic. This place changes you. It takes pieces of you, whether you want it to or not."

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. His words hung in the air, heavy with something I couldn’t quite name. Sadness? Anger? Whatever it was, it was real—so real it made my doubts feel like a defense mechanism.

"Okay," I said finally, my voice softer. "Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that this is real. Why are you still here? Why not... I don’t know... leave?"

His expression hardened. "Because you don’t leave Neverland. Not unless it lets you."

"Let’s say I believe you," I said, my skepticism creeping back in. "You don’t look like any Peter Pan I’ve ever seen."

"What were you expecting? Green tights and a feathered hat?" he asked dryly.

I hesitated, then blurted, "Honestly? Yeah. I mean, you’re... well, you’re... hot."

His eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, he just stared at me. Then that damn smirk returned, softer this time, almost teasing. "You think I’m hot?"

Heat rushed to my face, and I groaned, burying my head in my hands. "Oh my God. Just forget I said that."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, but it faded quickly. "This isn’t the story, you know, Gwen. Neverland isn’t a game. It’s not an adventure. It’s survival. And the Lost Boys... they’re not what they used to be."

I dropped my hands and looked at him, my heart sinking. "What happened to them?"

"The magic corrupted them," he said, his voice tight. "Turned them into hunters. They’re not boys anymore. They’re predators."

The laughter we’d been hearing grew louder and closer, and I felt a chill run down my spine. "Predators of what?"

"Everything," he said flatly. "And you just became their favorite prey."

My breath caught, and I stepped closer to him without thinking. "What do we do?"

"We run," he said, his voice calm but his eyes sharp. "Stay close, and don’t look back."

I nodded, swallowing hard as he turned and started moving again. The forest seemed to close in around us, the shadows growing deeper, the laughter more frantic. For the first time, I didn’t doubt his words. Whether he was Peter Pan or not didn’t matter anymore.

We ran, weaving through the trees as the sound of laughter grew louder and closer. My heart pounded in my chest, each breath burning in my lungs. The forest seemed alive, its twisted roots and hanging vines reaching for us as we sprinted through the darkness. Suddenly, Peter stopped short, his hand gripping my wrist tightly as he pulled me against the massive trunk of a gnarled tree.

"What—" I started, but he clamped a hand over my mouth, his other hand braced against the tree beside my head. His body was so close that I could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest brushing mine with every shallow breath. My pulse raced, and it had nothing to do with the danger lurking in the woods.

"Stay quiet," he whispered, his lips barely an inch from my ear. His voice was low and rough, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

I nodded, and he slowly removed his hand from my mouth, his fingers grazing my skin in a way that left tingles in their wake. I pressed back against the tree, acutely aware of his body's hard lines and the way his muscles tensed as he kept his eyes trained on the shadows around us. The world felt smaller, and the space between us was charged and electric.

"They’re close," he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek. His gaze flicked to mine, and for a moment, the forest seemed to fade away. His blue eyes were intense, searching, and I felt my stomach twist in a way that was both terrifying and thrilling.

"Peter," I whispered, my voice trembling, though I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something else.

His lips hovered near mine, so close I could feel the faintest brush of them when he exhaled. My breath hitched, and my fingers curled against the rough bark of the tree. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to move closer or pull away.

"You’re trembling," he said softly, his voice almost... tender.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest. "I—"

The sound of footsteps snapped us both back to reality. Peter’s expression hardened, and he stepped back, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving me feeling strangely cold.

"We need to go," he said, his voice clipped. "Now."

I nodded, still trying to steady my breathing as we slipped deeper into the forest. The moment between us lingered, hanging heavy in the air like the humid mist that clung to the trees. Whatever had just happened, whatever I’d felt, I knew it wasn’t safe.

Not here. Not with him.

The laughter of the Lost Boys grew fainter as we moved, but I couldn’t shake the memory of Peter’s breath on my skin, the way his eyes had burned into mine. He was dangerous in more ways than one, and yet I couldn’t seem to stay away.

We stopped when the trees thinned, giving way to a small clearing bathed in the faint glow of the moon. Peter scanned the area, his eyes sharp and calculating. "This will do for now."

I sank to the ground, my legs shaking beneath me. "What are we even doing? Running in circles until they get bored?"

"They don’t get bored," Peter said, crouching beside me. His voice was calm, but his expression was grim. "The Lost Boys don’t stop until they catch what they’re after."

I frowned, hugging my knees to my chest. "And what exactly are they after?"

"You," he said.

My stomach dropped. "Why me?"

Peter leaned back against a fallen log, his gaze fixed on the treetops. "Because you’re new. Because you don’t belong here. And because the magic of this place is drawn to you."

I stared at him, my mind spinning. "That doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t ask to come here. I didn’t want any of this."

He turned his head to look at me, his blue eyes piercing. "No one does. But the island doesn’t care what you want. It takes what it wants."

I shivered, pulling my torn dress tighter around me. The air felt colder now, heavier. "And what about you? What does the island want from you?"

For a moment, his expression softened, and I thought he might actually answer. But then he stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. "You should rest. We’ll need to move again soon."

I didn’t argue, though a part of me wanted to push him for answers. Instead, I leaned back against the log, my body aching with exhaustion. Peter stayed standing, his dagger in hand, as he kept watch. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the tension in his posture.

I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. The sound of distant laughter still echoed in my mind, and the memory of Peter’s breath against my skin lingered, as vivid as the danger that surrounded us.