Wendy lay sprawled in the ferns, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her back ached, her limbs trembled, and the sharp scent of crushed leaves filled her lungs. Above her, the sky stretched vast and uncaring, its shifting blues and grays pressing down on her like a weight she could not name.

  A shadow moved at the edges of her vision.

  Pan.

  He was still floating—a lazy, effortless drift downward, as if gravity had never been more than a suggestion to him. His arms were folded behind his head, his ankles crossed in the air, completely unbothered by the fact that he had just shoved her off a cliff.

  He touched down on the black sand like he had stepped off a stair.

  Wendy grit her teeth.

  She sat up with a wince, brushing dirt from her sleeves, her breath still shaky in her chest. The ferns around her rustled where she had crashed through them, bent and broken in the shape of her fall.

  Pan grinned. “See? Soft place to land.”

  Wendy let out a slow breath through her nose. Do not kill him. Do not kill him.

  She pushed herself to her feet, wobbling slightly. Her muscles felt like they had been rung out, her nerves still raw from the sudden stop in her fall, from the impossible moment of floating.

  Pan watched her, golden-green eyes gleaming. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to figure it out.”

  “Figure what out?” Wendy snapped. “How not to die

  when you throw me off things?”

  Pan laughed, tipping his head back. “No, no, that comes later. Right now, you just need to stop fighting it.” He gestured vaguely at the air around them, at the open space where she had just stopped falling. “You are making it harder than it is.”

  “Oh, I am sorry,” Wendy said, voice dripping with venom, “next time I am plummeting to my death, I will be sure to relax.”

  Pan hummed thoughtfully. “That would help, actually.”

  Wendy clenched her fists. Do not kill him. Do not kill him.

  Pan’s grin widened at her expression. “Flying is just not falling, Darling. You almost had it. Almost.” He rocked back on his heels, eyes bright with amusement. “Then you got all excited and—” He made a dramatic plummeting gesture with his hand, waggling his fingers as if mimicking her descent.

  Wendy took a slow, steady breath. Do not kill him.

  “I did not—” she stopped, shaking her head. “You are impossible.”

  Pan smirked. “I know.”

  Wendy groaned and rubbed her temples. “So what now?”

  “Now,” Pan said, stretching his arms overhead, “we fly.”

  She stilled.

  “You expect me to just—what? Magically do it again?”

  Pan sighed, tilting his head at her like a disappointed teacher. “You already did it once.”

  “I do not even know how I did it!”

  Pan’s eyes gleamed. “That is the fun part.”

  Wendy wanted to scream.

  But before she could, Pan kicked off the ground, lifting into the air with no effort at all. He hovered just above her, grinning down. “Come on, Darling. We have places to be.”

  Oh, for the love of—

  Wendy grit her teeth and braced herself.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember the moment—the sheer, blinding panic that had gripped her, the overwhelming need to survive.

  But no terror clawed at her now, no rush of fear, no desperate pull to stop the fall. There was only Pan, watching her with a knowing smirk.

  Nothing happened.

  Pan sighed loudly. “You are thinking too much.”

  “I am thinking exactly the right amount.”

  “No, you are trying to force it.” He circled lazily around her, arms crossed. “You cannot grab hold of Neverworld. You just let it listen.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Wendy exhaled sharply. “That means nothing.”

  Pan laughed, looping back in front of her. “Then let me show you.”

  And before she could argue, his arms were around her.

  He yanked her into the air.

  Wendy yelped as the ground vanished beneath her, her hands instinctively flying to grab him. His shirt bunched beneath her fingers, the leather straps crisscrossing his chest pressing against her palms.

  Wind rushed past her face. The black sand shrank below them, the misty ocean stretching wider and wider.

  “Relax,” Pan purred.

  Wendy refused.

  He shifted his hold, guiding them higher, spinning

  them in the air like it was a game. Wendy clenched her jaw, resisting the instinct to scream, resisting the overwhelming wrongness of it all.

  But then—it happened again.

  The strange weightless sensation. The shift in the air. The world responding to her.

  Pan loosened his hold.

  Panic surged through her chest. “Do not let go!”

  Pan only laughed. “Then stop needing me to.”

  And he did.

  Wendy dropped—

  And then—she didn’t.

  Her body hovered, her breath stalling, her limbs tense with the instinct to brace for a fall that never came.

  She was floating.

  Pan grinned. “See? Easy.”

  Wendy did not think it was easy.

  But she was doing it.

  Not well. Not gracefully. But not falling.

  Pan tilted his head, watching her wobble. “Now, let us see if you can move.”

  Move?

  Before she could protest, Pan shot forward.

  The force of it sent a ripple through the air, knocking Wendy slightly off balance. Her stomach flipped, the sky tilting beneath her.

  “Pan, wait—”

  He did not wait.

  She gritted her teeth and leaned forward, willing herself

  to follow.

  And the world listened.

  Not perfectly, not smoothly, but enough.

  She lurched forward, far too fast, nearly tumbling head over heels. The wind caught her the wrong way, spinning her slightly. She flailed, struggling to right herself.

  Pan glanced back, grinning. “You are going to want to get the hang of that before we get there.”

  Wendy despised him.

  But she forced herself to adjust. To level out.

  By the time they reached the next island, she was not falling.

  Mostly.

  The sandbar rose out of the ocean like a ghost—small, nearly invisible beneath the mist.

  And the mist was wrong.

  It stretched across the sand in a thin, shallow layer,

  barely an inch or two deep. It should not have felt like much.

  But Wendy felt it.

  The moment her feet touched the damp ground, the mist moved.

  It slithered up her ankles, curling around her skin like fingers.

  Her breath hitched.

  It was cold—not just cold, but reaching.

  Trying to get inside her.

  Panic rose, sharp and instinctual.

  The last time she had been swallowed by mist, it had taken something from her.

  She braced for the same sensation.

  But then—

  The eye in her skull throbbed.

  The mist recoiled.

  Wendy gasped.

  It slithered away from her like an injured animal,

  hissing as it withdrew.

  She felt it.

  Not through her skin—through the eye.

  The mist could not touch her now.

  Because it was afraid.

  Her stomach twisted.

  Pan landed beside her, stretching. “Better keep close,” he mused, glancing at the mist curling away from her feet. His smirk flickered, just for a moment. “The merfolk do not like waiting.”

  Wendy swallowed hard.

  She was not sure if he meant the merfolk.

  Or whatever was hiding in the mist.