Morning whisked into Neverland like a mother ushering her children out of bed. The remnants of the fire the girl had imagined up the night before lay smoldering in the middle of the cave. Of the roast chicken, only bones remained.

For a while, the girl sat quietly, contemplating the idea of staying in the cave forever. There was comfort tucked into the walls of the snug space. She could create food and fire every night. She pretended she would never have to face the jungle again: no looming shadows, no wild boars, no Lost Boys with their arrows and pocket knives. It would be a dark and lonely existence, but she could survive.

However, the girl knew it wasn't a feasible plan. If she stayed in the cave, the Lost Boys would find her. And that would be it. There was no way out. And the girl didn't want to just survive – she wanted to go home. And she wanted to go home with him. Which meant that she had to find him.

"And the only way I'm doing that," she said aloud, to no one in particular, "is by getting out of this cave.

The girl gathered up her long black hair and plaited it into a braid. She picked up her knife. At the entrance of the cave, she stopped and looked back. And then she faced the jungle.

"We're going home, Jamik. We're going home together."


It wasn't until around midday that she heard the rustling and the voices.

The girl dived behind a tall fern and watched quietly as a group of boys approached. One of them whistled, while the other two spoke.

"Pan will be pleased. So far, it's working out just as he planned," one boy said.

"Of course it is," another voice replied, this one more authoritative than the first. "Pan never fails. You know that."

As the hooded figures came closer, the girl heard the sound of something being dragged. She peered through the fronds as the boys walked by. The whistler was out front and behind him, two the boys were carrying another. His clothes had been ripped. There was blood on his blonde hair and bruises all over his arms and legs. His bare feet were dragging across the ground as the two boys on either side held up his limp body.

The girl's eyes widened. They had caught Jamik. Wherever they were taking him, she had to follow. But she couldn't get caught. If both she and Jamik were caught – well, the girl didn't want to think about that. Suddenly, every breath she exhaled felt like it escaped from her lungs with the force of a windstorm.

The boys disappeared behind a bend in the path, and the girl followed, keeping them in earshot. It was easy with the whistler leading the way. The hard part was navigating the forest floor without being detected. Every broken twig, every crushed leaf felt like an announcement of her presence. And even though the girl had to focus on the group of boys in front of her, she knew that there could easily be another group just behind her. So she moved carefully, stealthily, along the forest floor. The girl began to think of it as hunting. Her father had taken her out on many expeditions. She had been his only child, and while others in their village had held fast to the old traditions of women weaving, tending crops and preparing food, her father had taught her how to hunt – how to scour the forest silently, bow and arrow in hand. Oh, how she wished she had her bow and arrow now – she could pick off these Lost Boys one by one, gather Jamik and bring him back to the cave.

And then the forest opened up into a clearing. Rudimentary tents and makeshift beds surrounded an unlit hearth. Sunlight dappled down between the trees. More Lost Boys milled around camp. There must have been ten, fifteen of them, at most.

The girl stayed at the edge of the camp, obscured from view by the brush. She watched as the two boys carrying Jamik threw him down in the center. He hit the ground with a thud and the boys cheered and laughed. One rushed in with a giant bucket and poured water over his body. Jamik began to moan and stir. The Lost Boys laughed even harder. The girl felt a simmering rage begin to boil in her stomach, like a geyser about to spout.

"Having trouble?" One boy asked Jamik, mockingly, before kicking him in his side. Jamik collapsed back down to the ground.

More laughter.

"Maybe he just needs a hand," another boy suggested. He turned Jamik over, straddled him and punched him in the stomach.

Cheers.

"Now, now," a tall, dark-haired boy approached. The girl recognized his voice as the authoritative one from when she tracked them earlier. "We don't want to make our guest feel unwelcomed."

And that's when the girl saw him. A Lost Boy, fourteen – maybe a small fifteen or a big thirteen – standing just feet away from her. His back was turned to her, but she could tell from his body language that he was watching the show with glee.

The dark-haired boy pick Jamik up by the scruff of his shirt. Jamik's arms fell limply at his side. The boy drew back his fist, but before he could land the blow, the girl's rage boiled over.

"STOP!" she screamed, grabbing the younger boy in one swift movement. She held the boy tightly to her chest, her forearm pressed into his neck, one leg wrapped around one of his. In her free arm, she held up her knife. The boy struggled, but the girl had years of experience wrestling the village boys – this one was no match for her.

"Let him go!" she yelled, and held the knife up to the boy's neck, "Or I'll kill him."

The Lost Boys stood in stunned silence for several seconds. Even Jamik found the strength to turn and face the girl while still lying on the ground, his mouth slightly agape.

Finally, the dark-haired boy spoke.

"Well, well. Pan was right. Capture the boy and the girl will come." He turned to the other boys. "What do I always tell you – Pan never fails!"

And with that, the boys cheered.

The boy turned back to the girl. "I'm Rufio," he said. "Tell me your name girl."

"Nothing you could pronounce, boy," the girl replied. She would not give these boys the satisfaction of her name.

Rufio smiled. "Put the knife down, little lady and let Cyrus go. I promise, we won't hurt you."

"Then you lie," the girl tightened her grip on Cyrus and pressed her knife into the skin of his neck.

"Alright, let's try something else," Rufio said, his eyes darkening. "Let him go or things will get much worse for your boyfriend."

The girl cast her eyes onto Jamik, who was beginning to sit up. Her heart pounded and her insides churned like a hurricane. She wanted to believe so badly that she could let this boy go and they would let her and Jamik walk away. But a quiet voice inside of her told her that simply was not true.

"No!" she said. "You let him go and then you have your boy back."

Rufio smirked. "Fine. Have it your way."

He turned around and for a moment, all was still. But then a black form whooshed over the girl's head and headed straight for Jamik. The shadow threw itself on top of Jamik and began ripping his shadow from his body. Jamik fell to the ground writhing, screaming, unable to fight it off. The girl stood cemented to the ground, her eyes wide with terror.

"NO! NO!" she yelled. But it was too late. With one final rip, the dark form carried Jamik's shadow off into the sky and Jamik lay motionless on the forest floor.

"We play games here, girl," Rufio said. "But not the kind you can win. Now let Cyrus go. And don't bother running. You're the one Pan wants – we're going to make sure he gets you."

The girl's eyes were wet and her entire body shook with fear and rage at the sight of Jamik's lifeless body just feet away. How could she go back, having lost him? How could she look his mother in the eye and explain that her son had had his very life force ripped from him before her eyes while she did nothing – nothing to protect him, to avenge him.

A fire began to burn in the girl's eyes. She tightened her grip on the boy in arms, pressed the deep into the side of his neck and ripped the skin open as she dragged the knife to the other side. Blood poured down his front and onto her arm. He tried gasping for breath in those last few moments, but there was little to be had. He fell to his knees and then forward onto his face. Blood pooled around him and his body quivered until all the life had drained out of him.

The girl stared down Rufio and the other Lost Boys, splattered with Cyrus's blood. There were no laughs, no cheers – just frightened faces. For the first time since she'd arrived on the island, these Lost Boys looked just like that – lost boys. She pointed her knife at Rufio.

"You tell Pan that if he wants me, he can come and claim me."

The girl turned away and walked back into the woods. No one followed.