Since that day, my sole purpose had been to follow my father—my captain—and carry out his every command, all in the pursuit of capturing the flying demon. After Pan took his hand, Father wasted no time replacing it with something far deadlier—a weapon unto itself—so he'd never be left defenseless again. Like him, I longed to see Pan's downfall. But unlike Father, I was often ordered to remain in the shadows.

It was a miracle that neither Pan nor his Lost Boys ever discovered me as I grew older. Father saw my ability to remain unseen as an opportunity, a secret weapon. With time, I became more involved with the crew, and as I honed my skills, my determination to succeed grew. Now, nearing my eighteenth year, I began to notice something—time was slowing for me. The passing years that once felt inevitable now seemed to stall, and I realized I was on the cusp of something my father and the crew had long embraced. Immortality. Soon, no more years would pass for me, and I'd be frozen in this moment, forever.

But youthful immortality came with its own set of consequences. Father saw my youth as a tool, a weapon to be used to further his goals. He never hesitated to find ways to harness it, using my appearance and my age to his advantage in ways that only someone as calculating as Captain Hook could imagine. And no matter how skilled or determined I became, I knew I'd always be a piece on his chessboard. A weapon he could wield however he pleased.

Tonight, I was playing a part I had played more recently of late. This was not my first trip back to the mainland, no. However, it always felt strange coming back, as if time sped up in this one particular area… The docks in London.

Father had sent me here with a purpose. Captain Hook was not a patient man, and I knew better than to return without fulfilling the task he had set for me. I was to find crewmen, able-bodied and loyal, to join the ship. And if I failed, well, I had no intention of finding out what punishment would follow.

The tavern was a haze of smoke and sweat, thick with the sounds of clinking mugs and the murmurs of conversations half-lost in the din. I paused at the door, taking in the scene before me—rough men, sailors mostly, with weathered faces and coarse laughter. The mainland had a different air than the sea; it was heavy, stagnant, and there was no rhythm to it, nothing like the familiar sway of the waves beneath a ship's deck. Being on solid ground nearly felt alien to me.

I let my gaze sweep over the room until I spotted them—two men sitting near the back, half-hidden in the shadows. The barkeep had mentioned them, speaking of their reputation as hard-workers. Good ones. The kind Father would want aboard.

I moved through the crowded tavern with ease, my skirts swishing lightly around my legs, my boots making little sound on the wooden floor. I'd learned long ago how to make an entrance without drawing too much attention—just enough to be noticed. As I neared the table, my eyes caught the more gruff one first. He was hard to miss: broad-shouldered, his straw colored hair messy and falling into his eyes, which gleamed with something sharp. He smirked when he saw me approach, leaning back in his chair as though already sizing me up. The smell of ale clung to the air around him, strong and pungent.

The other one, though, was different. He sat quietly, his eyes cast down, his hands wrapped around his mug like it was something precious. His dark hair fell over his forehead in a way that obscured part of his face, but there was something about him that tugged at the back of my mind. A vague memory. I couldn't place it yet.

I slid into the empty seat beside the dark haired one, leaning in slightly, just enough to catch both of their attention. I let my voice drop to a soft purr, the way I knew men liked to hear it when they thought they were being flirted with. "Gentlemen," I began, letting the word roll off my tongue slowly, "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. You look like men who might enjoy a bit of adventure."

The blondes' smirk widened, his eyes gleaming as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "Names' Desmond. This one over here is Cillian. Depends on what kind of adventure we're talking about, love," he drawled, his voice rough, tinged with an accent that reminded me of countless other sailors I'd met over the years. His eyes traveled over me boldly, appraising me like I was something he could easily claim.

I matched his gaze, refusing to be rattled. "Estella. And the kind that takes you across the sea," I said smoothly, letting my hand brush against the insignia on my coat, the symbol of my father's command clear. "Aboard the finest ship you'll ever set foot on. The Jolly Roger."

I saw Desmond's eyes flicker to the insignia, his smirk widening even further as recognition set in. He knew what that mark meant. Everyone did. "Hook's ship?" he asked, his tone suddenly more interested, more eager. "Well, now you've got my attention."

I nodded, leaning back in my chair slightly, maintaining my calm as I spoke. It was well known in this small part of London that there was a ship that flew to another land, one that was rich with limitless power. "I'm recruiting," I said simply, "and I need strong men. Loyal ones."

Desmond chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned in, far too close for comfort. "Oh, I'm strong enough, lass," he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush my arm. "And loyal… if I've got the right reason to be."

His boldness grated on me, but I kept my composure, forcing a smile. It was Cillian I turned my attention to next. He hadn't said a word since I'd arrived, and something about his quiet demeanor intrigued me. His hands still clasped around his mug, and he barely glanced up from it, but now I had a better look at him. That tug in the back of my mind grew stronger. I knew him.

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes slightly as I studied his face. "Have we met before?" I asked, my voice softening.

Cillian shifted, glancing up at me to study my face before realization hit. "Years ago," he said quietly, his voice hesitant. "When we were children, I think."

The memory stirred then—distant but there. I'd met him once, when I'd been much younger, on the docks. He'd been little more than a boy himself back then, but I remembered flashes of him, saving me from the ocean. Something about him had stuck with me, though I hadn't known why until now.

I let my smile soften, turning my body slightly to face him more fully. "It's been a long time," I said, my tone gentler now. It nearly seemed like fate that we had met again. If he was brave enough as a child to jump in and rescue me from drowning, he would certainly be brave enough to face Pan. "But you seem like the kind of man who could handle himself on the open sea. You can certainly swim in it."

Cillian's face flushed slightly, and he shook his head, his eyes still focused on his drink. "I'm not sure I'm the right fit for a pirate ship," he muttered.

Before I could respond, Desmond cut in with a loud laugh. "Why not, mate? Seems to me the lass is offering us both quite the opportunity." He shot me another too-eager grin, his hand sliding across the table as though he might reach for me again. "If you're not interested, I sure am."

I narrowed my eyes, the warmth in my voice vanishing as I turned back to Desmond. "Maybe you are," I said coldly. "But it's not just willingness we need. It's strength of spirit."

Desmond frowned, clearly irritated by my sudden shift in tone. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I said, standing up from the table, "that not every man who rushes into danger survives it."

I turned to Cillian one last time, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "Think about it. We set sail soon. If you decide to come with us, you know where to find me."

With that, I turned and walked away, the noise of the tavern receding behind me as I stepped back into the cool night air. My breath fogged in front of me as I exhaled, and I glanced back toward the dim light spilling from the tavern window. I hoped Cillian would follow. Part of me felt that he was meant to, that our meeting tonight was no coincidence.

The chill of the night air nipped at my cheeks as I made my way toward the docks. London always felt colder than Neverland—something about the weight of the air, the heaviness of time that pressed down on the mainland. Here, everything felt slower, more permanent. But back on the Jolly Roger, time hardly mattered. Days blurred together, the line between youth and age nonexistent. It was strange to think that I could walk these streets forever and never grow a day older.

Yet even in that endless existence, there was a hollow space in me. The longing to prove myself, to step out of Father's shadow, gnawed at my thoughts like an itch I couldn't scratch. I was his daughter, yes, but more than that, I was his weapon. The crew saw me as a tool to further his goals. Every order he gave, every mission I carried out—none of it was mine. It was his. And as much as I loved him, as much as I owed him for saving me from the fate of a lost, forgotten child, there were moments when I wondered what it would be like to live for something other than Captain Hook's ambitions.

As I neared the docks, I slowed my pace, the wooden boards beneath my feet creaking with each step. The sea stretched out before me, dark and infinite, the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore calming in its own way. The Jolly Roger was anchored farther out, its silhouette barely visible against the night sky. It waited for me—just like Father always did. But tonight, something else tugged at my thoughts.

Cillian.

I couldn't shake the memory of his quiet voice, the way he'd looked at me with those uncertain eyes, as if torn between two worlds. I wasn't sure why it mattered to me, why his choice felt so important. Maybe it was because I remembered him from before—back when I was just a girl, not the daughter of a pirate captain but simply a child who had once stood at the edge of the sea, fascinated and frightened by its power. Cillian had been there, too, saving me without hesitation.

That was the kind of man Father needed on his crew. A man who acted not out of greed or selfishness but because it was right. Someone who could be trusted when things turned dark.

I stood there for a while, my eyes on the horizon, lost in my thoughts. The wind whipped through my hair, and I wrapped my coat tighter around me, pulling it close for warmth. I had hoped Cillian would follow me, that he would step out of that tavern and make his way down to the docks, ready to join the crew. But the night stretched on, and with every passing minute, it seemed less likely.

Still, I waited. Something in me refused to leave just yet. Maybe it was a fool's hope, but I'd learned over the years that sometimes, hope was all you had.

Just as I was about to turn away, the sound of footsteps broke through the silence. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see one of the crew or perhaps Desmond swaggering down the street, eager to claim his spot on the ship.

But it wasn't Desmond.

It was Cillian.

He stood there, just a few paces away, his figure framed by the flickering light of a distant lantern. His dark hair ruffled slightly in the wind, and for a moment, he looked almost ghostly—like something that didn't quite belong in this world, like he was already halfway to Neverland without realizing it.

"I didn't think you'd come," I said softly, my voice carried by the breeze.

Cillian hesitated, glancing out at the sea. "Neither did I," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But... something about all of this feels right. Maybe it's foolish, but I can't shake the feeling that if I don't go now, I'll regret it forever."

I nodded, understanding more than he knew. "You won't regret it," I said. "Once you've sailed with us, there's no going back to the life you knew before. But you'll find something else—something bigger."

He looked at me then, his eyes searching mine, as if looking for some hidden truth. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I do," I replied, taking a step toward him. "I've seen what Neverland does to people. It changes you, in ways you can't imagine. Some of it's terrifying... but some of it is beautiful. It's not just about you, it's about taking what's rightfully yours."

Cillian let out a breath, almost a laugh, though there was nothing humorous in it. "I don't know who I am anymore," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Then maybe it's time to find out," I said, my gaze steady.

For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, finally, he nodded. "Alright," he said quietly. "I'll come."

Relief washed over me, though I kept my expression calm. "Good. We set sail at dawn. I'll take you to the ship."

We walked together in silence down to the edge of the pier, where a small rowboat waited to take us to the Jolly Roger. The night stretched out endlessly around us, and I felt a strange sense of calm settle over me. For the first time in a long while, I wasn't just following Father's orders—I was making a choice of my own.

As we stepped into the rowboat, the creak of the oars cutting through the quiet, I glanced over at Cillian, his face thoughtful as he looked out over the dark water. Seated next to Mr. Smee, who gave me a nervous expression, I couldn't help but wonder if he would come to regret this choice—or if, like me, he would find something in Neverland that he never knew he was searching for.

Either way, there was no turning back now. The adventure had already begun.