The empty halls of Neverwood were driving Wendy insane with guilt. She continually second-guessed her decision of halting Jax from shooting down the helicopters. She couldn’t think of packing and heading to a safe house when they were still alive at Neverwood.

Wendy stormed to the academy gym, where she grabbed a light brace before heading into the woods. She refused to believe that Jax was right—that the boys were better off dead than taken captive by Neverland. She knew of only one way to help the boys. She was going to have to rescue them, and to do that, she needed more information about Neverland.

When she was a fair distance away from Neverwood, standing in an open field, she held out her hands and called out to the shadows. They were never far off, and one came to her eagerly and grasped her hand. She watched as a shadow travelled from her palm and up her arm where it got absorbed through her tattoo.

As she became one with the shadow, images began flickering in her mind. There was a white room filled with hospital beds, patients strapped to them. She thought she recognized a few of the patients from news reports—the missing teenagers. She was sure of it. Her heart raced at the sight of those kids, so helpless. Though she didn’t know exactly what Neverland was doing to them, she could feel their helplessness, and she knew first hand what Neverland was capable of. But maybe, the vision was from the past—maybe those kids were already dead. The vision blurred and then flashed to another, hazy at first and undefined.

Another room filled with lights and what she assumed were the pods Jax mentioned. She could see people floating inside them. Wires and cables and breathing tubes covered their mouths.

The vision shifted, and then, she was inside one of the pods. The shadow’s memories were from the viewpoint of one of the floating victim.

It finally hit her. The shadows weren’t sentient or mystical beings as she had originally thought. They were souls.

Wendy cried out in horror as she shoved the shadow out of her body. She tumbled into the grass, where she began to cry. “No, no. It can’t be.” She crawled to her knees, her hands covering her mouth as the horror of what she had learned sunk in. “You died at Neverland.”

The shadow hung back and another appeared next to it, then another. In a few moments, the field was full of shadows. All of them lost, all of them looking to her for help. She was the only one who could communicate with them, feel their fear, their hopelessness. She realized why they plagued her. They wanted her help.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help you,” Wendy cried out, rising to her feet, and looked at the hundreds of shadows. “What do you want me to do?”

The thought of another shadow touching her and transferring thoughts and feelings to her made her want to throw up.

A larger shadow appeared before her and held out his hand and waited patiently. Maybe, she could stand to touch one more. Tears fell from her eyes, and she took a deep breathe to steel herself. The shadow gently laid its hand on top of hers and passed through her skin, and she felt the shock of warmth permeate her body.

She gasped and pulled her hand away from the shadow and its unexpected warmth. Typically, she’d always felt cold at their touch.

“No,” she said and moved backward, but the shadow pressed forward again, more adamant. It held out its hand and patiently waited for her to touch it. Wendy was curious but scared. That shadow was different, and she knew that her reaction would be different. Biting her lip, she steeled herself and reached out again, pressing her hand willingly into the shadow.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she whispered. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as visions came slowly—the shadow’s memories, it seemed, featuring young versions of Ditto, Slightly, and Tink.

“You’re a lost boy!” Wendy gasped but didn’t pull away.

She saw a younger version of herself on the rooftop years ago in Neverland, saw herself flying in the air wrapped in strong arms. She didn’t feel scared; she felt warmth and love pouring into her from the shadow.

Wendy’s eyes flew open, her hand going to her mouth in shock.

“Peter.” He pulled away and she stepped back, taking in the dark soul gazing intently at her. It was her Peter, and if he was there in front of her, it meant he was dead.

His shadowy touch left a residue of feelings with her. She could feel his love pour over her, and also his pain at losing her once again. But they were swallowed up by a fleeting feeling—his cry for justice.

“I will help you. I promise,” Wendy vowed to Peter and the other shadows as they came around her like an army gathering before a general. “They will pay for what they’ve done.”

A growl Wendy had been waiting for came from woods, drawn by the large congregation of shadows. She had expected it, prepared for it. Wendy flicked out her wrist, the light brace charging with a hum. She turned to face the shadow-hungry morphling, her eyes filled with hatred.

“Starting with you,” she yelled at the morphling. She leveled the light brace, aiming for the spot between his eyes, and fired.