She fell.

  The air ripped past her, screaming in her ears, clawing at her clothes, yanking at her limbs like it meant to strip her down to nothing. The cliff’s edge vanished above, swallowed by the sky, the light smearing into a dull, churning gray. The horizon flipped, twisted, became meaningless. Her stomach pitched, empty and weightless, as though it had been left behind.

  Wind roared, flattening her breath against her throat, making it impossible to inhale. The rush of it pressed against her ribs, squeezed the air from her lungs, turned her skin to ice. Wendy flailed, arms outstretched, fingers seeking purchase on anything, but there was nothing. Only open space, only the sickening drop pulling her faster, faster—

  The ground rose to meet her, jagged rocks jutting out like broken teeth beneath the thick sprawl of ferns. The ocean stretched beyond them, black and endless, its surface eerily still, reflecting the sky like glass.

  Think. Move. Stop.

  Her mind howled at her body to obey, but her limbs refused. They flailed, weightless and wild, as if they belonged to someone else. Her body was spinning—no, the world was spinning. Up and down no longer existed. The sky twisted, the ground blurred. The air swallowed her scream before it could even form.

  This wasn’t the first time she had fallen.

  The memory seared through her like lightning. That first night, back in London, when Pan had swept her from her window, the thrill of weightlessness before she’d realized just how high, just how far, just how impossible it was. The way her heart had climbed into her throat when the safety of the nursery walls had vanished, replaced by an ocean of sky and stars.

  But Pan had been there then.

  Grinning. Laughing. Holding onto her like gravity meant nothing at all.

  And before that—the mist. The way it had curled around her, dragged her under, cradled her like a mother made of shadows and whispers, pulling her into its depths. That had been falling, too, but not like this.

  This was different.

  This was real.

  Pan wasn’t catching her now.

  The realization crashed into her, jagged and sharp as the rocks below. She had fallen too many times since coming to this place, been tossed between hands unseen, never hitting the ground, never reaching the end of the drop.

  But there would be no saving this time. No unseen force pulling her back.

  No Peter Pan.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs. The black sand rushed closer, the ferns a dark smear, reaching for her like a net woven from knives. This was it. She was going to die.

  And then—

  Something shifted.

  The air around her thickened, turned heavy, turned alive. The wind no longer just howled past her—it pressed against her, resisted her fall. It curled around her arms, her ribs, her spine. Slowing her. Catching her. Holding her.

  She gasped, but no sound came. The air itself swallowed it, dense and waiting, curling around her as if it had changed its mind about letting her die. She wasn’t falling anymore.

  She was floating.

  Her mind reeled, scrabbling for understanding. How? This wasn’t Pan. He wasn’t holding her. This wasn’t the mist, its whispers clawing into her ribs.

  This was something else.

  Her breath came in ragged gasps, heart slamming against her chest as she hung suspended above the ground. The wind that had roared moments ago was now a breath, gentle and deliberate.

  She reached out, fingers trembling, as if she could grasp the unseen force holding her up. What is this? What did I do?

  Her pulse pounded in her ears. She wanted this, didn’t she? She had needed this. And the world had listened.

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  A laugh—sharp, half-wild—broke from her lips. A jagged, breathless sound that barely felt like hers. I’m flying.

  But even as the thought formed, it was fragile, like spun glass waiting to shatter.

  And shatter it did.

  A crack ran through the invisible force, a splintering of pressure, a sudden realization that the hands holding her were letting go.

  Her stomach lurched. No, no, no—

  She dropped.

  The last dozen feet vanished in an instant. The invisible grip around her dissolved, and suddenly she was falling again.

  The ground slammed into her.

  The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, crushed it into silence. Her body crumpled into the ferns, their thick stalks bending beneath her, their damp earth soaking into her skin. Pain bloomed along her spine, sharp and biting, her ribs aching from the force of the landing.

  For a moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The world was a blur of green and shadow, her limbs tangled in the plants, her fingers pressing into the cool, damp dirt as if to convince herself she was still here, still whole.

  She coughed, gasping, dragging air into her starving lungs. I didn’t die.

  But she could have.

  And the worst part?

  She had almost saved herself. Almost held on. Almost flown.

  Her fingers dug into the earth, curling around the dampness, grounding herself in the solidity of the world beneath her. The wind still whispered above, rustling through the ferns, cool against her sweat-damp skin.

  A shadow passed overhead.

  And then—

  Laughter.

  Bright. Careless. Mocking.

  Her pulse stilled, her blood turning molten with something sharp and furious.

  Pan.

  Wendy twisted, pushing up onto her elbows, ignoring the ache in her ribs. Above her, perched effortlessly on a jutting stone, he watched. His golden-green eyes gleamed with delight.

  “Well, that was dramatic,” he drawled, teeth flashing in the dim light. “Not bad for your first try.”

  A fresh wave of anger surged through her, hotter than the pain, sharper than the fear.

  “You pushed me!” she snarled, scrambling upright, her limbs still trembling.

  Pan cocked his head, unbothered. “And you almost didn’t die. So I’d call that a win.”

  Her hands shook. Not just with rage, but with something else. Something worse.

  Because he wasn’t wrong.

  She had done something. She had almost held on. She had felt it—felt the world bending for her, catching her, listening.

  And then, just as quickly, it had abandoned her.

  Her breath hitched. Why?

  Pan leapt down from the rock, landing soundlessly in front of her. Too close. His presence crackled in the air, golden and wild, his grin still sharp as he watched her.

  “Go on then,” he said, voice light. Too light. “Ask me.”

  Her nails bit into her palms.

  “Ask you what?” she snapped, though she already knew the answer.

  Pan’s grin widened. “Why you fell.”

  The words sank into her, deep and certain.

  Because he knew.

  She glared at him, breathing hard, the ache in her ribs a dull throb beneath the fury. “Tell me.”

  Pan’s golden-green eyes gleamed, sharp and unreadable. He lifted a hand—

  And tapped a finger against her forehead. Light. Playful. Dangerous.

  “Because, Darling,” he murmured, voice curling like smoke. “You don’t believe you can.”

  The air stilled.

  His words hooked into something deep, something that had already been unraveling inside her.

  He was right.

  And she hated him for it.

  The wind whispered through the ferns, cool and waiting.

  Wendy squared her shoulders.

  She would fly. And next time, she wouldn’t fall.