Page 75 of The Last Lost Girl

“Is he alive?”

Goosebumps spread over my skin. I recognize the voice immediately and my eyes snap to Hudson’s. Wraith, I mouth.

Hook’s hand tightens on mine.

We stand still for several long moments.

There is a small opening ahead, even though the cave continues. Hudson waits, crouching beside it and listening for any noise for a very long time. When he’s satisfied, he tells me to wait for his signal and steps out into the dim twilight. “It’s clear,” he whispers.

I emerge and we hurry into a grove of enormous trees whose every branch stretches toward the sky. Their tops are entirely flat. I’ve never seen anything like them.

I’ve tiptoed the whole way here to keep my shoes from squelching. It mostly worked. As Hudson determines the easiest way up one of the trees, I untie and toe them off.

“There’s a nest large enough to hold and hide us for the night,” he says, gesturing up.

As my eyes travel to where his finger points, fear strikes a match and lights the kindling of my inner panic. Because while the nest is large enough to hold us, it’s also very, very high up. So high, my stomach roils when I consider the climb up and the path back down.

Is it the nest of a Neverbird? How do we know the nest isn’t occupied? How do we know it won’t be after we reach it? Do the birds that make nests like that eat humans?

“Up you go, Lifeguard.”

“Why should I go first?” I grump.

“So I can protect you from any threat that might happen upon us, of course.” What about the threats that come from above? “And so that I might enjoy the view.”

I narrow my eyes at him, earning a deep chuckle.

Branch by branch, we climb.

A burn settles into the muscles of my arms and legs. Heights don’t bother me on solid things like buildings, but trees? After Wraith dragged me down from one, I kind of hate trees. And Neverland.

Either way, he stays with me, offering help when I silently indicate that I need it.

The nest is tall and thickly built into the crook between the tree’s trunk and a branch that’s broader than Hudson’s shoulders. He makes sure that it’s vacant and all sides are sturdy before we both climb onto it. As we settle, twigs poke at the backs of my legs. Here and there are feathers of whatever bird built, stacked, and wove this nest. The soft down at the feathers’ bases flutter in the breeze.

Hudson holds up a small, blanched bone that was laying amid the branches before tossing it to the nest’s edge. I wince when I notice more surrounding us. Under the moon’s light, they’re easy to spot among the pieces of dull wood.

Hudson eases the pack off his back. “Every inch is drenched,” he says apologetically, removing its contents. A rolled wool blanket. Canteen. A couple of soggy bread loaves and pieces of salted pork. An orange.

“It’s not ruined.” It’s all salvageable to some degree, and I divide everything but the piece of fruit. The bread is crusted, so some of the insides of the loaves are edible. The pork is delicious. We finish the meat quickly and he hands me the canteen.

I take a sip, trying not to touch my lips to it.

Then it’s Hudson’s turn and he does the same, letting the water pour into his open mouth. A little of the water slides down his throat, grazing the apple that works as he swallows.

Why am I preoccupied with his neck, of all things? Am I a throat girl?

He catches me watching and slowly lowers the skin.

I look away, pretending to pick at one of the branches digging into my thigh. But I’m drawn to him again before I even realize it or can consider why.

I have the sneaking suspicion he’s about to ask if I like what I’m looking at – which I totally do. I mean, who wouldn’t? – so I ask the first thing that pops into my mind, hoping it seems like I’m hesitating with the question instead of ogling him while he was merely drinking water.

Pulling the chain around my neck, I withdraw the watch and flip open the case. Still ticking backward. “Do you still have your charm?”

He nods.

“Then how does Pan know we’re here?”

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