Page 61 of Caging Darling

I bite my lip, nodding.

“Mooring,” says the wraith behind me. “It’s called Mooring. It’s a fishing village.”

I relay the information, and Victor’s jaw bulges, his crossbow rattling at his back as he pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. I don’t miss the way he wipes away the tears in the same motion.

“Is he still here?” Victor asks.

I nod.

“Can you tell him…” Victor pauses, panic overtaking his face. Like he’s waited on this moment for so long, and there are too many things he’d like to say. Like there’s any possible way he could mess this up with his father clinging to his every word. “Can you tell him I’m sorry? I didn’t know it was him. I thought…I thought he had killed Thomas, so I…”

I blanch, because a memory assails me, and I know what’s causing Victor’s hands to tremble.

“I spit on his body,” he says. “But I didn’t know. Does he know that? That I didn’t know?”

“He knows,” I say, without having to ask. Because the wraith is weeping, and he’s glided across the sand to be close to his son. And though Victor can’t feel him, his father is embracing him, weeping into his shoulder. “He’s just so grateful to finally see you all grown up.”

The wraith turns to me, and though I can’t see the gratitude in his expression, I feel it through some odd connection between us.

Victor’s not weeping like his father, but there are water droplets on his cheek that are thicker than the spray of the ocean.

“Winds,” he finally says, nodding toward my hands. “You’re shaking.”

“I—” The words get caught in my throat.Please don’t hate me, the selfish part of me wants to beg, though I have no right.

But I don’t have to finish the sentence, because Victor’s face goes hard and he says, “You’re not the one I blame.”

My tongue grapples for the appropriate words, but I find none. Later, once the wraith disappears, Victor approaches me. He looks more like a man than he did only moments ago, shoulders held tall instead of hunched over like usual.

“I need you to tell me what happened to me, Winds. Before Neverland.”

Nausea encompasses me, but we talk, and I do.

Dark clouds rollin before Victor, Michael, and I leave the beach. I’ve told Victor of the plan, but the storm lingers for the next several days, making informing Tink impossible. Not thatwe could leave at the moment anyway, seeing as the warping would be nigh impossible to get to between the blistering waves and the level of the tide.

There’s also the matter of me leaving the island.

I’ve tried to rework the definition of “choose” in my mind every moment since discovering the way out of Neverland, but as subjective as language is, there are limits. Just like there are limits to how the word binds me, there are limits to how I can twist its meaning.

I can’t both choose him and leave him. Not without a reason that would be to his benefit.

And I can’t find one.

It occurs to me I’ll have to make one.

Climbing is moredifficult than it once was. My grip strength has atrophied with disuse, and so have the muscles in my legs.

Thankfully, trees are easier to climb than cliffs.

The reaping tree is especially easy. The knobs and glowing orbs that protrude from its trunk make for convenient handholds. Besides, there’s something about how even when I slip, there’s always a knob I hadn’t noticed beneath my foot to catch me that makes me believe this tree wants to be climbed.

The satchel tossed around my shoulder is cumbersome, but not too much to manage. By the time I reach the branch I’m aiming for, it’s the dizziness that’s the most threatening to my safety. I’ve chosen this branch for a reason.

It’s the one Peter hung John’s body from, right in front of the entrance of the Den, aware of the possibility that Michael would see.

I’m not sure which is more potent—my nausea or my loathing.

I step out onto the branch all the same. It’s a feat to balance, but crouching helps as I maneuver the satchel to my front and remove its contents. The rope scrapes against my palms, and as I retrieve the noose I already tied, the world spins around me, and I have to grab the branch to keep from toppling over.

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