It happens so quickly. I only blinked and Pan already branded my brothers to be culled. He ordered them from the line. Fox and Rabb, whose souls I presume already belong to Pan's, follow Pan's instructions. They take John and Michael from the queue and lead them to the sacrificial altar.

"No. NO! Pan!" I cry, my voice hoarse. My heart pounds against my rib cage, savage and desperate.

Pan won't look at me, but I can see the glimmer in his eyes. It's still alive, still burning for this game he's playing.

Cull! Cull! Cull-ing!

John is taken up first. The smile on his face makes me sick. Fox rolls up the sleeves on John's tunic as Pan outstretches his arm. Rabb appears at the altar's side, carrying an odd looking lantern. It glows a familiar pale blue-green.

What is a faery light doing at the Culling?

Watching Pan touch John's hand spurs me into action.

"NO!" I shout, breaking free from the crowd of boys.

I propel myself forward and fall to my knees in front of the obsidian altar. I'm inches away from Michael, who smiles mindlessly at me; he is so unaware his brother –our brother –is about to lose his soul.

"Back!" Fox shouts.

Pan merely holds up a hand to quiet Fox. He looks at me as if measuring my gumption. I am amazed I have any left.

"Take me! TAKE ME! Have my soul instead," I insist, plea even.

Pan looks up at this, taking his eyes off John's for the first time. Michael frowns, unhappy of the delay.

"Don't tempt me," Pan warns.

"I'm not," I insist. "Take me."

"Take you? Take you?" Pan repeats, almost curiously.

The words sound haunting coming from him. I clench my teeth and silently pray my soul is an offer he can't refuse.

"Take me," I repeat like a promise.

Pan erases the space between us. I can feel the energy –the heat –radiating from his body. He looks down at me and I raise my head to his.

"I cannot resist you, Wendy," Pan whispers. He reaches for my hand and I flinch when his fingers trace the base of my palm. My breaths shorten. "I would take you. I would take all of you."

It's not what he says, but how he says it. Comprehension dawns as I realize what he thinks I offered.

"You are vile!" I almost spit.

"Wendy." Pan's lips stop inches above mine. I admire the specks of honeyed gold floating in his irises. "This is no time for complimenting me."

"You're –You're," I stammer.

"Agreeing?" Pan suggests.

I swallow hard, willing myself to remain calm. I nod, careful not to take my eyes off Pan's.

"I am." Pan nods in confirmation.

My heart races, hurtling the little spasms of joy. Pan has agreed! Pan will take me and spare my brothers. Their souls will not be culled. And mine –well, mine doesn't matter now. I'm only worried what else Pan plans to request from me.

"One stipulation," Pan declares.

"A condition?" I almost shout, incredulous. What could Pan possibly want from me?

"Just one," Pan nods. "I do not wish to have your soul, Wendy. I wish to have your heart."

"My heart?"

Pan must suspect my suspicions, because he is quick to elaborate on his request.

"Not for love. Not for me at least. All love is lost there now." Pan articulates every syllable. They ring like chiming bells, distant but pleasant. "I wish for you to love the Lost Boys."

"Love the Lost Boys?" I question, brining my bottom lip between my teeth. My gaze remains transfixed on Pan.

"I make the same request of you now that I did all those years ago," Pan says. "Stay on Neverland and be Mother to the Lost Boys. Do this and your brothers are free to leave. Do this and you may keep your soul."

Stay on Neverland as a mother! That's a bargain if Pan will keep his word and release my brothers from their delusional captivity. But my spirits drop as I picture John and Michael leaving the island as I remain behind. Where would they go? Home? I picture the two of them back in London and utterly alone. Would they remember me then? Would they know what I had sacrificed to save their souls?

"I–" My mouth is dry.

"Best to sleep on it," Pan says, grinning. "I will hear your answer in the morning."

He releases John's forearm from his clutch and simultaneously a weight lifts from my shoulders. Pan whispers something to Fox who nods appreciatively.

Fox pushes John aside, away from Pan and away from the altar. Crestfallen, John slumps back over to Michael and together the two return to their spot in the crescent queue.

The crowd grows rowdy with a disorienting excitement.

"NOW!" Pan exclaims, hollering from midair. "I suppose we will need a new volunteer."

Cull! Cull! Cull-ing!

The unmarked Lost Boys throw themselves forward, each one eager to be the chosen volunteer.

I feel guilt in my temporary victory. Is it wrong to be relieved that my brothers' souls were spared when other innocent children are moments away from having theirs ripped from their bodies?

Cull! Cull! Cull-ing!

It's louder now. The vociferous chant echoes in the cavern. I'm back to searching for an escape. I may be free from being culled, but I'm still bound to Pan. He will still expect my answer in the morning.

If there was just a way out–

My train of thought is cut short, interrupted by a new sound. Cheering.

The Lost Boys have been selected for the Culling.

Two young boys, similar in age and size to John and Michael, step forward, cheeks pink with glee.

They stand on either side of Pan, their arms outstretched. The anticipation is palpable even as the crowd draws its breath. Fox takes a ragged blade and slices the length of both Lost Boys' arms. Rabb opens the lantern and a swirling phosphorescent strand of light breaks loose. It swirls around the Lost Boys' hands and connects them to Pan's.

Cull! Cull! Cull-ing!

I wait with bated breath, unsure of what I will see. Am I expecting to witness the imprint of a soul leaving a body? Will Pan glow super bright with power? Will I even notice anything when it happens?

The spiraling strands of energy are wreathing the three hands and it seems to be glowing. The light travels up the arms in unison, obscuring the slices from the dagger. The light mixes with the blood and turns as black as the sand beneath my feet. Thick and viscous like coagulated molasses, it oozes from their arms.

The three of them seem to be shaking in their row, pulsing together. Black sparks erupt from their arms like black lava from some human volcano. I recoil at the sight. A loud snapping sound reverberates in the stone and then suddenly, too abruptly, the connection is lost. Broken.

Pan disconnects from the Lost Boys and rises into the damp air. The Lost Boys watch on in awe as Pan's head tilts back and his eyes bulge open. Phosphorescent black light glows in his sockets. His eyes have never looked so brimming with life and yet so void of any semblance of man.

This is what my nightmares are made of –what fuels their very existence. It's worse than anything I could have imagined. As I stare at Pan, orbiting over the heads of his followers, I see true evil incarnate. It's an evil I didn't know I could be drawn to. It's a gravitational pool, a magnetic lure of its own.

I force myself to look away –to think of anything else.

Salt.

Where is Salt? What has Pan done with him? And why has he not been called to witness the Culling? I suppose I should be grateful, as I would never wish witnessing this sacrifice on anyone.

It happens in a flash.

I'm thinking about Salt and wondering where he is –imagining my trek through Time Trap Forest –wistfully dreaming of my night aboard the Jolly Roger –longing to be back in the burning Nest –as long as I'm anywhere but here.

An ear-splitting screech shatters the still night inside the cave. Skull Rock shakes in place, showering our heads with bits of stone ceiling.

Commotion and chaos ensue. Pan's eyes snap shut and reopen in my direction, their sockets still glowing a haunting black.

The eerie turquoise light returns to its home inside the lantern as though sucked back in via a vacuum. The two Lost Boys fall away from the altar, dropping to the floor. The remaining throng scatters across the platform.

Skull Rock shakes again and this time the cause is in plain sight: A pirate ship.

Its multi-faceted bow veers under the bridge that makes up Skull Rock's entrance. The sea-soaked figurehead looms in the shallow harbor as the ship's mast rams into the rock again.

The Lost Boys run past me, eager to disperse before the pirates.

I hear Pan cursing behind me. His voice pierces my ears but I trudge on.

I run to the edge of the platform, stumbling as the beach quakes again, and find myself almost eye-level with the wooden seahorse that's mere feet from my face.

"Darling!"

My eyes snap up. Salt stands on the edge of the railing, his face bloodied and shirt torn, with his sword hanging at his side.

I swivel in my tracks and see Pan advancing towards me, gliding through the air –slithering like the poisonous snake he is.

"Jump!" Salt shouts.

I oblige.