Salt wears some type of militia uniform –formal –his red coat adorned with golden clasps and his white pants dressed with accouterments. A gleaming gold-hilted sword hangs from his belt next to a silver pistol. No trace of dirt is left on his brow; no sea-soaked peasant blouse or tight leather pants remain. The transformation is day to night.

My voice is caught in my throat –lost with my breath. Salt looks at me, his eyes pleading. I'm reminded of mere hours ago, reminded of when I willed my eyes to speak to Salt's –to apologize for getting him kidnapped.

What irony is this!

Salt is Hook's son! And a full-on pirate soldier by the looks of it!

Surprises are never stoppered on this celestial island.

The three of us are situated, quiet and still, around the table. I keep my head down, still processing this new development.

"I believe you two have already been acquainted." Hook's pretentious voice is laughing for him.

My eyes flick up to find Hook's smug face both arrogant and proud. I can tell he is reveling in this reveal. Salt sits across from me, frowning, a tiny V forming between his brows. At least he has the courtesy to feign guilt.

"How?" I choke out.

"I'm sorry," Salt speaks quietly, but a firmness controls his voice.

"My son, forgive me, is always traipsing through the jungle and... picking up strays," Hook announces, casual. "How lucky it was he found you."

I tear my gaze from Salt's.

"I'm not a stray," I articulate, holding my chin high.

"Of course not." Hook picks up his fork. "And Salt is not a pirate, you not a conquest."

"Darling is not a conquest," Salt growls through gritted teeth. "And I am NOT a pirate."

"Not a pirate! You –NOT a pirate!" Hook laughs mercilessly.

Mr Smee shifts uncomfortably beside the door.

I chance another look at Salt, who remains tense with teeth clenched, stubbornly staring at his father with –contempt?

"You are my son. That makes you a pirate by blood. Royalty!" Hook cries.

"I'm not," Salt contests.

Salt lifts his head, holding it in a haughty manner that makes him so resemble his father beside him.

"Wendy, Wendy, you must excuse my son. He renounces my swashbuckling ways. His head overflows with trivial fancies of gentlemanly adventure. No such thing!" Hook sighs, lifting a piece of roast pork to his lips. "Thinks he's a Lost Boy –the way he's on about wild sea-worthy quests."

I cringe when Hook says Lost Boys and it doesn't go unnoticed. Hook narrows his eyes.

"Darling, is it now?" Hook watches me, waiting for confirmation.

I nod.

"Darling, yes..." Hook loses himself in thought, his mustache curling around his twisting finger. "Darling suits this new you. Shedding your pampered, lady-like image." Hook's eyes flash with something undecipherable.

Even under my grimy, days-old blouse and slightly matted hair, I know I must be appealing. My bright blue eyes and round lips have always garnered unwanted attention on the London streets.

I recoil from the table, suddenly aware how on display I am. How much at his mercy I am. Salt repositions his shoulders towards his father, almost protective. Hook takes note, comprehension dawning in his eyes, and grins at his son.

"Eat, eat. Now." Hook motions to both of us. My fingers pull the powdered roll to my mouth –its warmth reaches my cheeks. Salt takes a swig of wine from his chalice.

"Why have you returned to Neverland, Darling?" Hook looks at me.

I know I cannot elude this question twice.

"I've come for my brothers."

"Ah, the two Lost Brothers you left behind, yes? Years ago, wasn't it? I did hear a rumor..." Hook spears another piece of meat.

"Pan has them captive. Along with the rest of the Lost Boys," Salt interjects. Salt nods to me, a small smile parting his full lips.

"Captive?" Hook sings the singular word. "Curious."

"There's nothing curious about it," I spit.

"I was unaware the Lost Boys were captives. Do they not choose their aimless existence? Do they not willingly follow Pan?" Hook waits.

"They –they don't know any better."

"Don't they?" Hook's eyebrows arch. "Best take it from me, Wendy. Your brothers are lost to you now. Turn your efforts to a more –ah –achievable cause."

Salt shifts again, ready to pounce on his father.

"I see my son has taken a fancy to you, Darling. Seems it, ah, somethings do run in the family. What do you say of that?" Hook asks, eye glinting.

I almost feel my cheeks burn scarlet, flushing with blood at the mention of Salt. I give a noncommittal shrug.

"He's been back two years. It's time he takes a Neverland bride. What say you?" Hook crosses his arms over his red coat.

"Father," Salt warns.

"There is time for a decision, of course. After all, we have nothing but time." Hook's throaty bark of a laugh makes my hair stand.

Fear grips my throat. I wonder if this was Salt's plan all along –get caught, bring me here, get a bride.

You ran into him, I remind myself.

I stare across the table, surveying this new character of Salt. His demeanor suggests importance –his grooming not dissimilar to the children of wealthy London families –and his oiled dark hair, stormy juniper eyes and chiseled jaw demand attention. Still, beneath the extravagant façade, I sense an inherent kinship.

Salt is not his father.

Twenty minutes pass. Thirty. An hour.

The three of us sit in silence, each one rotating turns raising food to our mouths. I hate how good the salty potatoes and sweet fruit taste on my tongue. I hate that I'm eating food provided by Hook. But, taking clues from Salt's kind eyes, I decided it would be worse to refuse the meal.

When my silver platter is empty and the last bit of wine drained from my glass, I sit back, full for the first time in –well –years. My eyes examine a painting on the wall –three topless mermaids lounging in shallow waters, their faces contorted in a pained beauty. There is no resemblance to Calysa or any of the mermaids I've seen on Neverland.

Two young servant girls, dressed in white gowns with brown corsets, enter the room and clear our trays. The one nearest me catches my eye briefly, before turning quickly away. The second girl, older by the looks of her voluptuous bosom, ignores me completely. Her longing gaze resting instead upon Salt's sculpted face.

Even I must admit the remarkable effect the candlelight has on Salt's sharp features. I can hardly blame this servant girl for the impure thoughts I know are swirling inside her head.

"Go. Go. Off you go!" Mr Smee ushers the girls out the door again.

"A night cap," Hook says, pouring an amber-honey mead into three glasses.

Salt nods a fraction of an inch.

"To decisions made tomorrow!" Hook toasts, raising his glass high.

I swallow my words –my disgust –refusing to respond to his callous taunt.

I half-heartedly lift my glass, eyes locking with Salt's, and bring it to my lips.

After dinner, Hook clapped a hand across Salt's shoulders and steered him away from the dining room. I caught a fleeting look: Salt watching me –the flickering candlelight dancing in his eyes.

Was he trying to speak to me again? Warn me?

Mr Smee deposited me in my chambers –a cramped but cozy room on the opposite side of the ship. We passed porthole after porthole down the hall, each one letting me know that we were still at sea. How far was Cannonball Cove?

Without knowing which side of the island's coast we were sailing, I decided an attempt at escape would be unwise. Tonight, at least.

My stomach –now plump with food and drink –is making me sleepy. Tonight I will rest, taking full advantage of the Jolly Roger's hospitality.

I crawl into the bundle of blankets, sinking into the feathers like a stone into water. My eyes flutter with sleep, lazily focusing on the slanted plank ceiling and cracked kerosene lamp hanging above me.

The ocean laps against the ship's hull, a rhythmic lullaby coaxing me to sleep.

I picture Salt nestled somewhere else inside this same ship. I'm sure his chamber is grander –spacious even with an ornately carved bed and luxurious trappings. I wonder if he's found the servant girl for company.

I wonder if he knows where I sleep.

I wonder...

///

I'm surprised by my restful night. I half expected the bobbing ship to keep me up all night as it was tossed between the waves. Stretching, I dispel the intrusive dreams from last night from my mind –no time for Salt in his Royal Navy coat or his deep sea-like eyes watching me over the brim of a wine glass. Even less time to waste being jealous of a meekly servant girl.

I tiptoe to the door of my chamber and am relieved to find it unlocked. Relieved and suspicious. Of course, I remind myself there's no real place for me to escape. Why would Hook concern himself with locking my door?

I wander the halls, confined to the Jolly Roger for the time being. The level I slept on seems mostly reserved for storage –piled with barrels of rum and gunpowder. No crew cabin in sight, for which I'm thankful.

I ascend a flight of stairs and find myself on the level I left last night. As I walk towards the bow of the ship, I notice the rich carpet lining the hallway and the silver light fixtures hanging beside each door.

Two double-doors loom straight ahead, outlined in gold trim, and I know it's the entrance to the Captain's cabin –to Hook's cabin. I turn right instead and head down a narrower but still finely decorated passage. A door creaks open and I stop in my tracks, head turning in search of a place to hide.

No luck.

Salt swivels on the carpeted floor, careful to close the door behind him. I find he's abandoned his fancy uniform and opted instead for his black pants and cream blouse. His heavy boots hang at his side.

"Darling!" He exclaims in a whisper.

I find myself abashed, seemingly creeping into close proximity to his bedchambers, but he hardly seems concerned.

He crosses the hallway towards me and takes a deep breath.

I'm aware how close he is, how secluded and alone we both are in this crevice of a passageway on an infamous pirate ship filled with hundreds of eyes.

"I'm so sorry –I should have told you –I mean–" Salt stammers, shaking his head.

"Hook's your father," I accuse, surprised to find my voice as harsh as it sounds. I fold my arms over my chest to wait for his confirmation –for his explanation.

Before Salt has a second to do anything, two pirate guards appear at either end of the hallway.

"Whut's this be?" The first one sneers.

"Sneaking aroun', are yeh?"

I'm aware what this must look like –what they must think. Do they know Hook intends to wed me to his son –to be his Neverland bride?

"Stand down," Salt commands, his voice filling the hallway impressively. He is used to giving commands.

"Stan' down? Yeh gonna make me?" The second guard taunts.

"Only if you make me," Salt snarls.

I shift my weight closer to Salt, reactively trying to make myself smaller behind him.

"Off to your M-rooners again?" The first and more portly man says.

"It is my ship," Salt says, annoyed.

"Aye, s'your ship. When Captin says s'your ship."

Salt steps forward, rather aggressively, and the man flattens against the wall.

They may not want to let Salt pass, but they want to cross him even less. I suppose being Captain Hook's son has its privileges after all.

"Salthook, Darling, reunited so soon?"

Hook appears at the end of the hallway. He's still in his night robe, his long dark hair untied and hanging over his shoulders. I catch myself staring and look away.

I step closer to Salt, dwarfed by his imposing height and size.

"Good, good," Hook says, clapping his hands together.

Mr Smee appears carrying a tray of teacups.

"Ah, just in time. We're almost back at port." Hook sips his tea.

"Sailing just under 5 knots, Cap'n Hook. We touch in just an hour." Mr Smee bobbles.

My heart jumps. Back at port? So the Jolly Roger only sailed through the night –likely circling the island to dissuade me from trying to escape.

Movement breaks out above us, followed by shouts and laughter. I make out the treetops of the jungle through the nearest porthole, sinking and then rising into view on a loop.

We're back.