We dip our feet in the lagoon, welcoming the cool relief after hours of trekking through the forest. I sit with my legs out-stretched, letting the waves lap over my sore ankles. My shoes are behind me –tucked out of reach along with Salt's pirate effects.

A stretch of smooth flat rocks disrupts the water's surface –clustered like a mini island chain in the lagoon. Mermaids bask in the warm twilit air, lounging and chasing one another, bobbing in and out of the water.

"I think they like you," I joke, nodding at the nearest mermaid staring at Salt.

"I don't think it's me they're looking at." Salt shakes his head.

He's being modest again. Perhaps he's just used to people ogling him from afar.

The mermaid –petite and pale with teal-green hair –splashes overzealously in another attempt to make Salt look over.

I gaze from one ethereal sea creature to the next –each one exquisite in an airy delicate way. I picture myself among them, my bosom covered by soft seashells and seaweed necklaces. I see my long strawberry blonde locks fanning in the water and framing my porcelain face. A strong tail of deep plum and gold has replaced my sturdy legs.

It's the same image I saw as a little girl. Well, Salt was never in the image before.

"So what's the rescue plan?"

Salt's question intrudes my mind and my daydream evaporates into nothing.

"The rescue plan, right." I nod. I haven't had a chance to think much about it since I ran from Hangman's Tree yesterday morning.

Salt looks at me, chuckling graciously.

"It's not a laughing matter." My face prickles. How can he laugh? "Every passing day, my brothers are in more danger."

"I'm sorry. I know," Salt frowns. "It's just–"

"Funny?" I turn to him, catching his eyes. My face turns into an unexpected smile. I cannot hold back any longer.

We sit on the beach, rocking back and forth with laughter. The mermaids swim up to us, seemingly curious of the sudden stir of commotion. I feel the lightest I have in days. In fact, my reunion with Pan behind me and free from the clutches of Hook and the Jolly Roger –I feel extraordinarily light.

A mermaid's head breaks the surface right in front of us –maybe six or seven feet away from our outstretched legs. It's the same mermaid as before. Her aquamarine hair mimics the ocean waves. I realize it's the same blue-green as Salt's eyes, only a darker shade.

She brings her fin around to the side of her elongated torso. A cruel smile parts her lips.

"How do you do it?" I ask Salt.

"Do it?"

"Engender such –interest?" I choose the word carefully.

Salt's raspy laugh fills the ocean air.

The mermaids' beautiful faces turn haughty at the disturbance in their tranquil lagoon. I watch them disappear beneath the surface as their tailfins flap against the water, spraying us with fresh sea drops.

"Have you met them?" I wonder.

"The mermaids?" Salt asks. "Sure. A few."

"Oh?"

"We try to steer clear of this place, mostly," Salt says matter-of-factly. He pats the sand beside him to indicate the whole beach. "Keep far enough out on the horizon when we circle the east side of the island."

Salt points to the dark water beyond the out-cropped rocks and the shallow coral reef. Snaking lines of angry white caps smack against the shallow waters in the middle of the lagoon.

"Still, you can hear it sometimes. If you're up on the decks." Salt hangs his head low with thought.

"Hear it?" I peer at him.

"Their song." Salt shrugs coolly. I see the faintest trace of fear glimmer in his eyes.

I remember what Calysa said about luring pirates to Mermaid Lagoon and an odd shudder rips through me.

"They aren't all sirens," Salt mumbles, as if reading my mind. "Still, it's best to avoid this place on ship."

Seagulls glide over the lagoon, screeching and dipping and landing on the mermaids' rocks. I watch now as a bird perches on a piece of driftwood lying on the tallest rock. Orange starfish cover the rock's mini cliff, its underside smooth and slimy. It must be low tide.

I find it curious Neverland abides by tide law as I've never seen a moon in the night sky.

The sky darkens above us. Salt and I watch the mermaids slink off the rocks one by one slipping beneath the surface.

"Where do you suppose they sleep?" I ask, curious. I know they only come up for the day's sun. Come to think of it, I've never seen a mermaid at night.

"I've never thought about it," Salt says, creasing his brows. He stares at the rock formation in the center of the lagoon. "I suppose somewhere under there."

"Where are we going to sleep?" I think aloud.

"We?" Salt asks, taken aback. I smile at the slight crack in his voice.

I wonder if he thinks me presumptuous. Of course I don't mean anything by it. It was a way of life back in London –the homeless would stick together in groups. It was never safe to sleep alone. Sure, I have known some men by choice –young men mostly, like Pan and Salt.

"Habit," I blush, looking away.

"Interesting habit," Salt grins. "Thought it was a proposition."

I flush again, feeling extra warm in the humid night.

"Not a proposition." I shake my head.

"Well we shouldn't stay on the beach. There's no cover," Salt says, standing up beside me. He walks a few paces back and picks up his belt with his sword, gun and knife. "There's a grotto in the cliff somewhere north," Salt suggests.

My eyes find the exact spot across the lagoon. "I know it. It's there."

"Lead the way." Salt steps aside, ushering me forward.

We stroll the length of the crescent beach without haste. I have not heard canon fire in hours. Mermaid Lagoon, though smaller, is not unlike Cannonball Cove. An expanse of jungle green stretches along the inside beach, bookended on either side by towering white-washed cliffs.

I climb up the rocks so to enter the cavern by land. I navigate the beachrock as best I can –though I'm not as surefooted as Salt. I duck headfirst under the curtain of air-dried kelp and it feels like bristled paper against my skin.

Salt helps me down from the rock and lowers me onto the shell-strewn beach. The grotto is empty as I hoped it would be.

"It's breathtaking," Salt murmurs.

"Can't believe you've never been here."

I walk to the patch of dry sand tucked out from reach of the water. The sand is a bit firm, but still softer than the forest floor.

"It'll have to do," I say, patting the ground.

"It's perfect," Salt says, stretching out beside me. "Cozy."

I eye him suspiciously, skeptical.

"What?" He asks.

"As comfortable as your bed chamber?" I lift one eyebrow.

Salt grins, shaking his head. "Here it is."

"Here what is?"

"I'm not always so pampered. I rarely sleep on Hook's ship if I can help it. I prefer the Marooner and I promise you its comforts are not match for the Jolly Roger's." Salt turns on his side to face me.

"Shame," I feign concern.

"Sometimes I sleep on the island, around beach campfires or in the jungle. Always near the coast," Salt says.

"Mhmm." I think about my first week on the island.

"You're used to sleeping under the stars?" Salt says, and I can't tell if it's a question or an observation.

"I slept in Neverwood. Made a small nest-like tent on the forest floor," I tell him.

"But –before –before Neverland –you did too?" Salt's eyes bore into mine.

"Yes," I mouth, hardly audible.

His intensity strikes me as similar to Pan's –both sets of eyes see me as if I'm commanding their infatuation. Salt's are less accusatory, less challenging and more curious.

"What's your home called?" Salt asks.

"My home?" I repeat, chewing on the words. Home. "A city named London. Do you know it?"

"Know it? I've been there. Passed through with my mother." Salt nods matter-of-factly.

"Where are you –was your mother from?" I blurt.

"Where did I grow up?" Salt asks. "Spent most of my life in Edinburgh before my mother moved us north to Inverness."

"Scotland?" I find myself surprised. His accent doesn't seem Scottish.

"Hook found my mother in London, so I suppose I am English," Salt clarifies.

I look away from Salt's hard face and, rolling onto my back, decide to count the stalactites instead. The waves resume their lullaby and I'm transported back to last night –to my cozy comforter and rampant thoughts of Salt's bedchamber.

"Will you ever go back?" Salt's voice hangs in the air between us.

I don't answer at first, but keep my eyes transfixed on the cave ceiling. For one fleeting moment I picture myself staying on Neverland –forever. Would I ever return to London?

"That's the plan." I find my voice.

"Grab your brothers and go?" Salt accuses in a playful tone, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Speaking of..." I shift to face him now.

The moment has come at last: The moment for a plan. I no longer have my knapsack or the detailed map of Neverland I kept in it. Everything was lost on the Jolly Roger.

"How well do you know the island?" I peer at Salt.

"Up until an hour ago I would have said I knew it better than you, but now–" Salt shrugs in the sand. I can just make out his smirk in the growing darkness.

The space between us is charged –electric. The warmth of his breath makes my arm hair stand.

"I have a lot of planning ahead. A lot of uncertainty," I pause. "It's true I'm not stranger to Neverland, but I could still use an island guide," I tease.

"An island guide? Is that all I am?" I can hear Salt's smile in his voice.

I picture myself in the sand beside Salt, imagine us trekking around the island together, sleeping under the stars. How many more nights would we share like this one?

"We'll discuss all you are tomorrow." I grin more to myself than to Salt.

"So you're saying the hope's not lost?" Salt's laugh is in his throat.

"Ugh." I sigh in my throat. The grin is involuntary. "You're positively awful."

"Goodnight, Miss Darling." Salt delivers an excellent impression of his father. I roll my eyes.

"'Night Mr Jones."