"Salt! SALT! Where are you?" I shout into the night.

I run as fast and as far as my feet will carry me over the wet terrain. The torrential falls are behind me now, but their song still fills my ears. Every snapping twig shakes me to my core.

"Salt!" I scream.

It's a tropical night, but I do wish I had kept my blouse on.

I get turned around in the dark, but finally after what feels like half the night I find my way back to the shallow pool near Croc Creek, guided by a smoldering bonfire of a beacon.

"Darling!" Salt jerks upright.

"I'm back," I pant, collapsing on the grassy mound next to Salt.

"Where were you, Darling? All night–"

"Pan," I gasp. "Took me."

"Pan?" I appreciate Salt's sharp intake of breath. "And he let you go?"

"Yes and no." I pull my bottom lip up.

"He took me to some hideout –Not Hangman's Tree," I add, shaking my head. "Devil Falls, I think. Anyway he wants me to be Mother and I said I would."

"Darling," Salt whines.

"Oh, I don't plan to be Mother," I retort, exasperated. "But Tink said he'd come to me and well, I wanted to give him what he wanted. Throw him off."

"And once you agreed to be Mother, Pan just let you go?" Salt cocks his head.

I shake my head.

"It was luck, really. Pan left hours ago, at dusk maybe. I was shouting all night, crying for help hoping someone would hear," I pause, catching my breath. "Eventually a Lost Boy made his way up to the caves. I don't think he expected to find anyone there, but I managed to talk him into moving the rocks."

"You sweet-talked a Lost Boy?" Salt asks, almost bemused.

"I didn't sweet-talk. It's called being polite," I sigh.

I stretch far back in the grass, allowing myself a moment of relaxation. The fire quickly warms my arms and I massage the bottoms of my feet. Salt watches me, his head propped up on an elbow. His face glows orange in the firelight.

"Pan won't be happy you've slipped through his fingers again." Salt points out.

"Then he should learn to stop leaving," I argue.

"Unless," Salt stops, looking down. He twirls a blade of grass between his thumb and pointer.

"Unless?" I urge.

"He only wants you to think he's left," Salt finishes.

The words are chilling and if I'm being completely honest not unlikely. I let them pass uncontested. Salt does not harp on it. He sits up and faces me.

"Tink came to see me while you were gone," Salt says.

"And?" I perk up, energized for the first time in hours. "What's the plan?"

"You may want to sit up for this," Salt grimaces, uneasy.

///

A new addition to my list of things I never thought I'd do: Ask Hook for help. Salt, after enduring endless lectures from Tinker Bell, finally agreed.

It's all part of the plan –a singular piece in the grand jigsaw.

The plan is simple, really. Tinker Bell learned from Pan that he plans to host one last Culling party tonight. Hook will sail to Skull Rock to cause a distraction and therefore delay the Culling. I will offer myself up to be culled instead. Tink and Dewdrop will be waiting to shimmer dust on the Lost Boys. When they wake from their trance, they won't try to help Pan.

If all goes well, the Archer will shoot a magic arrow imbibed with faery light into the Dark Faery's energy. This will neutralize its power or it should at least. Then we will trap the energy in Pan's earthly body. When the faeries lift their light, Pan will be left with only the Dark Faery's magic inside him. Pan will be both the spirit of Neverland and its dark counterpart, bound to stay on the island and never leave.

It is simple enough but intricate as well, as each moving part is contingent upon the former falling into its proper place.

"Keep up!" Salt snarls.

My feet hammer against the spongy soil. It's so early it's still dark; the only yellow light breaks on the horizon.

"I know you're angry," I pant, running to catch up with him. I fall in stride beside him. Tinker Bell flits around our heads.

"Yes, because you are forcing me to ask my father for help!" Salt spits. "Help you want. Help you'd have better luck asking him for without me at your side."

His insinuation is clear. Resentment flutters across his face and I can hear the jealousy in his tone.

"Don't be ridiculous," I scoff, laughing. "Salt–"

"Stop," Salt says, yanking his arm back from me. "You've got your way. We're here."

Salt pushes through one last curtain of palm and we step onto the crescent beach of Cannonball Cove.

It's in much better shape than I left it. Nothing is smoldering anymore.

The Jolly Roger looms in the center of the harbor. Its silhouette is intimidating against the fading darkness. Rowboats dot the shore like sable pebbles in a stream.

"Let's go," Salt growls.

I hop in the nearest boat, narrow and no bigger than a canoe, and Salt situates himself opposite me. We fight the waves to reach the Jolly Roger. Salt instructs me to climb the rope ladder hanging over the ship's edge.

"Didn't think we'd be trying to get back on the last time I jumped off," I joke.

"Don't remind me." Salt ascends at my heels.

My heels smack down on the oil-slick deck. I lift my chin to find myself surrounded by pirates.

"My, my. What's we got hur?" The nearest one taunts, bearing blackened teeth.

"We're here to see my father," Salt announces beside me. He stands to his full height and easily dominates the two men.

A second pirate knocks an elbow into the first and both their gazes lift to Salt's. I see their twinge of fear as they recognize him.

"Oi!" The toothless man shouts. "Salty here wants ter see his father."

"Salt?" Another voice floats down the deck. "What's this about Salt?"

Mr Smee appears, cap in hand. He sees Salt and me and instantly ushers us inside the cabin.

"Back so soon," he grins.

We walk down the familiar hallway and reach the double doors of Hook's study.

"Cap'n'll be pleased, yes he will," Mr Smee says. "I was just sayin–"

"What were you just saying?" Hook's bland voice is on the other side of the door. He sounds bored.

"Cap'n," Smee pipes. "Guests!"

"Guests–" Hook stops short. His eyes widen as we appear in the doorway. "But what is this?"

"We've come to ask for help," I blurt out. No time for pleasantries. Not that Hook deserves them.

Salt smiles appreciatively.

"Help?" Hook repeats it like he's never heard the word before. "From me?"

"That's right," Salt answers.

Salt and Hook lock eyes; it's a staring stalemate.

"We don't have time for this," Tink whispers in my ear. She rests on my shoulder, pointing at Hook and Salt.

"Got it," I murmur under my breath. "Look, Hook–"

"Captain Hook," he corrects, playing with this mustache.

"Captain Hook," I repeat. "The faeries are helping us trap Pan and we need your help."

"Trap –Pan?"

Hook's eyes bulge in their sockets. He quickly regains composure, but I know he is intrigued. I know he can't turn us down now.

"But no one can trap Pan. Surely, you know that," Hook says, laughing us off. The silver hook affixed to his hand catches the light, glinting like a star.

"Hence the faeries," I say, rolling my eyes.

"It's true," Salt urges.

He steps towards his father and I notice that Salt is slightly taller than Hook.

"And you need my help, why? When you were so eager to leave my company last time you boarded his ship." Hook narrows his eyes at me.

"Because," I take a deep breath. "We need you to distract Pan."

"Distract him? Hmm," Hook thinks.

"Take the Jolly Roger and sail around the island to Skull Rock. Wait for our signal from Star Point. That's where Salt and I will be," I finish.

"And what exactly will we do at Skull Rock?"

"You and your crew will delay the Culling." Salt answers for me. "Until we show up."

Hook hardly bats an eye at the last word. I can tell he is itching to say yes. Salt and I wait, holding our breaths. We need Hook's distraction to catch Pan off guard.

"Why won't you delay this Culling, you called it?" Hook's brows arch in suspicion.

"There're too many Lost Boys for us alone. We don't have the numbers. You do." I roll my eyes.

"And Pan will be captured?" Hook asks, ignoring me, and looking only at Tink now.

"You have my word." Tink's light pulses.

Hook stands from his desk and walks to the cabin window. He peers into the cove, silent. I stare at his back, annoyed and anxious. Finally he turns, the fluffy plumage on his tricorne hanging into his face.

"Very well. Very well," he says, bowing his head. "Let's catch Pan once and for all."