“You’re not really Peter Pan?” I say, finally comprehending. “Of course I am,” he says pleasantly, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Ask any of my boys.” “Nothing but lies,” Rowan says, barely able to get the words out between his painfully gasping breaths. “The boys never see through them.” “But you saw through them, didn’t you?” Pan asks, his voice sharp. “When you first arrived, you were like all the others—broken, lost, wanting to believe in a place where you could forget every miserable part of yourself. Like the rest, you wanted to believe I was who I said. You were much too old for
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