“But if you’re Hook . . .” I hesitate. “Yes?” He turns his attention to me fully then, his body held as stiff and alert as a soldier’s. His eyes are locked on mine, expectant. Mocking me again. “If I’m Hook?” he drawls. It’s been years since I’ve seen the movie, but even I remember Captain Hook, with his scarlet coat and his villainous mustache. And his insistence on killing the Lost Boys. “I can almost hear you thinking, Gwendolyn.” The Captain’s clockwork hand balls itself into a fist. “Out with it now, lass.” “Out with what?” I hedge. I’m suddenly feeling very unprotected, standing with him
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