"Tell me, Emma," Hook says, eyes on the horizon. Under the midnight moon, the island of the Neverland gleams before them, its lush trees and white sand twinkling as bright as the stars overhead. She can barely tear her eyes away, mouth agape, but when she finally glances over, he’s visibly frowning. "What is it that you know about Neverland?"
She throws her head back, up to the stars. Emma smiles fondly, as if the thought made her nostalgic. “Dunno,” she murmurs wistfully, but she does know.
As a young girl, Emma had dreams of being whisked away by a boy with eyes the color of forget-me-nots—where she’d never have to think about growing up, where she’d be far and safe from her torn up, spit out life with her foster families. She’d never thought it could’ve been real, though. “Peter Pan, the boy who would never grow up,” she says finally, simply, as if that’ll cover it.
"And what is it you know of Peter?" His tone is careful, and if she hadn’t been too swept up in the memories of her dreams, she might’ve noticed the fear in his eyes.
When she turns to face him, Hook is startled by the excitement in her eyes. “He’s here, isn’t he? God, I hadn’t thought about that.”
"Yes," he says slowly, in an unreadable voice. He turns his eyes out to sea. "Yes, he’s here."