Page 21 of Never Never

“Yeah, exactly.” Pan nods. “And then we’re golden. But until then, I’m not caving. We’re,” he amends, “not caving. The Lost Boys stand firm.” His eyes gleam as he spins to each of us in turn. “Got it?”

“Got what?”

A lone, female voice.

We all turn.

Tink’s at the bottom of the stairs. She looks…better than last night. Rested, at least. And even knowing the truth, knowing in the crudest sense what’s in her pants, I admit it’s hard to see her differently. Tall, thin, loose dark clothes and cropped fair hair.

It’s Tink. That’s Tink. A Lost Boy.

Even if she’s…

My eyes fall to her lips before I can stop myself. I slam down the barrier in my mind before anything more gets in.

“Well,” Pan says coolly. “Look who it is.” He does a little bow. Tink doesn’t move, or even let her face flicker. She’s not here for his schtick. Not anymore.

Smart girl, I think.

As if she can hear my thoughts, her eyes dart to me.

But only briefly.

“Hi,” she says shortly, to no one in particular. “What’s going on?”

“How’s Wendy?” Fox interrupts. “I mean…she’s okay?”

Tink nods. “Yeah, she’s okay. Got some sleep and some food in her. She’s going to stay.” Not a question, I notice. Just a statement of fact. And no one contradicts her.

Fox nods too. “Cool.” He glances at his brother. Then at me. As if I can do anything for him.

What I need to be doing, really, is work. A night off isn’t disastrous, but I can’t make it a habit. Backlog gets too high, earnings too volatile. And mentally, I need the routine.

“She wants to find out who did it,” Tink goes on, her voice measured, but clear. “To her brothers. She wants whoever’s responsible—well, she wants justice.”

“And I want a pony,” Pan interrupts.

The sarcasm is like nails on a chalkboard. And for once, no one laughs.

Not even Tink. No, especially not Tink.

I like it.

Instead, she draws a quick breath and plunges on. “I said I’d help her. So. Just…wanted you all to know.”

“Well, thanks for the update,” Pan says, earning a dirty look from both Kit and Fox. “We’ll just be here, trying to keep our home from being destroyed.”

Tink blinks. Once, twice.

Then she leaves.

Pan scowls as her footsteps creak up the stairs, melting into a full-body flop of despair that gets no response from any of us: Kit’s rummaging at his station while Fox is examining the plywood, rubbing his chin and glancing between the window and the door to his shop.

“Jesus.” Pan groans and slumps over to me, rubbing his forehead. “You know, as a girl, she’s a real⁠—”

“I’d stop right the fuck there if I were you,” I snap. And, to his credit, he does.

But not without a sigh. “Well, you’re going to help me, at least, right?” he asks me, scratching his ribs. “Scare up some cash, get back on our feet, just like we always do?”