Pan sat in his dimly lit office at the heart of Marooner’s Bay. It was still morning, just after breakfast.
The room was adorned with exquisite, otherworldly artifacts, and the low hum of magic permeated the air. He brooded behind his opulent desk, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of suspicion, danger, and the enigma that was Wendy Darling.
But no.
He didn’t want to think about her.
He had already been thinking about her too much.
Before he could delve further into his troubled thoughts, a puff of green smoke materialized in the corner of the room. It coalesced into the form of his older brother, Rumpelstiltskin. He regarded Pan with a wry smile that hinted at a thousand secrets.
"Pan, dear brother," Rumpelstiltskin began, his voice dripping with intrigue. "I must say, you've managed to pique my curiosity. Why have you made that mortal girl your pet?"
Pan's eyes narrowed, his irritation evident. "No time for small talk, brother?” he asked.
“I thought you detested the subject.”
Pan wrinkled his nose. “You’re hanging around your mortal far too long,” he said. “You’re beginning to smell like her.”
His brother’s dark eyes sparkled. “I could say the same for you,” he said. “Well? I didn’t take it you wanted a mortal pet. I thought you hated mortals.”
“I do,” he said. “It's not a matter for your amusement. I have my reasons."
Rumpelstiltskin leaned against the edge of Pan's desk, the mischievous glint in his eyes undiminished. "Oh, I don't doubt it, brother,” he said. “But I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with those dead Lycans in the Blood Forest. Or perhaps," he added, his voice low and conspiratorial, "your recent injury?"
Pan clenched his jaw, feeling the memory of the Lycans' ambush and the bite that had seared through his side. He said nothing in response to that.
"Playing a dangerous game, aren't we?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, leaning forward. “Trusting a mortal with your secrets."
Pan's fingers drummed on the desk, his agitation evident. "Why did you send her to me, Rumple?” he asked. “Did you know she was going to try to kill me?"
Rumpelstiltskin’s smirk only deepened. "I knew she was going to try, but I didn't know if she'd succeed," he said.
Pan bit his lip. Of course she wasn’t going to succeed. His eyes bore into his brother's. "I could have killed her," he said evenly.
The Imp chuckled, the sound like tinkling bells in the night. "But you didn't."
Pan's patience was wearing thin. "You couldn't have known that."
Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze turned piercing, his tone grave. "I know everything, brother,” he said. “Just like I know someone tried to kill you."
“Is this the part where you tell me not to trust anyone?”
The Imp chuckled again, his amusement seemingly boundless. "Oh, trust is such a fragile thing, isn't it?” he asked. “But you, dear brother, may have stumbled upon the most trustworthy of all."
Pan's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Rumpelstiltskin leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. "The mortal, Pan. She's the only one you can trust."
Pan shook his head, struggling to comprehend his brother's enigmatic words. "This is madness, you buffoon,” he said. “You speak in riddles."
Before Pan could demand further clarification, the Imp disappeared in another puff of green smoke, leaving Pan alone with his bewildering thoughts and a growing sense of unease. The mortal, Wendy Darling, was becoming an enigma he couldn't ignore, a puzzle piece in a much larger and dangerous game that threatened not only his life but the very fabric of his reign as Prince over two realms that didn’t seem to want him to the point where someone was actively trying to kill him.
But giving up his claim to the throne when he finally had it was not something he intended to do.
He would find his assassin, and then, slowly, he would make that person pay.
No matter who they turned out to be.