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He doesn’t say anything for about a second and a half. Maybe the longest second and a half of my life.

“Sweetheart—”

“No!”

The wail that comes out of that kid is the worst sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

Hook moves for her, but Blue’s faster. Elbow to the bodyguard, doubling him over, and an arm across Hook’s chest.

“Wendy—” Tink starts, reaching for her, but Wendy jerks out of the way and whirls around.

“I knew it,” Wendy cries, her eyes bright with tears. “I knew it.” She’s not even crying right, dry heaving more than weeping. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tink, I didn’t want you to know—” She glances back at Hook, her father, fear written on her face. “I don’t even live with him, I haven’t⁠—”

“That’s why you ran to the dog track,” Blue murmurs. “Instead of here.”

Sure. Of course. The lightbulb goes on for me too—maybe that tacky-ass club box was the only place she’d spent time with him. Certainly not in this factory-sealed baby girl’s bedroom she’s probably never seen before.

“It was Kit,” Wendy goes on. “He was telling me about the window, and who maybe did it, and why they call him that, and…” Her eyes fall to her father’s mutilated hand, and then back up. “And then I knew that my dad hated you and wanted to hurt you and I didn’t want you to find out anything more about my family. But you kept asking me about Mike and JD and I didn’t know what to do. I let you keep looking, I lied to you⁠—”

Tink reaches for her shoulder. “Wendy, stop⁠—”

“It’s the same thing!” she shrieks. “It’s the exact same…same bullshit I got mad at you for!”

Her sobs rip through the room.

“No, honey.” Tink’s down on one knee in front of her so fast her boots squeak. “No. You absolutely did not. You were scared, and you needed to lie to stay safe, and⁠—”

Wendy collapses into Tink, and Tink holds her. Chin on her head, hands on her back.

Hook smacks away Blue’s arm and storms forward. “Don’t touch her.”

“Hey—” Blue and I move in sync, but Hook’s faster.

“Let go of my daughter, you whore.”

He rips Wendy out by the shoulders and backhands Tink across the face.

“No!”

It’s me, yelling. I don’t even realize it until I feel the bulk of the bodyguard slamming me backwards.

Tink, though, doesn’t seem to have flinched. Her eyes are shining and her cheek is glowing red from the force of his hand, and as fucked-up as it sounds, I don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful to me than right now.

“You don’t get her,” Tink says.

Hook smiles a little, like she’s said something sweet.

“You misunderstand me,” he says.

“No.” Tink straightens up, and she puts Wendy behind her, and she does it so smoothly I don’t think Wendy even notices it happening. “I don’t think I do.”

“She’s my daughter,” Hook says, as though he’s astonished none of us can get that through our thick skulls.

“Yeah, and her brothers raised her,” Tink retorts. “Her brothers were your sons. Who you⁠—”

“My sons made choices.” He says it the way you’d say my sons went to State. “They grew up in my house, they spent my money and ate my food and slept under my roof, and then one day they seemed to decide that they were too good for the life they were born to. That I wasn’t fit to—” He inhales, looks at Wendy. “They took her out of her bed in the middle of the night, and I never saw her again.”

I can’t take it anymore. “So you fuckin’ shot them?”