The taxi rattles as it climbs the sloping road toward the northern district, its headlights sweeping over rows of silent houses. Snow gathers in the gutters and along the stone walls, glowing under the moonlight. I sit with my hands folded in my lap, my gloves still cold from the walk to the station, and watch the mansions drift past like pale ghosts.

  “You’re a quiet one tonight,” the driver remarks, glancing at me in the mirror. His voice is warm, worn at the edges. “Most boys your age can’t sit still this long.”

  I straighten a little. “Sorry, sir.”

  “No need to apologize.” He chuckles. “Just making conversation. Off to work?”

  “Yes, sir.” I adjust the collar of my uniform.

  The driver nods slightly. “Figured you were one of those youth boys,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking to my sleeve.

  “The doctor asked me to watch his daughter while he’s away.”

  The driver blinks. “Babysitting? Aren’t you a little young for that?”

  “I’m… fifteen.”

  “No way!” he laughs, shaking his head. “I thought you were, like, ten at the most!”

  Heat creeps up my neck. “I get that a lot.”

  “Well,” he says, still amused, “good on you then. Not many boys your age would give up a Friday night for babysitting.”

  I offer a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “She’s only five. And she’s sick. Someone should stay with her.”

  The driver hums. “Kind heart you’ve got there.”

  I look back out the window. The houses grow larger—three-story giants with steep roofs and tall iron gates, their windows glowing behind heavy curtains.

  The taxi slows, tires crunching over cobblestones as we pull up to a wide stone walkway leading to a tall, dark-framed door. The doctor’s house looms above us, its windows lit in soft amber squares.

  “That’s the one,” the driver says.

  I nod and reach for the door handle. “Thank you.”

  “Stay warm out there,” he calls. “Cold night for wandering.”

  The door shuts behind me. The taxi pulls away, its engine fading until all I hear is the wind in the hedges and the faint ticking of the streetlamp.

  I stand still for a moment, letting the cold air settle into my lungs—sharp and metallic. I exhale slowly, watching my breath drift upward.

  Then I look down at my uniform—the neat lines, the polished buttons, the red armband sitting straight. I smooth the fabric once more.

  My boots crunch as I walk up the stone path.

  I pause at the door, lift my hand, and press the bell.

  A distant chime echoes through the house—long and hollow.

  I take one steady breath.

  Whatever waits inside, I can handle it.

  I always do.

  The door swings open so fast the winter air barely settles before a head pops out—tall hat first, then a long gray mustache, then round spectacles catching the porch light.

  “Daniel!” the man exclaims, his voice bright with relief.

  “Dr. Weiss!” I reply, smiling despite the cold.

  Without hesitation, the doctor steps forward and wraps an arm around me in a quick hug.

  “There you are!” Dr. Weiss says, pulling back with a grin. “Goodness, lad, you must be frozen solid. Come in before you turn into an icicle!”

  I step inside, my boots clicking against the polished floor.

  Dr. Weiss shuts the door behind us.

  “I’m terribly grateful you came,” he says, removing his hat. “Little Klara’s fever hasn’t broken, and I’ve been called away. A dreadful inconvenience, but duty waits for no man.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “It’s no trouble,” I assure him. “I’m glad to help.”

  Dr. Weiss beams. “You always are. A dependable young fellow—I knew I could count on you!”

  My ears warm at the praise. “Where is Klara now?”

  “Upstairs,” Dr. Weiss replies, already patting his pockets as if checking for keys, wallet, gloves—anything he might have forgotten. “First door on the left. She’s awake, poor thing, but tired.”

  He glances toward the staircase, then back at me with a wince of regret. “I wish I had time to introduce you properly, but they’re expecting me at the clinic. I’m afraid I must run.”

  I nod. “It’s all right, sir. I’ll find her.”

  “Good lad.” Dr. Weiss steps closer, lowering his voice with sudden seriousness. “Her medicine is in the kitchen—top-right cabinet, above the others. You’ll see several bottles there, but hers is the small brown one with the blue label. Make sure she takes a dose as soon as I leave.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Dr. Weiss exhales in relief. “She trusts easily, but she’s stubborn about medicine. You may have to coax her a bit.”

  He pulls on his gloves, already halfway turned toward the door. “If anything changes—anything at all—ring the clinic. They’ll know where to find me.”

  I nod again. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  “I know you will.” He gives me a grateful smile and reaches for the doorknob. “Thank you, Daniel. Truly.”

  The door opens, letting in a gust of cold air.

  “Upstairs, first door on the left,” he repeats firmly, already stepping outside. “And the medicine—don’t forget the medicine!

  “I won’t.”

  “Good boy.”

  Dr. Weiss hurries down the steps and disappears into the night. The door clicks shut, leaving me alone in the quiet house.

  I walk down the hallway, carpet muffling my steps. A warm glow spills from a doorway near the end, and I follow it into the kitchen.

  The room is still, the only sound the faint ticking of a wall clock. I open the top-right cabinet and skim the bottles until I find the small brown glass with the blue label.

  I check it once, then close the cabinet softly.

  Medicine in hand, I head for the stairs.

  I climb, the house growing quieter with each step. The last bit of light from downstairs fades, leaving the hallway dim. The carpet softens underneath my boots, the floorboards creaking faintly.

  Finally, I reach the first door on the left.

  I draw in a steadying breath, straighten my shoulders, and let a small smile settle onto my face. Then I tap gently and push the door open.

  I step into the room and let the door fall shut behind me. It’s darker than I expected. The only thing I can see clearly is the bed—it looks almost like its own little room, with a small dome hanging above it and thick lace draped all around.

  Klara sits against the headboard, wrapped in blankets, her small face peeking out. Her eyes blink at me through the dim light.

  “Hi there,” I say softly.

  She mumbles something back—too quiet to understand.

  I walk toward her, slow and careful. The room is too dark to trust, so I reach out with one hand, feeling my way forward. My fingers brush a chair, the edge of a dresser, then the lace hanging from the dome.

  Finally, my hand finds the blankets at the side of her bed.

  I let out a small breath and climb up onto the edge, trying not to shake the mattress too much.

  Klara keeps her gaze fixed on her blankets, her small hands gripping the fabric.

  “Well,” I say lightly, “I guess we should get this medicine over with, huh?”

  She doesn’t answer. Just wiggles deeper into the blankets.

  I hold up the little brown bottle. “All right. I’m going to give you to the count of three to drink this. And if you don’t… I’ll make a funny face at you.”

  Her shoulders shift slightly, like she’s trying not to smile.

  “Three… two…”

  Nothing. She doesn’t even blink.

  “Uhm… two and a half…?” I try.

  Still nothing.

  I let out a small laugh. “Hey, I get it. I don’t like taking medicine either.”

  That makes her look up. “Really?”

  “Really. I don’t like brushing my teeth either, but I still do it because it’s good for me. Medicine’s the same. You don’t have to like it… You just have to do it.”

  She blinks, thinking it over, her grip loosening a little.

  “It doesn’t have to be a big sip,” I say softly. “Just a little one. I’ll be right here.”

  She glances up at me, uncertain.

  I offer the spoon, steady and patient. “Let’s try a tiny bit.”

  After a long moment, she leans forward and takes the smallest sip she can.

  I grin. “There you go! See? That was perfect!”

  Klara shifts under the blankets. “It tastes awful,” she mutters.

  “I know,” I say, smiling. “Most things that help us do.”

  The quiet settles. Something near the blankets catches my eye—a small book half in shadow. I reach over and pick it up.

  “What’s this?”

  Klara glances up. “Oh. That’s just Peter Pan and Wendy.”

  The title stops me instantly. I stare at the cover, the words hitting harder than they should, tightening something deep in my chest.

  She didn’t seem to notice. “It’s about a girl who goes to Neverland,” she explains, her voice small but steady.

  Neverland.

  The word lands wrong. Something tilts. The room, the blankets, Klara’s voice—everything slips for a second.

  “I think I rather like it up here. Feels very—Neverland.”

  “Oh, c’mon, you’re not Peter Pan…”

  Klara’s voice pulls at the edge of it. “And then she meets the pirates, and—”

  A different voice cuts through hers.

  “No one boards my ship without cause.”

  The words hit so sharply I almost look over my shoulder.

  “State your name and swear your loyalty, or turn back.”

  “To whom? You?”

  “To the sea. To the crew, to the code!”

  Klara keeps talking, unaware, but the memory is louder—pressing in until everything spins.

  “And at the end,” she continues, “she has to leave Neverland.”

  A gunshot tears through the air—too close, too real—followed by a sharp crack splitting through my head.

  My whole body jerks. The room blurs. The book slips in my hand.

  “DAD!!!” The scream rips out of me—my voice, but younger, shaking, full of a fear I can still feel in my bones. I see him fall in front of me, the moment hitting so hard it knocks the breath out of my chest.

  The world tilts, my stomach twists, and everything starts spinning so fast I can’t tell what’s real anymore.

  “Daniel?” Klara’s voice wavers. “Are you… Are you okay?”

  I try to answer, but the floor sways under me. My vision tunnels. The spinning gets worse—so much worse, it makes me sick.

  I reach for something—anything—, but my knees give out before I find it.

  The world drops away, and everything goes black.