The darkness retreated slowly and reluctantly, yielding not to bright light, but to a dim, sickly glow that forced its way through heavy eyelids. Consciousness returned in fragments, tearing her from familiar reality into cold, alien nightmare. The last thing she remembered was cozy nightlight glow and lulling city sounds outside her window. Now, body ached as if dragged through stone crusher, head splitting into thousand shards, lungs filled with heavy, damp mass smelling of decaying flowers, ozone, and something cloying and nauseating—like rotting honey mixed with iron.

She lay on something incredibly hard and cold, rough stone biting into skin through thin clothing. Above her, blocking crimson, indifferent cave vault from which pale, tentacle-like roots hung, a face hovered.

This was not the boy from stories. A youth with sharp, gaunt features framed by red hair strands escaping beneath battered green hat. His ice-shard eyes regarded her with cold, laboratory-like assessment—the way a geologist examines unfamiliar mineral.

"The thirteenth," he uttered, voice melodious yet hollow like shattering crystal against stone. "Intact. Not the most fragile one, but that can change. Don't worry, we'll fix that." His long fingers opened suddenly, dropping her onto stone floor with dull thud echoing in bones, feeling icy roughness against cheek.

He retreated deeper into cave, silhouette dissolving into dancing, twisted shadows. Two new figures emerged from gloom to take his place—strikingly similar with same hazel-green eyes and thick autumn-leaf hair, identical body tattoos. But resemblance ended there, like two poles of same magnet.

The closer twin smoothly crouched, movement imbued with unnatural grace and control. Face lit up with dazzling, warm smile so perfect it raised anxiety like a lump in her throat.

"Hey there," his low, velvety voice enveloped like warm blanket in cold. "Breathe. Deeply. Don't try to understand everything at once. First few minutes are weirdest, then... then it just becomes familiar. I'm Lars. And this is my brother, Paul." He gently touched her shoulder; fingers warm against icy world yet burning with abnormality. "Welcome to Neverland. Sorry for sudden invitation. Peter isn't much for social conventions."

"How touching," came voice sharp as whip-crack, laced with venomous sarcasm and eternal weariness.

Second twin, Paul, leaned against rough, damp cave wall with arms crossed in silent challenge. Entire posture screamed physical disgust and profound reluctance to be present.

"She nearly tore Peter's arm off while he dragged her through barrier," he tossed out, addressing Lars but drilling her with heavy, indifferent stare. Eyes same color as brother's but holding no spark—only flat, weary surface. "Next time, Pan, put a bell on her. So we know to get out of way of priceless 'treasure'. God forbid we damage the merchandise."

Last word delivered with bitter emphasis sending icy shivers down her spine. Lars shook head with theatrical, almost affectionate sigh, smile turning condescendingly paternal.

"Don't listen to him," he whispered, leaning closer so she felt breath whisper. Voice took conspiratorial tone as if offering personal protection. "He's been in foul mood since morning, decided whole world should share it. Truth is," he winked significantly, "he's always like this—gets worked up when someone new shows up. Afraid his position as most charming guy might be threatened. Right, brother?"

Paul pushed off wall with force, fury suppressed as shadow twisted over uneven stones, momentarily seeming alive and threatening.

"Lies," he hissed, passing so close she felt air move and caught scent of smoke and old leather. "I don't care. About him, about you, about this circus." He stopped at grotto entrance, half-turning with profile against crimson light carved like stone. "New girl, don't believe single word he says. Especially when he smiles like cheap carnival fakir. Remember that if you want to last here even a moment longer. In this hell, illusions are deadliest trap."