Right, that nail was straight on the head. Even literal lifetimes after losing her, Milah is still a topic he doesn't broach easily. When Emma brought up his tattoo at nearly random, he'd brushed it off the best he could. It was only thanks to that frustrating level of intuition that Emma had guessed as much as she did. Killian Jones would tell the whole world of his vendetta against a crocodile, yet talking about exactly why would perhaps forever be a struggle. He kept his losses like open, angry wounds. Even centuries after it happened, speaking of Milah was no easier. A mistake, and somewhere a part of him knows it. He holds onto the pain of losing her tighter than anything else; there is something heartbreaking about the fact he can remember how it felt to lose her better than he can remember how it felt to love her.

Distant detachment is quite far from how Killian relates to Milah's memory, even at a better moment. Having her haunt him with hatred in her eyes makes her an even more uncomfortable subject. Still, if anyone deserves honesty in this, it's her son. Hook breathes out a bit of a pained breath but for once, it's an uncaged truth when he answers. "Yes. I've been seeing her for days, and it's getting worse. I thought it was just a trick of being confined, but now I'm not so sure."

This place didn't remind Hook of his past or purgatory, to him, it was a brand new Neverland with a different aesthetic. Time seemed to slog past, answers were slim and distractions were far and few between. There were less deadly plants and horrible storms, yet the true danger of Neverland was not the island itself, it was the detrimental weight on the mind. It was easy to go a little mad in Neverland, when sleep grew sparse and you only had your shadow to talk to for months at a time. There was no comprehending being trapped for hundreds of years for someone who hadn't lived it, but Baelfire understood Neverland just as keenly as he did.