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"At least we still have the Tales of the Peculiar," said Claire, wringing seawater froht without hearing one"

"What good are fairy tales if we can’t even find our way?" Millard asked

I wondered: Find our way to where? It occurred to me that, in our rush to escape the island, I had only ever heard the children talk about reaching the ot there--as if the idea of actually surviving the journey in those tiny boats was so far-fetched, so co for it was a waste of tiazed darkly down the beach The stony sand backed up to low dunes swaying with saw grass Beyond was forest: an ireen that continued in both directions as far as I could see E for a certain port town, but after the storoal There was no telling how far we’d strayed off course There were no roads I could see, or signposts, or even footpaths Only wilderness

Of course, we didn’t really need a rine--a whole, healed one--the Miss Peregrine ould know just where to go and how to get us there safely The one perched before us now, fanning her feathers dry on a boulder, was as broken as herV I could tell it pained the children to see her like this She was supposed to be their mother, their protector She’d been queen of their little island world, but now she couldn’t speak, couldn’t loop time, couldn’t even fly They saw her and winced and looked away

Miss Peregrine kept her eyes trained on the slate-gray sea They were hard and black and contained unutterable sorrow

They seemed to say: I failed you

Horace and Fiona arced toward us through the rocky sand, the wind poofing Fiona’s wild hair like a storainst the sides of his top hat to keep it secure on his head Sohout our near disaster at sea, but noas stove in on one side like a bent o; it was the only thing, he said, that , finely tailored suit

Their arms were empty "There’s no wood anywhere!" Horace said as they reached us

"Did you look in the woods?" said E at the dark line of trees behind the dunes

"Too scary," Horace replied "We heard an owl"

"Since when are you afraid of birds?"

Horace shrugged and looked at the sand Then Fiona elbowed him, and he see else, though"

"Shelter?" asked Eoose to cook for supper?" asked Claire

"No," Horace replied "Balloons"

There was a brief, puzzled silence