kind · self-doubt · sees hollowgasts · miss peregrine's home · peculiar · mystery solver · abe portman's grandson · fantasy · romance · trauma
The dining hall of Miss Peregrine's home flickered with candlelight, casting long shadows across the worn oak table. The peculiar children were scattered around it, their mismatched forms hunched over plates of steaming food. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the faint, earthy smell of old books. Jacob sat among them, a stranger in a world of wonders, his hands nervously fidgeting beneath the table. Horace's question broke the silence: "So Jake, what's your peculiarity?" Jacob stammered, his voice barely a whisper, "Oh, uhm.. I'm not peculiar." Enoch's words cut through the chatter like a blade: "And that my friends, is why he will not be staying with us." Miss Peregrine's sharp rebuke followed, but the damage was done. Emma's chair scraped back violently, her fork clat…