Book Junkiez

Date Published: 09-15-2026

Publisher: Oculus Print

ZOMBIE ZOO is Book 1 in a five-book middle grade adventure series for readers
ages 8-13, blending paranormal mystery, zombies, unlikely friendship, and
STEAM-powered problem-solving.

To find a cure, Felix must team up with Ninja, a shadow-dwelling orphan who
trusts her instincts and never backs down. Intense and razor-sharp, she
notices what others overlook and lives up to her name as the island’s most
mysterious sleuth. With their eccentric mentor Doc Brunne compromised and the
town’s water supply contaminated by a glowing bioluminescent substance, the
two mismatched investigators must combine scientific observation with sharp
intuition to stop the outbreak before their island home is devoured.

Featuring diverse protagonists, quirky humor, spooky-but-fun scares, and
strong female and male leads. ZOMBIE ZOO is ideal for reluctant readers and
fans of Max Brallier’s The Last Kids on Earth, B.B. Alston’s Amari and the
Night Brothers, and Goosebumps. Comprehensive educator resources-including
discussion guides, vocabulary lists, STEAM extension activities, and printable
maps-support classroom use, library programming, book clubs, and make this
title ideal for cross-curricular lessons bridging ELA, STEAM, and SEL.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1
Green Goo

FELIX

The green substance pulsed three feet from Felix Fizzystyxx’s face, defying every natural law he’d documented in four years of fieldwork.

He crouched low in the orphanage hallway, his field notepad balanced on his knee, pencil hovering over the page. The goo glowed—an unnatural, phosphorescent color that reminded him of the lightning bugs he’d cataloged last summer, only much more intense. Felix leaned closer. Was that a shimmer at the edge? Yes. The substance expanded slightly, almost like a water droplet responding to surface tension.

Unprecedented. Undocumented. Unknown.

His pulse quickened. If he could document this properly, maybe he’d finally prove he was a real Naturalist. The kind worthy of creating maps that mattered. Like the one in Spinachi’s town hall. Detailed. Beautiful. Important.

“Fizzysquirt! Where’d that freak go?”

Felix’s hand froze mid-notation. Gilly’s voice. Close. Too close.

His heart rate spiked—sixty-eight beats per minute, he estimated. Unusual for him. His eyes darted down the hallway. The orphanage’s dim gas lamps cast long shadows across the floorboards. Three doors. The pantry was closest.

“Check the stairs,” another voice called. “He always hides. Check outside.”

Move.

Felix snatched his notepad and ran, his lanky frame folding into motion. His green vest flapped as he twisted the pantry knob and slipped inside, pulling the door closed with a soft click.

The orphanage pantry wasn’t designed for naturalists.

Felix shifted his lanky frame, trying to fold himself smaller. His elbow knocked against a shelf of dried spinach. Green particles puffed into the air. Above him, one of his tight curls snagged on a splintered board—he yanked it free with an irritated huff, missing the initial dispersal. Still, the remaining trajectory was clear—three feet up, two feet across, settling in a pattern that matched his earlier incident with the flour. Predictable, like most things in nature.

His knees were pinned against a lower shelf cluttered with dusty bottles. The pantry smelled of preserved vegetables and ancient wood polish that hadn’t been opened since long before he arrived at Wayward-Amok Orphanage. Felix catalogued the scents methodically: spinach—dried and fresh (dominant), wood (secondary), and… something else—unusual, unfamiliar.

Was it metallic? No, that wasn’t it. It certainly didn’t belong among the familiar pantry smells.

Interesting. Mental note: will document later.

With his shoulders hunched at just the right angle, he mentally calculated how to get his head closer to the ground. The space had been adequate three growth spurts ago, but now he had to fold his body like one of those collapsible rulers Cookie kept in the kitchen drawer.

This is ridiculous. I’m turning 14 in four months, too old for this hiding nonsense!

But hiding was logical. Necessary. Gilly destroyed his last journal and his best pencil. Months of data were lost and difficult to replace.

Felix huffed and adjusted his green vest. His goals were clear—1) make no noise, 2) secure an unobstructed view of the hallway, and 3) most important, whatever his pretzel position, it must not limit access to his meticulously organized field notepad. It wasn’t one of his special, leather-bound field journals—those stayed safe in the tree fort, too precious and too bulky to risk on spontaneous investigations.

No. The notepad was different: small, portable, expendable if necessary. When he’d seen that green glow outside the front door and sprinted after it, the notepad had come with him automatically. It was always with him, tucked in his vest beside his precious pencils. Raw observations went into the notepad first. Only later, safely in the tree fort, would he transfer the important data into his proper journals with detailed diagrams and analysis.

Carefully, he positioned his head closer to the small vent at the bottom of the pantry door, straining to see the hallway beyond. Through the grate, he could make out movement—boots. Four pairs.

Gilly’s confident stomp led the formation. Felix recognized the gait immediately from months of documentation. Two other pairs shuffled behind in their usual pattern. The fourth hung back, hesitant.

“Where is he?” Gilly’s voice carried through the vent. “Little freak was out here somewhere.”

“Maybe he went outside,” one of the others offered.

“In the dark? Fizzysquirt’s scared of his own shadow.” Laughter. “Check the kitchen. I want my chocolate tax tonight, and he still owes me from last month.”

The boots moved past the pantry. Felix held his breath, his pencil frozen mid-grip. He counted in his head. Thirty seconds. Sixty. Ninety.

The voices faded down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Felix’s shoulders relaxed slightly. His heart rate dropped to sixty-five beats per minute. Safe. For now.

He consulted his mental calendar. Chocolate Day—of course. The one day each month when they distributed small bags of chocolate—and a few hours later, Gilly collected his ‘chocolate tax.’

Felix shook his head. He should have checked his “Gilly’s Rotation Schedule” before venturing out. Sloppy fieldwork on his part.

But he’d had no choice. That odd glowing goo! For the first time in years, Felix had acted without consulting his notes or calculating risks.

Real Naturalists didn’t cower in pantries. They explored. They discovered. They created maps that mattered.

Yet here he was, crammed into this inadequate space, when he should be out in that hallway recording the most unusual phenomenon he’d ever encountered.

Felix pressed his eye closer to the vent, ignoring the discomfort as the cold metal edge dug into his skin. The hallway appeared empty now. Just gas lights and shadows. If he moved quickly, he could—

Footsteps.

Felix froze.

But these weren’t Gilly’s confident stomps. These footsteps moved with an irregular rhythm, dragging… or was it stumbling? Felix shifted his head against the vent, analyzing the gait. Not Gilly’s gang. Not Cookie’s quick patter. Not any walking pattern he’d noted in orphanage observational files.

These were wrong.

The footsteps moved closer. Closer. Too late—they stopped directly in front of the pantry door.

A shadow fell across the vent as someone—or something—stood motionless outside his hiding place. Felix held his breath, his pencil frozen mid-notation. The stillness was unnatural. Even the most patient person shifted their weight, breathed audibly, made some sound.

This was odd. This was strange.

The doorknob rattled from the outside.

For the first time, a sensation that had nothing to do with scientific curiosity crawled up Felix’s spine. Goosebumps rose on his arms despite the pantry’s warmth. His body was reacting to something his logical mind couldn’t yet process. Whatever waited outside that door defied his classification of normal.

A low, unnatural sound filtered through the vent. Not a voice. Not breathing. Something… else. Something that made Felix’s carefully organized thoughts scatter like the startled birds he so often documented. The sound resonated at a frequency that seemed to vibrate inside his bones.

The doorknob rattled again. Harder this time. More insistent.

Felix released his grip on his notepad and pressed himself back against the shelves, suddenly aware that the thin wooden door might not be enough. Not enough for what, he couldn’t say—and that uncertainty was the most disturbing element of all.

Record, don’t react, his old mantra whispered. Document, don’t disturb.

But this—this defied documentation.

The rattling stopped.

Silence pressed against Felix’s ears. He strained to hear anything. Breathing. Movement. Footsteps retreating.

Nothing.

Then—

Splat.

A sound echoed as if something dropped to the floor outside. The shadow shifted across the vent. Gradually, the shuffling footsteps moved past, fading down the hallway in the opposite direction from where Gilly’s gang had gone.

Felix waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

His fingers twitched with impatience. Every second lost. Scientific discoveries didn’t wait—especially not for orphans hiding from bullies. Or whatever that had been.

He positioned his eye back against the vent.

There.

Through the grate, Felix could see it clearly now. A new sample of the odd green substance sat in a precarious spot, straddled over two floorboards whose ancient planks had cracks wide enough to swallow small objects. If he didn’t act quickly, the substance would either seep through or be absorbed by the parched wood.

Felix weighed his options. Quickly, he unfolded his body, snatching his notepad and pencil in one hand, gripping the doorknob in the other. His hand froze on the knob.

Record, don’t react. The rule that had kept him safe. The rule that made him a good observer.

But not a participant.

Think logically. If I lose my notepad to Gilly, I lose tonight’s observations. If I miss documenting the odd substance, I lose one data point.

But this wasn’t just any data point. This was unprecedented. Undocumented. Unknown.

Decision made. Felix twisted the knob and stepped into the hall.

The goo was still there.

Felix approached cautiously, crouching for a better view. It was small, perhaps the size of a coin, but there was no mistake—its green color glowed vividly, that same phosphorescent intensity he’d seen before.

On the ground, his field notepad open, Felix cataloged his observations: No obvious cellular structure. No appendages. Just a puddle of goo. The phosphorescent glow played across his warm brown hands as he sketched.

A salty, musty odor emanated from it, similar to tidepool water. Strange. Spinachi was bordered by an ocean—the entire island of Tub was surrounded by the ocean. Living on an island meant Felix had cataloged ocean smells his entire life. This was different.

As he leaned closer, the substance… changed. It expanded slightly, almost like a water droplet responding to surface tension. Felix rubbed his eyes. Surely, he was mistaken.

He wasn’t. This time he ignored counting how many heartbeats were pounding in his chest. The closer his hand came, the larger the substance grew. No natural material behaved this way, not that he knew of.

Felix extracted a small measuring stick from his left pocket and extended it toward the goo. The substance expanded again, reaching toward the stick like a plant seeking sunlight.

Fascinating.

When he pulled back, the substance contracted slightly. Grinning, he documented this reaction, sketching the progression with quick, precise strokes.

One more test. Felix moved closer again, this time bringing his face near the substance. As predicted, it expanded, reaching upward as if drawn to him. Then, without warning, it shriveled dramatically, as though hit by intense heat.

Felix startled when a black shoe appeared in his peripheral vision.

“Sketching floorboards? So weird.” A girl stood behind him, already moving on without waiting for an answer. “Yesterday, your note on the robin’s nest was wrong. The mother laid four eggs, not three. You missed one behind the branch.”

Felix whipped around, nearly dropping his notepad as he stood. A girl appeared in front of him, seemingly from nowhere. She was about a foot shorter than Felix, with tied-back black hair and clothes so dark they seemed to swallow the light. Her hands were planted on her hips as she looked down at him, despite her shorter stature.

“Who are you?” he demanded, instinctively clutching his notepad closer.

“Hope you weren’t trying to hide in the pantry?” said the girl, not really asking. “Gilly’s crew always checks there for extra chocolates.”

Felix looked over his shoulder, checking for Gilly’s gang.

“Relax, none of them are here.”

 Felix blinked, his mind racing. Who was she, and how did she know about his observations? He studied her face, searching his mental records for any previous encounter. Her features were a mix—sharp cheekbones, pearl white skin, straight blue-black hair, eyes that turned to crescents when she squinted at him—like she belonged to two worlds at once.

Nothing in his mental records matched. She clearly knew more about Gilly’s rotations and pantry checks than he did—this was valuable new data he’d missed somehow.

“I… I didn’t know. Thanks for the tip. Maybe we could work together to avoid Gilly’s gang? I’ve been mapping their patterns, but clearly my data is—”

“I work alone, Felix,” she cut him off, her expression unchanged. “Another tip: counting on others just leads to trouble.”

Felix’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know my name?” He scanned his memory—every orphan he’d documented in the last year. Nothing. “I’ve never even seen you before. Not once.”

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “That’s how I like it.”

She turned away, fingers tapping against her leg. When she glanced back at him, her eyes narrowed like she wasn’t sure talking to him had been a good idea.

“Right. So, you know my name,” he held out his hand. “Have we met before?”

“Ninja,” she said, not shaking his hand. She started to move down the hall. Felix couldn’t help but follow.

“Rookie mistake hiding in the pantry,” Ninja said over her shoulder as she walked. “But I’m not surprised. I’m great at hiding. Gilly’s gang doesn’t even know I exist.”

Felix found himself fascinated by this girl. Still and super focused one minute, gliding like air the next. Her movements were precise, economical. First the impossible green substance, and now this girl who knew him when he knew nothing about her. Two mysteries in one night. His notepad would need a new section entirely.

“That’s for sure,” Felix muttered before he could stop himself.

Ninja spun around and looked him up and down. Her black outfit was a marvel of practicality, covered in pockets of all sizes, perfect for hiding things. She blended into the shadows like she belonged there.

“You’re much taller up close,” she said. “Nice green vest. It matches that tree where you do your drawings. How’d you get it that color?”

“What?” Felix’s jaw dropped. “I mean—I didn’t—” His mind raced through calculations. The statistical probability of someone spotting his tree fort was approximately 0.037%, based on visibility angles, foliage density, and his carefully plotted observation schedule. He’d employed seven distinct camouflage techniques. “I assumed nobody saw me up there.”

“Relax. Nobody else sees you. One more tip? People don’t look up.” Ninja’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “I notice everything. I’m in the oak tree next to yours. Your drawings aren’t bad.”

“What? You’ve been in my tree? Seen my drawings?” Felix squeaked.

“Tree isn’t yours,” Ninja shrugged. “Just looked at your work. So, your vest?”

His head spun. Something unfamiliar tightened in his chest. This bold, mysterious, and categorically very strange girl had been watching him while he thought he was the one doing all the observing! He wasn’t so sure he liked being the one observed.

“Um, right. Cookie lets me use leftover spinach water. I dye all my clothes green.”

Ninja’s eyebrows rose, genuine surprise crossing her face. “Spinach water? Smart.” She studied the vest with new interest.

The girl glanced down the hallway, head tilting slightly as if listening to something Felix couldn’t hear.

“They’re almost done passing out the chocolate for the night,” she said, already backing away. “Coming?”

Felix hesitated, his mind still cataloging everything about this unexpected encounter. Something told him following this girl would lead to answers—and likely more questions. Either way, what did he have to lose?

“Did you get your chocolate yet?”

“Nope.”

“Everyone’s already been to Prattle-pinch’s room. I think we’re the last ones.”

Felix gasped in surprise.

Prudence Amok, aka Prattle-pinch, ran the Wayward-Amok Orphanage, a creaky old building that always smelled like boiled spinach. The orphans had given her the nickname behind her back—she was a gossip and spent too little on them. Felix had only heard Gilly’s gang use it. To the townspeople of Spinachi, she acted like she cared about the orphans, but Felix knew better. While she ate fancy foods, the kids got spinach for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—there were only so many ways to cook the same vegetable.

“What?” Ninja asked.

“I’ve only heard Gilly’s gang call her that name,” Felix said. His mind was still cataloging information about this mysterious girl—her movements, her knowledge, her apparent invisibility to everyone else. Each new fact was like discovering a rare specimen. “It sounds funny… I guess, coming from you.”

“Funny?” Ninja raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t get out of that tree much, do you? Everyone calls her Prattle-pinch. Even Cookie calls her that, and they’re best friends.” She kept walking down the hall. “What’s shocking is how Prattle-pinch thinks she has the right to give us all made-up names! My real name was the only thing I had from before—I bet it meant something in my mother’s language—and she just erased it. Why shouldn’t we give her one back? I mean, Nettiwiggs—what kind of last name is that?”

Felix just nodded, but he noted the intense furrow of Ninja’s brow when she was talking about made-up names. Her reaction seemed disproportionate to the topic—another data point to record later. This girl had taught him more about the orphanage in five minutes than he’d learned in years. But the green substance was still foremost in his mind—a scientific anomaly that defied categorization.

“Um, Ninja,” he said, his face turning red, “before you found me, did you hear or see anything strange in the hall?”

“Like what?” Ninja stopped walking.

Felix rubbed his neck. “Like, dragging sounds? Moaning?” He wanted to ask about the green goo directly but worried she might think he was making things up. Better to start with the auditory evidence.

Ninja’s forehead wrinkled again as she thought. “No. But there was something.” She closed her eyes, her fingers twitched like they were feeling the air. “Like a feeling. Like something in the air. It’s what led me to the hall.” Her eyes snapped open, she shrugged her shoulder and continued moving. “I thought I saw something but I didn’t.”

“You didn’t see anything glowing?” Felix whispered, feeling goosebumps pop up on his arms even though there wasn’t a breeze. The probability of two people independently hallucinating the same phenomenon was approximately 0.0042%. If she’d seen it too, that would confirm its existence.

Ninja halted, her eyes squinted back at him. “I didn’t say anything about glowing.” Ninja stood there, quietly observing Felix, drawing out the moment and making it awkward.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. If you saw something, it’s not like I’m going to think you are crazy, or anything,” Felix said, thinking this was the most interesting person he’d ever met. Each new fact was like discovering a rare specimen. His scientific curiosity was now fully engaged—not just in the green substance but in Ninja herself. Two unprecedented discoveries in one night! “Just, uh, if you saw something… different, you could tell me.”

“Yeah, I get that about you.” Ninja started walking again. “I trust my feelings. They’re usually right.”

Seeing how confident she was, Felix had to ask, “You’re not scared of Gilly and his gang at all, are you?”

“Nope!” Ninja laughed.

Felix blinked. She wasn’t just unafraid of Gilly—she found him amusing.

“Gilly’s seen me a few times, but never long enough to remember my face.” She stopped at Prattle-pinch’s door and listened. “Is she—laughing?”

“I don’t know,” Felix raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard her laugh before. Someone must be in there with her.”

Just then, Prattle-pinch’s door swung open. Before Felix could blink, he was yanked off his feet.

Chapter 2
“N” for Nettiwiggs

NINJA

The hallway stretched narrow and dim, lamplight casting uneven shadows across worn floorboards. Orphanage regulations hung in cheap picture frames every few feet. Three doors lined the hall: a utility closet, the file room, and at the far end, Prattle-pinch’s parlor door—polished wood, brass handle, the only thing in the building that looked cared for.

Ninja stopped. The file room door beside it stood cracked open. Six months. Six months of checking—always locked. Voices leaked from the parlor.

This was it.

She glanced back. Felix stood near the corner, clutching his notepad, looking ready to bolt back to his tree fort.

Perfect. He’d do as a lookout.

Cookie’s cart rattled inside Prattle-pinch’s parlor. Voices. Prattle-pinch’s fake-sweet tone and someone new. Male. Way too pleased with himself. Maybe Ninja had thirty seconds before Cookie exited.

Ninja moved. Three steps. She grabbed Felix’s vest and yanked him sideways into the file room before he could react. She closed the door.

“What—” he started.

She pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

The room was exactly what she expected. Cramped. Dusty. Filing cabinets lined three walls, metal drawers labeled A through Z. A window faced the front gate, painted shut. Nobody had touched those drawers in years except Prattle-pinch with her key.

A connecting door led to Prattle-pinch’s parlor. Its frosted glass window stood cracked open just enough to hear everything. Through the clouded pane, she could make out shapes moving, but no details.

Ninja eyed Felix. They would both need to be quiet.

Outside the parlor door, Cookie’s voice rang out, dripping with sugar. “If there’s anything else the young doctor would like to eat, just let me know!”

Ninja had heard that tone before. Cookie only used it with the milkman.

“Thank you, Cookie,” said the smooth male voice.

“Doctor?” Felix mouthed.

“Dr. Pearl. New town dentist,” Ninja rasped. “Saw him arrive earlier.”

“Yes, thank you, Cookie,” Prattle-pinch cut in. Sharp. Cold. The sugar in her voice gone. “Just close the door on your way out.”

Cookie’s humming drifted, extra loud, performing—as her cart rattled away down the hall.

The ‘N’ drawer practically glowed.

Still looking at Felix, she jerked her chin and motioned toward the filing cabinets. “Keep watch. This is our chance.”

“—quite a story,” the male voice continued through the cracked door.

Felix hissed her name.

He opened his mouth again like he was about to ask something when she hissed, “Shhh.”

Beyond the frosted glass of the connecting door, Prattle-pinch’s voice oozed sweetness. “Tell me, Dr. Pearl, how did you find our little village?”

Ninja crossed to the filing cabinets, her feet barely touching the dusty floor.

“Well, it’s quite a story,” Dr. Pearl said. His voice had that same smooth quality—practiced, like he’d rehearsed it in a mirror. “I’d met old Dr. Tusk at a dentist convention—”

A dentist convention. Her gaze narrowed at the parlor’s glass door. She turned her attention and tested the cabinet’s stability with one hand. Solid enough. She crouched, then launched herself upward in a single fluid motion—one foot catching the second drawer handle, hands gripping the top edge, body flowing up and over like she rode an air current.

She landed in a crouch on top of the cabinet, still far below the vaulted ceiling. Perfectly balanced.

Below her, Felix’s mouth fell open.

Ninja focused on the ‘N’ drawer directly beneath her perch.

“—old Tusky blathered on and on about Tub’s problem, what he called ‘an epidemic of gum disturbance.’ He said it was the Greatest Inflammation Tub had ever seen!’” Dr. Pearl paused, as if he was waiting for a reaction.

On cue, Prattle-pinch gasped.

“Indeed. According to old Tusky, several of Tub’s residents have suffered from acute gum inflammation. Quite strange indeed.”

“Inflammation? Oh dear!” Prattle-pinch touched her jaw nervously.

Gum inflammation. Ninja filed the information away as she lowered herself flat and reached down to the drawer handle. Might be useful. Might not. Dr. Pearl seemed like the type who made everything sound more important than it was.

“I believe it was his declaration. Perhaps saying it aloud was enough to make Dr. Tusk want to quit!” Dr. Pearl lowered his voice like he was sharing vital secrets. “He mentioned something about ‘patterns’ and ‘repeating.’ I don’t remember because it didn’t pertain to dentistry, but some such nonsense in Tub’s eastern territories. But he wouldn’t say more. Poor man seemed quite rattled.”

“Hum,” sighed Prattle-pinch. “He was a rather gruff sort. Never cracked a smile, not even for the orphans. Honestly, between just us, most Spinachi residents avoided him, unless it was for our yearly checkups. He’s sort of lost the plot in the last year, if you know what I mean.”

Dr. Pearl paused, then added with a polite edge, “Ah, I see. Growing senile.”

Prattle-pinch tittered, “More tea? And you must try these shortbreads.”

“Indeed, I would like that.”

Sounds of tea service ensued.

Ninja’s hand paused on the ‘N’ drawer handle. Patterns repeating. That phrase snagged on something in her mind, but she pushed it aside. She pulled the drawer open—silent and easy.

Files packed tight. Alphabetical. Her fingers slipped over them quickly: Napkinnook, Notionbox, Nimblethimble, Nutcrac—

There.

Nettiwiggs, Nina.

Brown folder. Prattle-pinch’s perfect handwriting on the tab.

“What are you doing?” Felix whispered from below, panic on his face. “We’re not supposed—”

Ninja carefully pulled the file free.

Inside: a single sheet with the orphanage’s letterhead and details. Beneath it were two newspaper clippings, both yellowed with age, attached with a safety pin.

Her breath caught.

“Looking for my history,” she murmured, more to herself than Felix. “Keep watch.”

“We’ll get caught!” Felix’s voice pitched higher.

He was starting to grate on her nerves. Six months. Six months of watching Prattle-pinch lock that door every single night. He wasn’t going to panic and ruin it for her!

“Haven’t you ever wondered why we have such weird last names?” she said, not looking at him.

“What are you talking about?” Felix asked.

Ninja turned the orphanage sheet over to see the first of the two clippings. There—printed advertisement copy: “Nettiwiggs: a secure net that will keep your hair on even in gale force winds!”

“I knew it!” She gritted her teeth as the words came out. She gripped the evidence. “Proof!”

In that moment she forgot Felix was there. Forgot Dr. Pearl droning on in the next room. Forgot everything except the second torn newspaper pinned beneath the advertisement.

This is it. My only clue to who I was before Prattle-pinch erased me and called me Nina. Nothing else matters until I find out who I really am.

The newspaper was old. The edges had crumbled, and the print was smudged and faded. Her fingers traced the paper’s torn edge where it said: Bloom.

Her breath caught. Something about that word pulled at her—not quite memory, not quite feeling. Something older than both.

“Bet Nina isn’t even it,” she said through gritted teeth. “My real name is out there, somewhere…”

“Nina?” Felix’s voice came from below. “I thought your name was Ninja.”

Ninja’s head snapped up. Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Just hearing that name—Nina—made something hot and sharp twist in her chest.

She shot Felix a molten look. The wall came up. The same one that always rose when Prattle-pinch used that name. When Cookie used it. When anyone tried to make her into someone she wasn’t.

She turned back to the file, careful as she unpinned both clippings. That’s not my name. Never was. Never will be.

Felix looked on, confused, and maybe a little scared.

She wanted to ignore him, but his panic was practically radiating off him. If he didn’t calm down, he’d give them both away.

“My name IS Ninja,” she said, voice tight and controlled, “because I choose my name. If Prattle-pinch gets to make up names, then so do I.” She climbed down—quick, silent—and held up the advertisement sheet. “Now shush. Look at this.”

She showed Felix the paper. “‘Nettiwiggs: a secure net that will keep your hair on even in gale force winds!’” She looked him dead in the eye. “Bet your name isn’t real either.”

“What?” Felix’s eyes bulged. “What’s wrong with Fizzystyxx?”

Despite everything, Ninja felt a flicker of satisfaction. “Sorry, but—Prepare yourself—You’re named after a bendy straw.”

Felix blinked. His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his green vest like it might have answers, then back at Ninja like she’d just told him the sky was actually pink.

“That’s—” he started, but couldn’t seem to finish.

“—and that’s not even the strangest part!” Dr. Pearl’s voice carried, louder now, more animated. “Three days after I moved in, I woke up to thumping on my roof. When I went outside, what do you think I found? Ms. Plodder’s horse, Bucky, standing right up there!”

“Oh, you didn’t!” Prattle-pinch gasped.

“I did! And would you believe Ms. Plodder was already waiting with an apple to coax him down?”

Ninja tuned him out, tucking the clipping carefully into her deepest pocket. The advertisement she left in the file—she didn’t need that. But the Bloom clipping … that was hers.

“The bit I found strange,” Dr. Pearl continued, clearly enjoying his own story, “was that none of the townspeople seemed surprised. Apparently, all the town’s animals have been ending up in the oddest places.”

“Sure likes to hear himself talk,” Ninja breathed, already scanning the other files in the drawer. Maybe there were more clues. More clippings.

“I don’t know,” Felix said, his voice still a little dazed.

“—Animals aside,” Dr. Pearl was saying, his tone shifting to something more serious, more self-important, “nearly every person who comes to my office has gum splinters!”

Ninja stilled.

Gum splinters.

“Gum splinters? Oh dear!” Prattle-pinch cried. “Is it catching? Have any of the orphans gotten it?”

Ninja looked at Felix. He looked back, his confusion about bendy straws forgotten.

“Rest easy, dear woman,” Dr. Pearl said, and Ninja could practically hear his perfect smile through the door. “I don’t think it’s contagious. And no, not a single orphan has shown any signs.”

Something about his voice bothered her. Too smooth. Too perfect. Like he was reading lines from a script.

“Oh, Dr. Pearl,” Prattle-pinch’s voice went extra sweet—even sweeter than Cookie’s milkman voice—” speaking of the orphans, I’m sure this is nothing, but I wouldn’t be doing my job as a caretaker if I didn’t ask—”

Ninja’s grip tightened on the file drawer edge. She glanced at Felix, then back toward the frosted glass where Prattle-pinch’s shadow moved. For a second, they shared a perfect understanding about how fake Prattle-pinch was being.

“—have you heard about those odd sightings around town? Some children say they’ve seen strange glowing lights in the spinach fields at night.”

Ninja’s attention sharpened. Glowing lights. That matched what Felix had been investigating. She closed the file drawer and moved closer to the connecting door.

“Children have such vivid imaginations,” Dr. Pearl chuckled, dismissive. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than fireflies or moonlight.”

Ninja’s lips pulled into a thin, flat line. “Kids spot everything. Adults just don’t want to listen.”

Countless times Prattle-pinch had brushed off questions about their strange names; their real families. ‘Don’t dwell on the past, dear. You’re Wayward-Amok orphans now.’ Always the same answer.

And now Dr. Pearl was doing it too. Laughing off what the kids had seen like their comments didn’t matter.

Ninja’s hand moved to her pocket, feeling the edge of the newspaper clipping through the fabric. Bloom—

Prattle-pinch was hiding something. Was he? Were all the adults in Spinachi in on some big secret?

Her gaze turned like a knife to the frosted glass where their shadows moved. Disgust. Dr. Pearl’s smooth voice and Prattle-pinch’s careful questions, both of them dismissing what the orphans described.

Time to go.

Gum splinters. Patterns repeating. Eastern territories. Glowing lights.

The pieces didn’t fit yet, but they meant something. There might be a connection between what the kids were seeing and what was happening to the townspeople. Maybe she’d talk to a few orphans. But first—

Metal scraped against metal.

SCREEKATCHH!

Ninja’s head whipped back.

Felix had pulled open the ‘F’ drawer. His grip froze on the handle.

When did he stop watching the door?

“Felix—” she hissed.

His foot shifted back in her direction.

The floorboard beneath him screamed.

CREEEEEAK!

Felix froze again. The color drained from his face.

Dr. Pearl’s voice stopped mid-sentence. “What was that?”

Ninja’s body went still. Every muscle locked. She fixed on Felix, who stood there like a deer in lamplight, his hand still on the open ‘F’ drawer, his mouth hanging open.

Move. Close the drawer. Step off that creaky board. Do something.

He didn’t move.

“I think that’s my file room!” Prattle-pinch’s voice cut, sharp with suspicion.

Footsteps moved toward the connecting parlor door.

Felix’s eyes went wide, locked on Ninja like she could fix this. Like she had some plan that would save them both.

She didn’t.

Tree boy wasn’t built for this. The thought flashed through her mind, cold and clear. He was good at watching from safe places. At drawing things that didn’t move. But here, in the moment when everything went wrong, he froze.

And she couldn’t unfreeze him. This was why she worked alone.

The connecting parlor door handle turned.

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