Duckqwackprep _top_ -

“Congratulations,” Mallory said, not smiling. “You’ve activated your bond. Now the real test begins.”

During the final trial—the —the rules were simple: follow your duck’s preparations through a dark, foggy swamp to reach the floating nest at the center. One by one, the other kids entered. Their ducks quacked sparingly, giving just enough warning to dodge a log or step over a hidden root. duckqwackprep

Then came the clearing. And the sinkhole. “Congratulations,” Mallory said, not smiling

“Repeat after me,” croaked a tall woman in waders. Her name was Coach Mallory. “Duck. QWack. Prep.” One by one, the other kids entered

The ground gave way without warning—no cracks, no tremors. The other ducks hadn’t quacked because they only prepared for the obvious . But Pockets had been quacking about everything , including the tiny, unnatural silence of the crickets near that spot.

But Leo’s duck, whom he named , had a problem. Pockets quacked constantly. For everything. Quack! (Your shoelace is loose.) Quack! (That cloud looks slightly weird.) Quack! (You’re holding the map upside down.) The other kids laughed. “Your duck’s broken,” they teased.

Coach Mallory handed him a worn, golden egg. “DuckQWackPrep isn’t about the quietest quack,” she said. “It’s about the one who listens—even when the world sounds like noise.”