Bornface Biology Book Guide

Lena closed the book. On the back cover, just above the barcode, was a small author photo: a man in his late forties, dark skin, close-cropped gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses. He was smiling. Not at the camera—at something to its left, something only he could see.

“Who?”

She opened it again, this time to the very first page—the one before the title, usually blank. In tiny handwriting, in blue ink, someone had written a note:

Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. “Lena. This book is insane. It’s probably some art project. A hoax.” bornface biology book

Not because of its contents. Because she was in it.

“Bornface Omondi,” Marcus read. “Who’s that?”

Lena stared at the page. Marcus stared at her. Lena closed the book

“Yes.” Lena closed the book. “Which means Bornface isn’t my son. He’s someone else’s. Someone who named his daughter Lena.”

The last entry: Omondi, B., as author, as subject, as witness.

Bornface hadn’t.

—Bornface

“I don’t have epilepsy,” Lena said. But her hand shook.

She flipped it open to the copyright page. No date. No publisher. Just a single line: By Bornface O. Omondi, Ph.D. and below that, in smaller type: This is a true record. Not at the camera—at something to its left,