The Midnight Gang Page

He tapped his chest, just over his heart.

“Better,” said Tom. “A wish.”

“Get up,” he whispered. “You’re coming with us.” The Midnight Gang

When they returned him to his pillow and crept back to their own beds, Leo felt something he hadn’t felt since the accident: a warm, electric spark in his chest. Not magic, exactly. But close.

Their leader was a wiry, sharp-eyed boy named Tom, who had been a resident of the third-floor long-term ward for eleven months—long enough to know which floorboards groaned and which door locks were broken. His lieutenants were Molly, a girl with a cloud of frizzy hair and a plaster cast on her left leg, and Raj, a quiet, watchful boy who hadn’t spoken a word since his operation, but who could pick any lock in the building with a bent paperclip and a calm focus. He tapped his chest, just over his heart

In the hushed, cavernous halls of St. Willow’s Hospital for Children, the day was ruled by fluorescent lights, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes, and the brisk, efficient kindness of nurses. But when the clock struck eleven and the last visitor was gently ushered out, the building transformed. The corridors, emptied of parents and consultants, seemed to breathe a different air—one thick with the scent of antiseptic and secrets.

And somewhere, in a quiet ward on the third floor, Tom, Molly, and Raj were already planning their next adventure—waiting for another lost child to find them, and for the clock to strike eleven. “You’re coming with us

“I can’t,” Leo stammered. “I’m supposed to rest.”

Because the Midnight Gang wasn’t a place. It was a promise: No one fights the night alone.

The newest member was a terrified, homesick boy named Leo. He had arrived that morning with a concussion and a broken wrist, convinced that hospitals were places where you went to be bored, poked, and forgotten.