Simba was trying to nap.

Keyword: trying.

Goori was bouncing off furniture in what he called “training drills,” and somewhere in the distance, a mysterious jingling sound had started echoing through the room.

Simba opened one eye.

Jingle.
Clink.
Crunch.

He sat up. That was not a normal snack crunch.

It was the sound of the Lock-Pick Teeth™.

Simba raced toward the mirror just in time to see a blur of fur, a flash of white whiskers, and the unmistakable crunch-crunch-click of a lock being disarmed.

Standing boldly by the cracked mirror, half-hidden in shadow and full sass, was none other than Miss Nibble.

“Well, well,” she smirked, slipping something shiny into her bag. “Still watching reflections like they owe you rent?”

Simba narrowed his eyes. “What did you take?”

“Take?” she gasped, feigning offense. “I’m returning something, actually. It’s called a reverse heist. Very classy. Very misunderstood.”

Goori slid into the scene (literally), panting. “Are we stealing snacks? Because I brought backup snacks just in case we needed decoys.”

Miss Nibble held up a glowing carrot-shaped object that shimmered like mirror light caught in a prism.

“This,” she said, “was locked away in King Whisker’s collection. But I think it used to belong to someone else. Someone small. Soft. Very chewy.”

Simba blinked. For a moment, he swore he caught that scent again—sweet, floral… like pansy petals.

Before he could speak, Miss Nibble tossed him the object.
“Hold onto it, Fluffball. It might come in handy when the mirrors start lying.”

Then she vanished. Just like that. No exit. No goodbye. Just the faintest shimmer in the crack.

Simba stared at the object.

It pulsed once.