The bestselling Sunderworld saga reaches its epic conclusion in this thrilling fantasy from Ransom Riggs, author of the #1 global phenomenon Miss Peregrine’s Peculiar Children series.
The magic was failing. The monsters were coming. Sunder was desperate for a hero, and Leopold Berry was certain he’d been chosen to save it.
He was wrong.
After flunking his channeler test in spectacular fashion and getting kicked out of Sunder in record time, Leopold swore he was done with magic for good—until a trail of clues from his late mother dragged him back in, then led him to a mysterious ring that might just be the most powerful object in magical history. If only he can figure out how the damn thing works.
Now the walls are closing in.
Famous in Sunder for all the wrong reasons, Leopold is being stalked by paparazzi, threatened by government agents determined to get their hands on the ring, and hunted by terrifying creatures hungry for its power. His only hope is to learn to wield the ring before someone kills him for it and then use it to uncover his family’s buried connection to Sunder before the trail goes cold—and the magical world collapses around him.
Because the magic is still failing. The monsters are everywhere. And Sunder still needs a hero.
With loyal friends Emmet and Isabel at his side, Leopold must decide who he can trust in a city built on illusion—and whether the kid who was never chosen is willing to risk everything for the world that didn’t want him.
Welcome back to Sunderworld.
Release date:
October 13, 2026
Publisher:
Dutton Books for Young Readers
Print pages:
480
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Sunderworld, Vol. 2: The Unfortunate Responsibilities of Leopold Berry
Ransom Riggs
“So I’m coming back from the bathroom when Coach Harker calls me. Calls me, on the actual phone, which is practically an act of violence.”
Emmet Worthington had just pulled up to the counter, parting the cloud of steam with a conspicuously empty mug dangling from one finger. He clapped it down and pushed it toward Leopold, who dumped the dregs and set about refilling it.
“I thought you told him you were quitting.”
“I did. But apparently my ‘I’m too busy for cross-country this season and probably forever’ text didn’t land with the appropriate weight.”
Leopold reached for the pot of drip coffee he kept on hand just for Emmet, then bent to grab a carton of half-and-half from the under- counter fridge. Emmet was the only coffee drinker under the age of seventy-five who preferred diner-style swill and gas station drip to fancy espresso drinks or pour-overs.
“So what did you tell him?”
Emmet shrugged. “I gave the usual excuses. Senior year’s about to kick off. College apps. I recently discovered I can read an obscure, ancient rune language, and my best friend’s being stalked by pathologically annoying magical bureaucrats.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “He’s still here, huh?”
“Three and a half hours.”
“Maybe he just wants the Whoopsie Kid’s autograph. Take pity on the guy, Mister Berry. Sign his collectible action figure.”
Leopold almost spilled the coffee he was pouring.
“There better not be—”
“Don’t freak out, I’m kidding. If there were collectible action figures, I’d have the whole set. I’ve already got the Leopold hat, key chain, both T-shirts—”
Emmet opened his denim jacket to reveal one. Beneath a stylized illustration of Leopold being menaced by a Noxum, it read:
I BATTLED A NINTH REALM HELLBEAST AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY EXISTENTIAL DREAD
“You’re going to burn that. Immediately.”
“Hell no, that’s a fire hazard. And this is a priceless collectible.”
“Stop saying collectible. No one’s collecting anything—”
“I’m telling you, selling this on eBay is going to put my kids through college one day. Believe in something.”
“I believe I’m going to kick your ass after my shift is over.”
Emmet snatched his coffee mug from the counter. “Which is when?”
“About an hour.” Leopold glanced at the line forming at the register.
“Cool. I’ve got reading to do.”
Emmet nodded at the folder pinned under his arm, stuffed with blue newspapers that poked out from the edges, then retreated to his usual table in the corner. It had become a kind of mobile home base, where either he or Isabel, or sometimes both of them at once, were posted up most days Leopold was working.
The three of them had fused into a unit over the past few weeks, rarely apart for long, and Leopold had come to rely on their steady presence. Whenever his frustration with the suits reached a boiling point, or their search for answers hit another dead end, or the extremes of his new reality threatened to unhinge him, being able to glance over and see his friends sitting a few feet away always pulled him back to center. Convinced him all this strangeness was survivable.
Reminded him he wasn’t alone.
He took a few more orders. Wiped down the counter. He was in the midst of making a pour-over when his pocket buzzed with a text, and he checked his phone with one hand while tipping a kettle with the other.
ISABEL: suit update? LEOPOLD: Still here. EMMET: And staring at Leopold like a psycho. I’m filing a restraining order. This one’s got crazy eyes. ISABEL: S o annoyign:;;
Across the shop, Emmet smirked at his screen. Isabel, newly armed with her first cell phone and still figuring out how to text, was across town pulling a shift at the MagiPawn, where Norm had managed to jerry-rig a workaround to Sunder Hill’s signal-jamming veil barrier.
EMMET: I’m going to start documenting it every time these guys stalk us. Pictures. Video. Live stream.
ISABEL: don’t. They’ll take your phone and destr ISABEL: destroy it EMMET: I’d like to see them try. ISABEL: no you wouldn’t LEOPOLD: Don’t worry. No one’s taking pictures. ISABEL: we’re still meeting up later right? LEOPOLD: For sure ISABEL: ok. use angels flight though. I saw some photogs by the main entrance. think they’re waiting for Leopard EMMET: lol. best autocorrect ever ISABEL: leopold ISABEL: crap LEOPOLD: Don’t they have enough pictures of me already? ISABEL: got to go, custmr LEOPOLD: me too ISABEL: cusomer EMMET: haha EMMET: Isabel, don’t ever change. ISABEL: whatever ISABEL: heart ISABEL: heart ISABEL: crap ISABEL: how do you emoji
She ended it with an accidental selfie of the top half of her face, eyes wide, adorable. Leopold shook his head, grinning at it a little too long.
When he finally looked up, a man in a suit was staring at him, bellied up to the counter like he was about to order.
It wasn’t the same suit, though. Leopold glanced across the shop—Mr. Military Hair was gone, his table empty, coffee cup abandoned. This one had floppy hair and a baggy pin-striped suit. Stooped shoulders. A doughy face so aggressively unremarkable it dipped into the Uncanny Valley.
Slouching before him was Keeves, first name unknown, the Executive’s favorite flunky.
“Aren’t you getting tired of this, Leopold?” Keeves’s mouth curved into something like a smile, his eyes flat and cold. “I’ve got a car waiting out front. Why don’t you come along so we can speak in private?”
Leopold topped off the pour-over he’d been making and gave the same answer he always did. “I’m working.”
Keeves’s eyes drifted around the shop. “Yes,” he said. “You have a lot of responsibilities here, don’t you?”
“I already told you guys, I have nothing to say. I’m not interested. Do I really need to keep repeating myself?”
Keeves folded his hands on the counter. “After what happened in the cemetery, I understand your hesitation.”
“Hesitation?” Leopold clapped down the kettle, his voice dropping. “Your cops almost killed us.”
“Yes, that was . . . unfortunate,” Keeves said. “I’m afraid those officers let emotion cloud their judgment, but they’ve been duly censured. It won’t happen again.”
Leopold didn’t bother responding. “Pour-over for Brooklynn!” he shouted past Keeves’s head.
A girl in owlish glasses darted up to the counter, her eyes passing suspiciously over Keeves as she took her drink. Keeves waited until she’d gone, then pulled a plain white card from his jacket and set it down in front of Leopold.
“My employer is a patient woman,” he said. “But her patience has limits.”
He tapped the card with a long white finger. It was blank but for a single phone number, the crisp black digits stark against fine ivory stock.
“It’s a recorded line,” Keeves said. “Just state your location and a Department car will come to retrieve you. Or don’t.” He smiled thinly. “We’ll find you.”
Another hand snatched the card off the counter.
“This guy bugging you?” Emmet towered over Keeves, crowding him back a step.
“Nah. He just came by so I could tell him to go to hell in person,” Leopold said. “He was about to leave.”
Keeves had to crane his neck to meet Emmet’s eyeline. “We’d be interested in speaking with you, as well, Mister Worthington.”
“I know. The guy parked outside my house yesterday made that pretty clear.”
Leopold stiffened. “Wait, what?”
“You gotta cut that shit out before my parents start asking questions. You do not want to get on my mom’s bad side. If you piss her off, even magic won’t save you.”
Emmet stretched out his arm, dangled the card over a trash can, and looked at Leopold. “You didn’t want this, did you?”
“Nope.”
It fluttered down like a leaf, settling atop a mound of soiled napkins and wet espresso grounds. For the first time, Keeves’s bulletproof smile faltered. His nostrils flared, making him look more constipated than usual.
“Everything good over there?” Raheem, nominally the assistant manager, called from a table near the front. He was on his fourth break of the day, drinking coffee he hadn’t paid for.
Keeves lifted a to-go cup that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “I was just complimenting your barista on this par excellence macchiato.” He flashed his wooden smile, dropped a crisp twenty into the tip jar, then turned back to Leopold. “If I were you,” he said, slick and saccharine, “I wouldn’t be so cavalier about rejecting our help. There are worse people who may come knocking at your door.”
The card floated up from the trash, settled on the counter, and slid silently back to Leopold. Somehow it was still clean.
“Or worse things.”
“Stay the hell away from my friends,” Leopold said.
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