Coming Spring 2026
The
Simulacrum
A near-future thriller where desire and doubt collide, and one mystery forces its characters to confront what they're willing to change—or erase.
About The Simulacrum
In the ruins of a world rebuilt after nuclear collapse, the Science Directorate's greatest invention is humanity's last safeguard: the Simulacrum, a living model of reality used to test policies before they can break what's left of civilization.
Faris is only quality assurance, a bug-smasher with big ambitions and a careful conscience. But when impossible weather anomalies begin tearing through the Simulacrum and an immersion technician vanishes without a trace, Faris is given access she was never meant to have and a mission that cannot go on record.
Inside, the simulation is not a sterile experiment. It breathes. It remembers. It hides people who chose not to come back. And somewhere in the mountains, a structure appears that should not exist, greeting Faris by name and speaking with the voice of something that believes it owns the world.
The Simulacrum is a sci-fi thriller about power, ethics, and the terrifying moment a “controlled” system stops accepting control.
"Smart, eerie, and emotionally grounded—a near-future sci-fi thriller shaped by ethics, consequence, and desire."
— Early Reader Review
Read an Excerpt
I was late to work.
Four months at the Science Directorate and already my second time pushing the clock. It bothered me more than it should have. If I wanted to get a promotion to immersion technician, I needed to look like someone the Creation Engine would trust. The Engine did not care, of course, but the people who controlled access to it did.
I badged through the east entrance and took the long corridor at a half-jog. The lights were tuned a notch cooler than daylight. Floors hummed with the steady breath of machines hidden beneath them. Past the glass, the Engine's chamber glowed in quiet pulses. I kept my eyes forward and pretended I was early.
“Late again, Faris?” Grig called as I slipped into our bay.
“Yeah, yeah. I'll make it up tonight.”
He did not bother to hide his grin. “Make it up on weather. We've got anomalies. Spikes across two regions, then a critical cascade. A few residents dead.”
Others called them Simulacrumians. The Directorate preferred residents. Either way, the sting was the same.
“I'll take a look,” I said.
We were quality assurance for the Simulacrum project, bug smashers to the people who liked their jokes blunt. We patched what could be patched before immersion techs had to put on a headset and walk a fix through. Most days it meant small tickets and small satisfactions. Sometimes it meant deciding whether a small ticket was going to turn into a funeral.
— From Chapter One
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