Hi all, I've been hard at work finalizing Variants, Book Two of The Dark Mirror Trilogy for the October 7 release. I'm happy to announce that it's pre-published and the ARC review is now ready! Check out the Home page for the description and to pre-order the ebook (Audiobook, paperback, and hardback coming October 7, so set a reminder to come back to order if you prefer those formats).
In the meantime, I'd like to offer you a sneak peek at the first two chapter of Variants. If you'd like to be an Advance Review Copy (ARC) reader, you can get a link to a free ebook copy in exchange for an honest review on Amazon on the October 7 release date at https://storyoriginapp.com/giveaways/019f9f7a-0869-700b-b6fa-5d6e7ec5ba59
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Addison’s eyes fluttered open to a hard white glare. Fluorescent light hummed overhead, drilling into her skull. She gasped, drawing in a loud breath.
“What happened?” Her voice croaked out weakly.
A shadow moved into her field of vision. Mechanical joints whirred softly as a droid leaned over her, its ocular lenses pulsing from green to amber as they focused.
“Please remain still,” it said in a neutral voice. “I am initiating a full physical analysis.”
“Where am I?” Panic sparked in her chest. She tried to sit up.
The droid’s eyes flashed red. “Do not move.”
Addison froze, her heart pounding. The sterile smell finally registered, and the steady thrum of the table indicated that she was aboard a ship. Before she could ask another question, the hatch slid open, and Emerie limped into the room. “You’re awake!”
A wave of relief at the familiar face rolled over Addison. She bolted upright despite the droid’s warning and launched herself off the table. The room spun, but she didn’t care. She crashed into Emerie, arms wrapping tight around her in a fierce, desperate hug.
Emerie staggered but laughed softly, bracing them both. “Easy!”
“Return to the table immediately,” the droid commanded, its eyes flashing red again.
Emerie gently pried Addison’s hands loose and straightened her own rumpled shirt. “You heard the doctor.”
Grudgingly, Addison lay back down. The droid rolled closer, its lights calming to blue as it glided over her body, projecting translucent scans that flickered in the air above her skin. The table shifted, rising slightly until she was reclined.
“Where is everybody?” Addison’s gaze fell on the next table. Kylan lay motionless beside her, chest rising shallowly beneath a web of glowing diagnostics. Tubes snaked from his torso into the wall. Addison’s breath caught. “Is he okay?”
Emerie stepped closer and laid a steadying hand on Addison’s shoulder. “He took a shot to the chest. Thankfully, Symone missed his heart.”
Addison swallowed hard, then managed a crooked smile. “I’ll bet he wished she’d missed it the first time, too.”
Emerie snorted. “We didn’t expect that object to turn into the Revenge of the Exes, did we?”
Addison shook her head as memory fell into place: swelling transit points, flashes of weapons fire, the shocked realization of familiar faces twisted by rage. Landon’s ex. Kylan’s ex. Jemina. All swirling in the vortex of a collapsing universe. Her throat tightened. “Where’s Jemina?”
Emerie’s expression fell. “Gone.”
“Gone where?” Addison pushed herself up on her elbows. “We’re in the heliopause, aren’t we?”
Emerie hesitated, then sighed. “I think it’s best if Landon explains it. He’s in the cockpit with the other AI unit, trying to figure out where we are.”
“Figure it out?” The words echoed in the metallic room.
Emerie crossed to the wall console, eyes scanning the medical readouts the droid was transmitting. “You need food and more rest so the nanotech can finish repairing the internal damage, but you’re stable enough to hear what’s happened.”
The droid chimed its agreement and rolled toward Kylan’s table.
Addison slid off the bed more carefully this time, one hand pressed to her abdomen. A dull ache answered her touch. Her eyes flicked to Emerie’s. “What have we done?”
Emerie frowned. “The impossible.”
Chapter 2
Emerie’s Personal Journal – Day 5
I suppose dates are meaningless when the universe giving them context no longer exists. Calendars assume continuity, and that’s gone. I mark time by survival. Five twenty-four-hour cycles, based on our circadian rhythms since everything we knew ended. Five days since we were forced to learn how to survive in a reality that does not know us.
The ship has settled into a strange rhythm. Repairs. Healing. Quiet meals punctuated by long silences. No one says it aloud, but we are all listening for ghosts: old signals, familiar stars, anything that might prove this is temporary. So far, the universe remains indifferent.
At dinner last night, we finally agreed that before strategy, before science, before hope, we had to accept a set of hard truths. Naming them didn’t make them easier, but it made them real, and gave us a framework for our current reality.
First: we cannot go back.
The whys hover constantly—why us, why now, why betrayal—but they are luxuries we can no longer afford. Answers may come later, but they won’t change our present reality. What matters is forward motion. A new home. A new future. A new definition of life that does not rely on where we came from.
Second: Jemina betrayed us.
Writing that feels like cutting into my soul.
The others have agreed to treat it as secondary; a tragic but settled variable. For them, it’s logical. For me, it’s impossible. She’s my daughter. My only child. I raised her to question authority, to challenge assumptions, to think critically. I never imagined she would turn those instincts against me. Against us. Against the universe. She chose to go with them. That is the truth I choke on. Karis reached her on Europa, and I was too blind to see the fracture forming. I replay every conversation now, every hesitation I ignored, every moment I told myself she was fine. That error carries catastrophic consequences. I should have known better. There is no excuse for me to make such a critical miscalculation with my own child.
Somehow, I have to find a way to forgive both of us.
I hope she is still alive. I need her to be. Not just because she’s my daughter, but because I can’t survive this new reality without understanding why she made that choice. I need to face her. I need to hear her truth, even if it destroys what’s left of mine.
Third: we are not alone.
There are potentially at least three others out there — Karis, Symone, and Jemina — and they hold knowledge we do not. They may have been killed in the incident that threw us here, but I doubt it. Something about the way they were able to transport off that ship seemed calculated and intentional. At any rate, they believe we are dead, which may be our only advantage. The way they lured us into the trap by weaponizing the transverse network proves they can move through space and time with an ease we barely comprehend. They are already using that knowledge against us.
We must prepare for another encounter. Negotiation is the hope. Survival may demand something harsher. I don’t like the version of myself that thought introduces, but I can feel it forming anyway.
Fourth: we cannot survive where we are.
This universe is too young, too empty, and too hostile to sustain us. Whatever clues they left behind—energy signatures, temporal code, anomalies in the physics—we must find and study them. Travel through universes, through space and time, is no longer theoretical. It is the key to survival, and ignorance will kill us faster than any weapon.
Fifth: our universe is dead, and we are contamination.
We will disrupt everywhere we go. We will introduce knowledge, technology, and history that does not belong. To survive ethically (if that word still applies), we must minimize our impact. That likely means finding universes where we never existed, or settling into young realities before recordkeeping and scientific frameworks are robust enough to expose us.
We are refugees with DNA that rewrites reality.
These truths have changed everything I believed about purpose, discovery, and responsibility. There is no time to grieve properly. No time for careful, methodical science. Survival demands improvisation.
We are fortunate to have the shuttle. Landon’s reconfiguration of the 4D printer into a crude replicator has bought us time - food, clothing, basic supplies - but time is all it has bought us. Resources will run out. Systems will degrade. Even our AI droids will need updating, and doing so without detection may be as dangerous as doing nothing at all.
We must find a universe where replenishment is possible, where we can hide long enough to adapt. And still, beneath every calculation and every contingency, I come back to Jemina.
I know it’s irrational. Chasing the snake that bit you instead of finding the antidote rarely ends well, but she is my constant variable in an unresolved equation. Understanding her choice feels as essential to my survival as food or air.
In this impossible reality, where the multiverse is no longer theory and strings bind entire universes together, that need remains stubbornly human.
I need to know why.
In the meantime, I'd like to offer you a sneak peek at the first two chapter of Variants. If you'd like to be an Advance Review Copy (ARC) reader, you can get a link to a free ebook copy in exchange for an honest review on Amazon on the October 7 release date at https://storyoriginapp.com/giveaways/019f9f7a-0869-700b-b6fa-5d6e7ec5ba59
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Addison’s eyes fluttered open to a hard white glare. Fluorescent light hummed overhead, drilling into her skull. She gasped, drawing in a loud breath.
“What happened?” Her voice croaked out weakly.
A shadow moved into her field of vision. Mechanical joints whirred softly as a droid leaned over her, its ocular lenses pulsing from green to amber as they focused.
“Please remain still,” it said in a neutral voice. “I am initiating a full physical analysis.”
“Where am I?” Panic sparked in her chest. She tried to sit up.
The droid’s eyes flashed red. “Do not move.”
Addison froze, her heart pounding. The sterile smell finally registered, and the steady thrum of the table indicated that she was aboard a ship. Before she could ask another question, the hatch slid open, and Emerie limped into the room. “You’re awake!”
A wave of relief at the familiar face rolled over Addison. She bolted upright despite the droid’s warning and launched herself off the table. The room spun, but she didn’t care. She crashed into Emerie, arms wrapping tight around her in a fierce, desperate hug.
Emerie staggered but laughed softly, bracing them both. “Easy!”
“Return to the table immediately,” the droid commanded, its eyes flashing red again.
Emerie gently pried Addison’s hands loose and straightened her own rumpled shirt. “You heard the doctor.”
Grudgingly, Addison lay back down. The droid rolled closer, its lights calming to blue as it glided over her body, projecting translucent scans that flickered in the air above her skin. The table shifted, rising slightly until she was reclined.
“Where is everybody?” Addison’s gaze fell on the next table. Kylan lay motionless beside her, chest rising shallowly beneath a web of glowing diagnostics. Tubes snaked from his torso into the wall. Addison’s breath caught. “Is he okay?”
Emerie stepped closer and laid a steadying hand on Addison’s shoulder. “He took a shot to the chest. Thankfully, Symone missed his heart.”
Addison swallowed hard, then managed a crooked smile. “I’ll bet he wished she’d missed it the first time, too.”
Emerie snorted. “We didn’t expect that object to turn into the Revenge of the Exes, did we?”
Addison shook her head as memory fell into place: swelling transit points, flashes of weapons fire, the shocked realization of familiar faces twisted by rage. Landon’s ex. Kylan’s ex. Jemina. All swirling in the vortex of a collapsing universe. Her throat tightened. “Where’s Jemina?”
Emerie’s expression fell. “Gone.”
“Gone where?” Addison pushed herself up on her elbows. “We’re in the heliopause, aren’t we?”
Emerie hesitated, then sighed. “I think it’s best if Landon explains it. He’s in the cockpit with the other AI unit, trying to figure out where we are.”
“Figure it out?” The words echoed in the metallic room.
Emerie crossed to the wall console, eyes scanning the medical readouts the droid was transmitting. “You need food and more rest so the nanotech can finish repairing the internal damage, but you’re stable enough to hear what’s happened.”
The droid chimed its agreement and rolled toward Kylan’s table.
Addison slid off the bed more carefully this time, one hand pressed to her abdomen. A dull ache answered her touch. Her eyes flicked to Emerie’s. “What have we done?”
Emerie frowned. “The impossible.”
Chapter 2
Emerie’s Personal Journal – Day 5
I suppose dates are meaningless when the universe giving them context no longer exists. Calendars assume continuity, and that’s gone. I mark time by survival. Five twenty-four-hour cycles, based on our circadian rhythms since everything we knew ended. Five days since we were forced to learn how to survive in a reality that does not know us.
The ship has settled into a strange rhythm. Repairs. Healing. Quiet meals punctuated by long silences. No one says it aloud, but we are all listening for ghosts: old signals, familiar stars, anything that might prove this is temporary. So far, the universe remains indifferent.
At dinner last night, we finally agreed that before strategy, before science, before hope, we had to accept a set of hard truths. Naming them didn’t make them easier, but it made them real, and gave us a framework for our current reality.
First: we cannot go back.
The whys hover constantly—why us, why now, why betrayal—but they are luxuries we can no longer afford. Answers may come later, but they won’t change our present reality. What matters is forward motion. A new home. A new future. A new definition of life that does not rely on where we came from.
Second: Jemina betrayed us.
Writing that feels like cutting into my soul.
The others have agreed to treat it as secondary; a tragic but settled variable. For them, it’s logical. For me, it’s impossible. She’s my daughter. My only child. I raised her to question authority, to challenge assumptions, to think critically. I never imagined she would turn those instincts against me. Against us. Against the universe. She chose to go with them. That is the truth I choke on. Karis reached her on Europa, and I was too blind to see the fracture forming. I replay every conversation now, every hesitation I ignored, every moment I told myself she was fine. That error carries catastrophic consequences. I should have known better. There is no excuse for me to make such a critical miscalculation with my own child.
Somehow, I have to find a way to forgive both of us.
I hope she is still alive. I need her to be. Not just because she’s my daughter, but because I can’t survive this new reality without understanding why she made that choice. I need to face her. I need to hear her truth, even if it destroys what’s left of mine.
Third: we are not alone.
There are potentially at least three others out there — Karis, Symone, and Jemina — and they hold knowledge we do not. They may have been killed in the incident that threw us here, but I doubt it. Something about the way they were able to transport off that ship seemed calculated and intentional. At any rate, they believe we are dead, which may be our only advantage. The way they lured us into the trap by weaponizing the transverse network proves they can move through space and time with an ease we barely comprehend. They are already using that knowledge against us.
We must prepare for another encounter. Negotiation is the hope. Survival may demand something harsher. I don’t like the version of myself that thought introduces, but I can feel it forming anyway.
Fourth: we cannot survive where we are.
This universe is too young, too empty, and too hostile to sustain us. Whatever clues they left behind—energy signatures, temporal code, anomalies in the physics—we must find and study them. Travel through universes, through space and time, is no longer theoretical. It is the key to survival, and ignorance will kill us faster than any weapon.
Fifth: our universe is dead, and we are contamination.
We will disrupt everywhere we go. We will introduce knowledge, technology, and history that does not belong. To survive ethically (if that word still applies), we must minimize our impact. That likely means finding universes where we never existed, or settling into young realities before recordkeeping and scientific frameworks are robust enough to expose us.
We are refugees with DNA that rewrites reality.
These truths have changed everything I believed about purpose, discovery, and responsibility. There is no time to grieve properly. No time for careful, methodical science. Survival demands improvisation.
We are fortunate to have the shuttle. Landon’s reconfiguration of the 4D printer into a crude replicator has bought us time - food, clothing, basic supplies - but time is all it has bought us. Resources will run out. Systems will degrade. Even our AI droids will need updating, and doing so without detection may be as dangerous as doing nothing at all.
We must find a universe where replenishment is possible, where we can hide long enough to adapt. And still, beneath every calculation and every contingency, I come back to Jemina.
I know it’s irrational. Chasing the snake that bit you instead of finding the antidote rarely ends well, but she is my constant variable in an unresolved equation. Understanding her choice feels as essential to my survival as food or air.
In this impossible reality, where the multiverse is no longer theory and strings bind entire universes together, that need remains stubbornly human.
I need to know why.
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