Speculative HEA: Resolving a Paradox

I was perfectly content with the end of Book 4. Truly. It was as close to a “happy ending” as the plot, the physics, and the uncooperative technology would allow.

And then my big, fat, overclocked brain started chewing on it.

Because here’s the problem: the ending wasn’t just a problem for the MCs. It was a problem for everyone. And I’m supposed to just… leave them there? After everything I put them through?

Absolutely not.

I left a little aside in Book 4 — a blink‑and‑you‑miss‑it “oh no, did we do that?” moment — that, for once, didn’t threaten to unravel reality. Turns out that tiny thread is exactly what I needed. Lucky for all of us, as much as I love building things, demolition has always been one of my favorite pastimes.

So here’s what’s coming:

This August:  Live Studio audio for Books 1 and 2, a re‑release of Books 1–4 with added character art, plus the publication of Book 5 (a co‑prequel to Book 1 + extension of Johnathan's experiences) and Book 6 (the prequel/bridge to Shattered Continuum).

Later this year:   Shattered Continuum — a three‑book series that asks: What happens when a Singularity nine billion years in the future is hungry and has nothing left to consume but time? What happens when it finally reaches the characters in Shattered Hollows — specifically Johnathan?

Because Shattered Hollows asks:

What does the path we’re on look like when taken to its extremes, stripped of political branding and modern slogans?

And Shattered Continuum asks:

What layers of identity actually matter?  

What do we lose when we integrate what we know with what we learn?  

Who is the real culprit behind personality — us, or the environment that shapes us?

All of that wrapped in a plot full of assassins, timeline disasters, identity crises, and romantic arcs that are, frankly, as chaotic as the observations of the six‑year‑old who inspired half of them.

And yes — before you ask — there is still cursing, gore, sex, and ludicrous politics. Because this has never been escapism.

It has always been, and will continue to be, an artistically presented “fuck you” to Occam’s Razor.