Still Here. Still Writing.

The formatting is ongoing — yes, still. Books I through III are moving through the pipeline and will reach you properly bound and sequenced. In the meantime the Atlas stories continue, because some things don’t wait for production schedules.

And because you’ve been patient, here is something new.

A first look at Book VI: Quantum Jump.

Roger opens the boot. Pulls out a phone in an evidence bag, a folder of printed photos he won’t look at again. His hands shake. The Romani king—usually solid as stone—has tears running down his face.

Asdar watches, says nothing.

“Thirty year, lad” Roger’s voice comes thick, rough.

“Thirty fecking year this gorger worked for me. Fixed motors. Sat in me kitchen drinking char. And all that time—” He can’t finish. Wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“All that time, the dirty nonce was—”

He stops, jaw working.

Asdar looks at the phone, doesn’t touch it. “Police have him.”

“Aye. Gavvers got him banged up, init.” Roger spits to the side.

“Seven year, maybe ten if we’re lucky. Then the beast walks out and does it again, don’t he?” He meets Asdar’s eyes, red-rimmed, furious.

“That ain’t justice, brother. That’s a fucking piss-take.”

“What you want?”

Roger closes the boot carefully, like the evidence might break apart.

“I want him gone. I want him somewhere he can’t come back from. Somewhere that makes chokey look like a holiday camp.”

His voice drops, almost a rasp. “You hear what I’m saying?”

Asdar is quiet for a long moment. “You think I can do that.”

“I think you walk places most gadjos don’t even dream about, boy. I think you got teeth that ain’t entirely kushti. And I think—”

Roger’s voice cracks, “—I think if there’s a hell, you know how to deliver some cunt to its doorstep.”

I.Ph.