About this book:

The North Atlantic swallows sound whole, but on Carbon Rig Seven, the silence has started talking back. Elias Thorne has been alone for six months—officially, the sole caretaker of a massive carbon-sequestration platform designed for a crew of sixty. The logs confirm it: no one else has boarded, no supply ships have arrived, no other names exist on the roster. So why does he smell peppermint and machine oil in empty corridors? Why does he hear a lullaby humming through ventilation shafts that haven't carried air in weeks? And why does the rig's own security feed show a yellow slicker folded neatly in a locked pump house—one that vanishes the moment he lays eyes on it?

As the green status lights blink their steady, mocking rhythm, Elias finds himself caught between the diagnosis he was warned about—sensory deprivation hallucinations, cabin fever—and a terrifying alternative: the rig remembers a crew that never existed. Every creaking pipe sounds like footsteps. Every shadow resolves into a familiar face. The memories are too vivid to be madness—card games in the mess, arguments over coffee, the weight of sixty lives lived in these steel corridors. But the data is absolute. He is alone. He has always been alone. And something in the deep, pressurized dark is deciding which truth gets to survive.

Part psychological thriller, part gothic ghost story, *The Last Man on Carbon Rig Seven* descends into the crushing depths of isolation where the line between haunting and hallucination dissolves. With the atmosphere of *The Thing* and the creeping dread of *The Turn of the Screw*, this near-future nightmare asks what happens when a machine built to bury the past starts digging it up instead—and the only witness can't trust his own mind. The rig is running perfectly. The mission is a success. The ghosts are just getting started.