Artifact Delivery to Level Minus Forty

About this book:

Jesse is just a freight hauler trying to make rent on an orbital tether station—until a crate labeled "inert astronomical specimen" drags him into a sub-basement that doesn't exist on any manifest. The elevator is bronze-geared, wood-paneled, and drops forty levels below bedrock into silence so absolute it swallows radio signals. The cargo hums at a frequency that aches in his teeth. The recipient speaks through a hatch in a voice like dry leaves, and the air smells of burnt sugar, old paper, and something that freezes frost into gas on contact.

Down in Level Minus Forty, the station's corporate gloss peels away to reveal something older, stranger, and meticulously cataloged. Star charts carved in mother-of-pearl bend toward blank centers. Crates don't shift. Light doesn't behave. And Jesse's simple delivery has just made him the newest exhibit in a collection that doesn't tolerate loose ends.

Atmospheric, claustrophobic, and dripping with quiet dread, *Artifact Delivery to Level Minus Forty* is a descent into the infrastructure beneath the infrastructure—where the company stores the things it can't delete, and the night shift never ends.