Sadly, this one didn’t live up to the standard I’ve come to expect. The narrative felt clunky at times and lacked the smooth flow and cinematic energy that normally pulls me in from the first chapter. Instead of racing through the pages, I found myself more aware of the mechanics of the writing, which disrupted the magic.

I was also distracted by the repeated — and often seemingly unnecessary — use of the word “bastard.” Its frequency felt out of place and, at times, oddly jarring, pulling me out of the story rather than adding to it.

I finished the book, as I always do with his work, but instead of the usual post-read high, I was left feeling somewhat deflated. Typically, when I close a James Rollins novel, I need a few days to come down from the adventure — there’s almost a genuine sense of loss, as though I’m saying goodbye to friends. This time, I didn’t feel that lingering connection.

I’ll always look forward to his next release, but this one, unfortunately, didn’t leave the lasting impression his stories so often do.