Martin Singer's Blog
August 12, 2026
A preview to The Quiet Network
The third book in the Gravity Gone Series is well on its way, although I keep making changes. I do want to share Chapter 1.
Angelina sat alone at the Holland’s kitchen table, the lavender envelope open in front of her. The glossy flyer inside caught the morning light like something alive.
IMAGE CRAFT PROFESSIONAL PHOTO
Free portfolio session-bring this flyer. Limited spots. No phone number—only an address on Alma Street and a business card with a name she didn’t recognize.
Her fingers trembled as she read it again.
Who would send something like this to her?
Almost no one here even knew her real last name. Stanford University admissions staff had raised eyebrows since the checks came from Ray and Tessa Holland, not her own account. There were three job applications. One at a tour group, another at a small language-interpreter service-her English was too weak-and a barmaid position-those outfits, wow, too much skin, like what Vladislav made her wear on Arisha. I’d rather take the bar tender job behind the counter-I can mix drinks. The disconnect crawled up her spine. Was someone watching, or sharing information.
The handwriting on the envelope was careful, deliberate, as if someone had practiced every letter. She traced the edge of the paper with her thumb.
Is it a trap?
The thought flickered through her mind. Vladislav, her boyfriend was dead. Buried with his threats. If he were alive, he wouldn’t send invitations. He would send men.
Still, the unease in her stomach refused to fade.
She pressed a hand to her lips. The nausea had been arriving most mornings now, quiet and insistent, like a question she kept walking past. She had counted back the days too many times. The numbers did not change, and neither did what they meant—only who they pointed to shifted, depending on which morning she was willing to be honest with herself.
If the test was right… there would be questions she did not want answered yet. Questions about Ray, and about Vladislav.
She could almost see Ray’s face if he knew — the way he would try to hide the fear behind calculation.
But this could also be her chance. The Hollands were paying for school, gave her a room, gave her a future she hadn’t earned. She was grateful. But gratitude had a weight to it that pressed down some mornings harder than others, and lately every rejected application felt like proof of something she didn’t want to name. A modeling portfolio was not Stanford, but it was something. Independence, before she needed it. Ray would say nothing, but she would see it in his face. Still. It was something she could do herself. Something that didn't come from them.
Tessa appeared in the kitchen doorway, pale and unguarded, clutching her water glass like a shield. Angelina's heart kicked-hard, instinctive-the way it always did when someone caught her unaware. The flyer on the table practically glowed against the vivid tablecloth, its glossy promise impossible to miss.
"Are you okay?"
Tessa's voice carried that familiar edge, the one that said she'd already noticed too much. She was like that. When Angelina was saving Ray from drowning in the Pacific Ocean, she took possession of the situation, without knowing the details. Angelina snapped the flyer closed, pressing her palm flat as if she could force its secrets into the table's grain. She couldn't explain it, not without sounding ungrateful. The Hollands had given her everything-safety, shelter, a chance at a life. But they also gave her their opinions, their plans, their version of what her future should look like. If Tessa saw this, she'd have questions. Advice. A better way. Angelina wanted to walk into that studio as her own person, make the choice herself, before anyone could tell her what it meant.
"Just advertisements. Nothing important."
Tessa didn't buy it. Her eyes lingered on the folded paper, then lifted to Angelina's face. "You look bothered. Bad dreams again?"
Angelina managed a shrug, trying to shake off the cold sweat still staining her collar. "Nightmares. Morning is not good for me."
The words fell flat between them, defensive and obvious. Tessa leaned against the counter, arms folding, studying her. The flyer lay on the table now, a barrier and a question neither of them wanted to name.
“If you need to talk, I’m around.”
Angelina nodded, not trusting her voice. She could feel the invitation hanging there, but the flyer was safer, something she could hold and control. She let her eyes fall to the table, tracing its edge with her thumb.
Tessa picked it up, scanning the bold print. "Photo portfolio," she read. "Modeling opportunities." She set it down, her expression unreadable.
"Sometimes these ads are scams," Tessa said, gentle but edged with warning. "You should be careful."
"I can take care of myself." The words came sharper than intended. Tessa's lips pressed together, but she didn't argue. She stepped to the sink, leaving her cup there and moved into the hall after giving her a parting glance.
Angelina stared after her, jaw clenched. She pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling the nausea twist-a constant, unwelcome companion these days. Her eyes drifted back to the flyer. She turned it over, memorizing the address, the promises in bold blue ink.
A chance. Or a trap.
She would find out. One way or another.
In the bathroom she splashed cold water on her face and studied the mirror, searching for the ordinary woman she was trying to become. Her fingers found the ragged scar on her left ear, then the missing middle finger - old reminders of a man prone to violent acts who still haunted her sleep. The pepper spray went into her purse because Ray insisted, and after a moment's hesitation she added a small paring knife, sliding it deep into the lining where old habits lived. She chose a plain white blouse and dark jeans, clothes that helped her disappear into any crowd, and when she checked the mirror again she almost looked like someone who belonged here.
Outside, the morning air was sharp and cool against her skin. The street was quiet except for a garbage truck rattling somewhere down the block, and across the street sat the same white Ford van that had been parked there yesterday. Angelina watched it for a moment, weighing the familiar prickle of danger against the need to keep moving, then turned and began walking toward the bus stop. She was no longer on the Arisha, no longer pacing that reeking metal coffin or counting the bruises on her body while Vladislav catalogued her every misstep; now the sidewalk was hers, a clean gray ribbon rolling out under her feet, and each step felt lighter than the last. She was not running away this time. She was going toward something.
Angelina sat alone at the Holland’s kitchen table, the lavender envelope open in front of her. The glossy flyer inside caught the morning light like something alive.
IMAGE CRAFT PROFESSIONAL PHOTO
Free portfolio session-bring this flyer. Limited spots. No phone number—only an address on Alma Street and a business card with a name she didn’t recognize.
Her fingers trembled as she read it again.
Who would send something like this to her?
Almost no one here even knew her real last name. Stanford University admissions staff had raised eyebrows since the checks came from Ray and Tessa Holland, not her own account. There were three job applications. One at a tour group, another at a small language-interpreter service-her English was too weak-and a barmaid position-those outfits, wow, too much skin, like what Vladislav made her wear on Arisha. I’d rather take the bar tender job behind the counter-I can mix drinks. The disconnect crawled up her spine. Was someone watching, or sharing information.
The handwriting on the envelope was careful, deliberate, as if someone had practiced every letter. She traced the edge of the paper with her thumb.
Is it a trap?
The thought flickered through her mind. Vladislav, her boyfriend was dead. Buried with his threats. If he were alive, he wouldn’t send invitations. He would send men.
Still, the unease in her stomach refused to fade.
She pressed a hand to her lips. The nausea had been arriving most mornings now, quiet and insistent, like a question she kept walking past. She had counted back the days too many times. The numbers did not change, and neither did what they meant—only who they pointed to shifted, depending on which morning she was willing to be honest with herself.
If the test was right… there would be questions she did not want answered yet. Questions about Ray, and about Vladislav.
She could almost see Ray’s face if he knew — the way he would try to hide the fear behind calculation.
But this could also be her chance. The Hollands were paying for school, gave her a room, gave her a future she hadn’t earned. She was grateful. But gratitude had a weight to it that pressed down some mornings harder than others, and lately every rejected application felt like proof of something she didn’t want to name. A modeling portfolio was not Stanford, but it was something. Independence, before she needed it. Ray would say nothing, but she would see it in his face. Still. It was something she could do herself. Something that didn't come from them.
Tessa appeared in the kitchen doorway, pale and unguarded, clutching her water glass like a shield. Angelina's heart kicked-hard, instinctive-the way it always did when someone caught her unaware. The flyer on the table practically glowed against the vivid tablecloth, its glossy promise impossible to miss.
"Are you okay?"
Tessa's voice carried that familiar edge, the one that said she'd already noticed too much. She was like that. When Angelina was saving Ray from drowning in the Pacific Ocean, she took possession of the situation, without knowing the details. Angelina snapped the flyer closed, pressing her palm flat as if she could force its secrets into the table's grain. She couldn't explain it, not without sounding ungrateful. The Hollands had given her everything-safety, shelter, a chance at a life. But they also gave her their opinions, their plans, their version of what her future should look like. If Tessa saw this, she'd have questions. Advice. A better way. Angelina wanted to walk into that studio as her own person, make the choice herself, before anyone could tell her what it meant.
"Just advertisements. Nothing important."
Tessa didn't buy it. Her eyes lingered on the folded paper, then lifted to Angelina's face. "You look bothered. Bad dreams again?"
Angelina managed a shrug, trying to shake off the cold sweat still staining her collar. "Nightmares. Morning is not good for me."
The words fell flat between them, defensive and obvious. Tessa leaned against the counter, arms folding, studying her. The flyer lay on the table now, a barrier and a question neither of them wanted to name.
“If you need to talk, I’m around.”
Angelina nodded, not trusting her voice. She could feel the invitation hanging there, but the flyer was safer, something she could hold and control. She let her eyes fall to the table, tracing its edge with her thumb.
Tessa picked it up, scanning the bold print. "Photo portfolio," she read. "Modeling opportunities." She set it down, her expression unreadable.
"Sometimes these ads are scams," Tessa said, gentle but edged with warning. "You should be careful."
"I can take care of myself." The words came sharper than intended. Tessa's lips pressed together, but she didn't argue. She stepped to the sink, leaving her cup there and moved into the hall after giving her a parting glance.
Angelina stared after her, jaw clenched. She pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling the nausea twist-a constant, unwelcome companion these days. Her eyes drifted back to the flyer. She turned it over, memorizing the address, the promises in bold blue ink.
A chance. Or a trap.
She would find out. One way or another.
In the bathroom she splashed cold water on her face and studied the mirror, searching for the ordinary woman she was trying to become. Her fingers found the ragged scar on her left ear, then the missing middle finger - old reminders of a man prone to violent acts who still haunted her sleep. The pepper spray went into her purse because Ray insisted, and after a moment's hesitation she added a small paring knife, sliding it deep into the lining where old habits lived. She chose a plain white blouse and dark jeans, clothes that helped her disappear into any crowd, and when she checked the mirror again she almost looked like someone who belonged here.
Outside, the morning air was sharp and cool against her skin. The street was quiet except for a garbage truck rattling somewhere down the block, and across the street sat the same white Ford van that had been parked there yesterday. Angelina watched it for a moment, weighing the familiar prickle of danger against the need to keep moving, then turned and began walking toward the bus stop. She was no longer on the Arisha, no longer pacing that reeking metal coffin or counting the bruises on her body while Vladislav catalogued her every misstep; now the sidewalk was hers, a clean gray ribbon rolling out under her feet, and each step felt lighter than the last. She was not running away this time. She was going toward something.
February 20, 2023
Gravity Gone - The Stone Mystery
The 2nd edition of Gravity Gone, now subtitled, The Stone Mystery, is published in ebook form on Amazon. Shortened, substantially edited and revised. Hopefully to gain a following. The second book in the series is in the works.
January 23, 2023
Gravity Gone - Revised
Just sent the revised version of Gravity Gone to Self Publishing Services for a new edit. A much more summarized draft of version 1. Dropping 20 chapters and 60, 000 words. Hoping for a good response so I can publish soon. New cover and blurb will be part of this new version.
