If Hive was the spark that lit D.L. Orton’s dystopian, time-tangled universe, Jump is the wildfire that follows—hotter, messier, and impossible to look away from. The second installment throws you straight into the chaos without a safety net, expanding the world in ways that are bolder, darker, and more emotionally charged.
Where Hive built its tension on impending collapse, Jump plunges us into the aftermath. The multiverse is crumpling in on itself, the timelines are misfiring, and humanity’s last shot at salvation lies buried in a half-drowned skyscraper—if it hasn’t already imploded. It’s the kind of high-concept premise that could easily spiral into confusion, but Orton roots it in the raw, beating hearts of her characters.
Diego’s storyline hits like a punch to the gut. He wakes up battered, accused of crimes he may or may not have committed, and forced to piece together both his memory and the remnants of a world gone sideways. His chapters thrum with claustrophobic urgency—every revelation tilts the timeline a degree off-center, and you feel the ground shifting with him.
Isabel’s arc is just as tense but cuts deeper emotionally. Trapped in a biodome run by someone she once trusted, she has to confront the nightmare her innovations have become. Her bees—those tiny, brilliant creations meant to heal the planet—have been twisted into instruments of annihilation. Isabel’s quiet resilience, rage, and grit give the book its emotional spine, especially as she navigates a world where hope is a far thinner resource than air.
And then there’s Madders. The AI is back—acerbic, earnest, infuriatingly logical—and his logs continue to be some of the smartest, funniest, and most poignant moments in the book. Old allies return, new threats emerge, and the ensemble expands in a way that makes the world feel both larger and more claustrophobic at the same time.
Orton maintains her signature blend of scientific imagination and character-driven storytelling, but Jump feels sharper and more kinetic than its predecessor. The pacing rarely lets up—twist after twist ricochets through the narrative, and the stakes aren’t just high, they’re multiversal. Yet, despite the scale, the story never loses sight of the small, human moments: a shared look, a broken memory, a stubborn flicker of hope.
If there’s a challenge to the reading experience, it’s the sheer density of everything happening at once. The collapsed timelines, fractured realities, and interconnected plotlines demand attention. But for readers who love immersive sci-fi that trusts them to keep up, this complexity is part of the thrill.
By the end, Jump leaves you breathless, a little devastated, and desperate for Dome, the next chapter in this unraveling tapestry of love, loss, and quantum catastrophe. It’s a sequel that not only lives up to Hive, but fearlessly broadens the horizon—proving once again that Orton is at her best when she’s balancing big ideas with bigger feelings.
Smart, suspenseful, and deeply human, Jump cements the Madders of Time series as a standout in time-travel fiction. If Hive hooked you, Jump will leave claw marks.