Tethered Honor

I wanted to love this more than I did. The premise is great — urban rigging, sabotage, a city in peril — and the opening is vivid, but the story leans on a few familiar beats that made parts of it predictable. The betrayal subplot, for example, is telegraphed ahead of time and doesn’t get the scrutiny it deserves: the friend’s motivations feel thin, so Cass’s moral dilemma lacks real weight. Pacing is uneven; the middle slows when the narrative lingers on atmosphere (which is lovely) but then rushes through some character decisions that should have landed harder. Also, while the technical rescue is the highlight, a few logical gaps bothered me: how the invention scales to hold the whole network isn’t fully explained, and some consequences of the sabotage feel sidestepped. Still, the prose has charm (I liked Gary the gnome and Sir Clucks), and Cass is a compelling technician. With a tighter treatment of the betrayal and a firmer hand on plotting, this could have been exceptional rather than just good.

What stayed with me long after I finished was how the narrative trusts work as a form of character revelation. Cass doesn’t divulge a tragic backstory in a monologue; she reveals herself by the way she ties a knot under pressure, how she flicks Sir Clucks and glances at Gary the gnome as if humor is a talisman she refuses to give up. The author’s choice to resolve the finale through professional action rather than a melodramatic confession is brave and refreshing — it sidesteps the usual trope of emotional exposition and lets competence be heroic. The book balances atmosphere and mechanics beautifully. I loved the sensory writing: the combination of chestnut smoke and coffee, the creak of the skyways, the gull arguing with a wrapper — these small things make the world feel fully inhabited. The sabotage subplot ramps up logically; you can feel the stakes in the groaning of the aerial network. Cass’s invention and the rescue are described precisely enough to be thrilling without bogging the reader down in blueprints. Her final arc — from solitary operator to teacher of a small rapid-response corps — lands as hopeful, earned, and bittersweet. It doesn’t negate her past guilt; it reframes it as a reason to build something that lasts. And the detail that the city keeps its markets, scents, and absurd little gnome mascots alive felt like a warm, human coda: life persists, messy and quirky. If you like action grounded in craft and characters who change by doing rather than talking, this story is deeply satisfying.

A crisp, well-paced action piece. The scene-setting at dawn is atmospheric (the way the skyways throw long shadows is gorgeous), and Cass’s professional competence carries the story. The finale — solved by ingenuity rather than exposition — felt earned. Bonus points for the small, human details like the chestnut vendor and the blinking gnome that make the city feel lived-in.

Short, sharp, and oddly charming. Cass is the kind of protagonist I root for — rough around the edges, brilliant with her hands, and a little haunted. The rubber chicken joke actually made me laugh out loud (don’t judge me 😅). I was genuinely tense during the technical rescue; the author treats rigging like a craft, not a magic trick, and that realism sells the danger. Also, city with gnome mascots? Delightful. Felt like urban fantasy, but grounded in real sweat and wire. Highly recommend if you want something that’s clever, lean, and warm-hearted at the same time.

Tethered Honor is a compact, efficient thrill that reads like a how-to for staring danger in the face and doing the job anyway. The prose has an engineers’ precision — the splice scene, the halyard description, even the friction hitch are all rendered clearly without getting bogged down in jargon. I appreciated that the climax depends on professional action: Cass invents and executes a fix under time pressure, and that’s satisfying in a technical-thriller way. The city-life details (chestnut vendor, gull arguing with a wrapper, the neon gnome mascots) add texture and keep the stakes local and human. My only nitpick is that a couple of secondary characters could have used one more scene to deepen their motivations, but the main arc and tone are very well done.

I fell hard for Cass Delaney from the first paragraph — that opening image of her hanging beneath a café window, fingers working a splice with "a surgeon’s detachment," is one of those rare sentences that tells you everything about a character and her world in one breath. The author nails the tactile, technical language so it feels lived-in (I could almost smell the coffee and sea-salt). Little touches — Gary the gnome blinking from a carabiner, Sir Clucks as an ironic talisman, the municipal poem at seven — give the city real warmth and humor. The technical rescue sequence is the best kind of thriller: you’re not waiting for some last-minute confessional to fix things, you’re watching someone apply skill under pressure. Cass’s choice about the friend who betrayed the crew resonated because it was earned through action; the rescue and her invention show who she is more than any speech could. I also loved the quiet epilogue: her becoming a teacher to a small rapid-response corps felt honest and satisfying, not tacked on. If you like character-driven action with smart technical detail and a human heart beating under the wires, this is a tight, lovely read.