Philip Robertson

Victorian London hides many things. Morgan Llewellyn hides more than most.London, 1893. When a desperate aristocrat begs private enquiry agent Morgan Llewellyn to find his missing son, the case seems simple: a brilliant young scholar, a ransacked room, and research into an ancient cult no respectable academic would take seriously.Then Henry Whetham’s body is pulled from the Thames.The police are eager to call it an accident. Morgan knows murder when he sees it — and he has seen more of it than any man should. With Isabelle Foster — a medical student fighting for her place in a man's world — he follows Henry's trail: stolen papers, carved symbols, and a secret society obsessed with a power they believe has slept since the Neolithic.From the fog-bound streets of London to the storm-lashed stones of Orkney, Morgan and Isabelle uncover a conspiracy protected by blood, silence, and murder.Because Henry Whetham was not killed for what he knew. He was killed for what he almost understood.And the closer Morgan comes to the truth, the more he begins to fear that the past is not merely waiting to be found.It is waiting for him.