Hey, maybe stop sprinting alone toward violent suspects with zero backup and the survival instincts of a raccoon in a parking lot.
I just finished listening to Without Remorse by Ava Strong, and I have officially downgraded this one from “solid commute entertainment” to “why is nobody in this department filing paperwork about her behavior?”
This became what I call a commute-only audiobook. You know the type...interesting enough to keep playing during traffic, but not compelling enough to make you sit in the driveway for ten extra minutes pretending you “just need to hear one more chapter.”
The story itself was decent. A lunatic is turning women into metal sculptures. Horrifying premise. It moved quickly, the mystery kept me mildly interested, and there was enough action to hold my attention during the drive. Unfortunately, the main character spent the entire book making decisions that felt less like trained-investigator behavior and more like a raccoon frantically sprinting toward danger because it saw something shiny.
Every single time she got a lead, she immediately charged after it without waiting for backup. Every. Single. Time. And not once did a supervisor step in and say: “Ma’am, please stop running directly toward homicidal suspects by yourself like you’re trying to win a Darwin Award.”
Even her partner just allowed this behavior. No pushback. No consequences. No, “Hey, maybe we should use literally any tactical planning whatsoever.” The entire investigative team started feeling imaginary after a while.
The real problem is that once a thriller loses procedural credibility, it starts losing tension too. Instead of thinking: “Oh no, how will she survive this?” you start thinking: “Okay, what convenient miracle is about to save her now?” And this book loved convenient miracles.
At one point, our plot-armored heroine goes up against the gigantic villain described as basically seven feet tall and four hundred pounds of pure nightmare fuel. But don’t worry. She escapes because she bites him.
Ummm... No.
I can absolutely suspend disbelief for a thriller. I read thrillers constantly. But there’s a difference between exciting and unconvincing. If your main character survives solely because the plot wraps them in bubble wrap every chapter, eventually the danger stops feeling dangerous.
So where did I land? Probably a 3-star read on my snarky rating scale.
It wasn’t terrible. I wasn’t bored. It kept me reasonably entertained during my commute. But it also made me roll my eyes often enough that I probably burned calories.
