Today is the Day!
The Official Map to the Lena Gibson Multiverse...read the linking scene below.
After today, I promise to go back to only sending one or two emails per month. I was just so excited about showing the links between my books, that I may have gotten carried away. Thanks for your patience.
The wait is officially over. Welcome to the fully interconnected Lena Gibson Multiverse!
My stories are not isolated stories in assorted genres—they are chapters of one sweeping history tied together by bloodlines, hidden manuscripts, and ancient magic. From the mysterious curse in A Spell of Dance and Silence, to the fast tracks of Love on Track, the time slips of the A Time Slip Novels, the bunker survival of the Love and Survival series, and the rebel trains of the Train Hoppers Trilogy.
You can read the entire connected timeline right now with absolutely zero financial risk, because every single phase is available FREE on Kindle Unlimited. All are also available as ebook, paperbacks, and audiobooks.
Check out the timeline below, pick your starting lane, and start your ultimate universe binge today!
Subscribers can read my bonus scene below, Threads Across Time.
Threads Across Time:
A Lena Gibson Multiverse Bonus Scene
The winter rain over the Lleidan landscape was relentless, drumming against the clay-tiled roof of the villa with a steady, rhythmic roar. From the balcony, the distant, darkened dirt track training circuit was swallowed by the storm. Inside, the villa was completely silent except for the soft, rapid clicking of laptop keys.
Anna stretched her fingers, her joints stiff from a long day of staring at the glowing screen. Through the terracotta floorboards, she could hear the faint, muffled scrape of metal tools from the courtyard workshop. Her fiancé was deep in his element, fine-tuning the suspension on one of the academy’s elite training bikes. Even though Isaac had retired from professional racing, the track still ruled their lives. Running a world-class racing academy meant the high stakes and heavy pressure never truly vanished; it just shifted onto the shoulders of the young, hungry riders he and his brother mentored.
As his future wife, Anna still carried the familiar weight of that racing anxiety right alongside him. The constant worry for the safety of those young athletes flying around dangerous corners at three hundred kilometers an hour was a physical presence, pressing against her chest every time the new training season drew near.
She needed an escape. She needed a world where her heart didn’t race in sync with a telemetry chart, where the stakes weren’t measured in milliseconds and split-second track conditions.
Anna glanced at the open screen of her laptop. A blank document stared back at her, the title at the top of the page reading: The Wish: A Time Slip Novel.
“Come on,” Anna muttered, staring at the flashing cursor. “Isaac can run an entire racing academy, and you can’t even write a single paragraph?”
She chewed on her lip, thinking. She wanted to write another romance. Something sweeping, personal, and grand. A story about characters pulling against the fabric of time itself to find each other. But sitting in their Spanish villa, surrounded by racing trophies, sponsor lanyards, and track layouts, the inspiration felt miles away. She needed something personal to her. She needed a spark.
Shoving away from her desk, Anna strode into the guest room where a few unopened boxes from her relocation to Cervera still sat. In the corner stood a relic that clashed with the new furniture: an old trunk of blackened oak, reinforced with tarnished iron bands. It had been passed down through her family for as long as anyone could remember, a stubborn heirloom that survived moves, generations, and untold history across borders. She’d inherited it from her grandmother and hadn’t opened it in years. She’d found it in the crate delivered from the States with the rest of the items from her storage unit.
Anna knelt in front of the trunk, the cold metal latch clicking as she popped it open. The scent of aged paper, cedar, and dried lavender immediately drifted into the room, reminding her of her youth and the fairy tales she’d read with her grandmother.
Digging past old photographs and birth certificates, her fingers brushed against something wrapped in rotting velvet. She didn’t remember this. Intrigued, she pulled it out and unwrapped it on the floor. Inside lay a brittle, leather-bound diary with yellowed parchment pages, and a heavy, tarnished silver leaf engraved with a strange, twisting vine.
She opened the diary to the first page, her eyes scanning the faded ink script. The text was archaic, written in an eerie, mythic tone. It spoke of an underground kingdom, a place lost to time, of stone castles, forests of silver and gold, and a curse wrapped in shadow.
Her grandmother’s tales of an enchanted kingdom had sparked her first book, A Spell of Dance and Silence, a world where characters had to navigate strict, magical boundaries and silent pacts just to survive long enough to break a curse. She flipped a few more pages. The diary detailed laws that governed chronological boundaries—how time could bend, how a curse could splinter a soul, and how true loyalty was the only force capable of enduring the quiet darkness.
A chill ran down her spine, the sheer atmosphere of the ancient parchment seeping into her skin. “Perfect,” she whispered. She wasn’t finished with the story. Not quite.
Carrying the diary and the silver leaf back to her desk, Anna set the artifacts next to her keyboard. The ancient magic of the diary seemed to hum against the modern plastic of her laptop. She closed her eyes, letting the dark fairy tale flashing through her mind reshape into a blueprint for her own story. She would write more about this magic, this unseen world tucked inside our own, using the ancient diary to format the time-travel mechanics of her novel. All she needed was a witch.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard. The blank page disappeared, filled with the opening chapters of a fated time slip.
When it came time to create a character with magic, Anna paused. She wanted someone to possess a raw, bone-deep resilience and unexpected talent. Someone to link everything together. She reached over and flipped through the old family photographs she had pulled from the trunk, looking for faces to inspire her. At the bottom, she found a faded portrait of a young couple from generations back, their eyes fierce and unyielding even through the grainy texture of the vintage print.
Anna smiled, staring at the names written in elegant cursive on the back of the photograph. Luke and Ella, the inspiration for her first story. Beside them stood a wild-haired woman with an ageless face and outlandish clothes. She smiled from the past, from a time when everyone else seemed serious. Anna checked the third name. Maeve.
“You’re it,” she said, her voice not more than a murmur.
She typed the name into her manuscript, transforming her own flesh-and-blood ancestor into the needed spell-caster for her fiction. She wrote about the characters’ deep emotional healing, their hard-earned trust, and the invisible threads pulling them together across time.
She lost herself in the story, outlining with a furious intensity, unaware of the ultimate, cosmic irony of what she was doing. The characters she was writing into The Wish weren’t just fictional creations born to escape her real-world racing anxieties. They felt real. She couldn’t see the timeline stretching ahead, where those same souls would be ripped from the pages of time and dropped into a cold, concrete underground bunker, forced to use that same survival resilience to endure a catastrophic asteroid strike.
Hours bled away into the evening. The rain outside slowed to a drizzle, and the document on her screen grew by thousands of words. From downstairs, the workshop lights finally clicked off, and Isaac’s quiet footsteps headed up the tiled stairs.
Exhausted but satisfied, Anna closed her laptop. The lingering worry over the upcoming academy season felt lighter now, her mind anchored by the story she had just set down. She stretched her back and stood up. Tomorrow, she’d continue.
As she turned off her desk lamp, her eyes caught on one final object sitting in the corner of her desk—a small, heirloom wooden box that had been nestled at the very bottom of the ancient trunk, passed down alongside the dark fairy tale diary.
Anna picked it up, shaking it gently. A faint, rustling rattle echoed from inside. She opened the latch to find a collection of ancient seeds. They were centuries old, yet intact, completely shielded from the elements. They too would have a story.
She ran her thumb over the carved wood of the box, a strange sense of protective responsibility washing over her.
“Fairy tales, time travel, an apocalypse, and old seeds,” Anna said with a soft laugh, setting the box back down right next to her laptop. She looked out the window at the quiet dirt track in the distance. “If the world ever ends, I guess these will be worth saving.” There would be more stories for those, stories of rebuilding. Stories of love, resilience, and hope.
Her mind spinning with potential, Anna turned and walked into the bedroom, leaving the desk in darkness. She had enough ideas for years.
On the surface of the desk, the silver leaf, the laptop containing her manuscript outline and beginning, and the small box of heirloom seeds sat side by side in the quiet villa. The threads of the multiverse remained perfectly aligned, waiting for the timeline to unfold—from the ancient dark curse, to the high-speed tracks, through the splitting of time, into the ashes of the apocalypse, and straight into the hands of train-hopping rebel descendants who would one day fight a corporate empire to plant those seeds in the dirt. Seeds of hope.