Relentless

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the 4.5-hour runtime at first—how much depth can you pack into a thriller that short? *Relentless* answers that by treating brevity as a strength, not a limitation. Kim Bretton’s narration is a masterclass in pacing: she doesn’t just read the words, she *times* them. When Sal’s panic peaks, Bretton’s voice clips into staccato gasps; when the story pivots to something more sinister, her tone smooths into something almost *amused*, like a predator toying with prey. It’s a performance that demands headphones—you’ll miss the layers if you’re half-listening. The story itself is a razor-sharp blend of mystery and folk horror, but it’s not without stumbles. The middle act sags slightly when the plot leans too hard on Sal’s internal monologue (a risk in any amnesia narrative), and one reveal about halfway through feels telegraphed a beat too early. That said, Artinian’s knack for *unsettling* details saves it: a recurring motif of *teeth*—found in trees, in dreams, in the wrong places—lingers long after the audiobook ends. The production is clean, with no distracting edits, though I’d have loved a touch more atmospheric sound design (even subtle forest ambience) to heighten the immersion. Still, for fans of *The Ritual*’s claustrophobic dread or *The Last House on Needless Street*’s unreliable narrators, this is a gem. Just don’t start it before bed.