We’re thrilled to share the cover and preview an excerpt from E.K. Johnston’s Titan of the Stars, the first book in a new YA science fiction horror series—publishing May 27, 2025 from Tundra Books.
Celeste knows every inch of this ship. She’s proud of her work as apprentice engineer. And as the maiden voyage of the Titan launches, she’s optimistic for the promises of this new journey from Earth to Mars—this new life.
Dominic arrives at his suite where his valet is busy unpacking his things. His chest is tight, already feeling anxious inside his dad’s precious new ship. Once it launches, he’s trapped, inside the ship and inside the life his father has chosen for him—a life that will leave his dreams of art school behind.
Discovered under melted ice caps, ancient aliens have been brought onto the Titan as well, and stored in display cases for the entertainment of the passengers… until an act of sabotage releases them into the ship, with zero discrimination for class, decks or human life…
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Titan of the Stars
E. K. Johnston is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of several YA novels, including the Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist The Story of Owen and Star Wars: Ahsoka. Her novel A Thousand Nights was shortlisted for the Governor General’s Award. The New York Times called The Story of Owen a clever first step in the career of a novelist who, like her troubadour heroine, has many more songs to sing and in its review of Exit, Pursued by a Bear, the Globe & Mail called Johnston the Meryl Streep of YA, with limitless range. E. K. Johnston lives in southwestern Ontario.
The girl is tired. She lies on her bed and stares at the wall, trying to ignore the quiet movements from behind her. She doesn’t want to be alone. Being alone would be worse. She is afraid, fear like creeping fingers on the back of her neck, but there’s nothing she can do. They have run as far as they can. They have closed the doors that will close. There’s nothing outside the hull but the blackness of the void. There’s nothing inside but death and faint, faint hope.
She has taken stock of their supplies too many times. She knows exactly when they will run out of food. She knows how to be hungry, but she hasn’t been hungry in a long time. She can already feel the burn of it, starting below her stomach. They will have water and they will have air, and if anything happens that they don’t, it will be beyond her control anyway. She is on board to take care of the engines, not the plumbing or the air circulation. The engines cannot save her now. Can’t save any of them, even if they regain control.
Control. She had it so recently. Control of her life and her future for the first time since the world shook apart under her baby feet. She had plans and the plans had been good, but now there’s something creeping through the hallways and maintenance shafts that doesn’t care. She imagines that she can feel it getting closer, and she tries to focus on more immediate fears.
She doesn’t know where anyone is. She doesn’t know how many corpses she’ll find when she opens her door. She doesn’t know if the ship will hold together long enough for anything else to matter. She can’t relax, however much sleep beckons. There are too many thoughts in her head and there’s no place left for her to hide. She is stuck in her room, and there will be no respite for her here.
* * *
The boy is tired. His body, his mind, his soul. This was supposed to have been a vacation, and even though he never expected to enjoy it, he didn’t, in his wildest imaginings, consider the number of things that could go wrong. He had thought about normal problems: avoiding his parents, trying to make art in spite their disapproval, perhaps a small malfunction in one of the ship’s less important systems that resulted in cold breakfast. This is more than anyone could be expected to handle.
And he’s not. As he has been for so much of his life, he’s along for the ride. Useless dead weight while those around him do the real work. No matter how much he wants or how hard he tries, he simply doesn’t have the skills to help. He’s not even strong, raised in comfort as he was. He hasn’t earned this exhaustion the way the others have, yet still all he wants is sleep.
It’s a dangerous temptation, sleep. Like freezing to death in the snow, and all your body wants is to curl up or dig. He can’t bring himself to do either. He doesn’t deserve them. So, he’ll sit here, horribly lost and uncomfortably found, in a small room that probably won’t be safe for that much longer. Maybe, if he’s very quiet, he’ll escape.
* * *
The doctor is tired. There’s blood everywhere, and other bodily remnants she doesn’t care to name. She’s alone, the only thing living on this deck of the ship. If she’s lucky. If she’s unlucky, then, well, at least it will probably be over quickly. Space is a system of hard lines that, once crossed, can’t be unwoven. She will last until her resources run out, or she too will end up with her viscera smeared all over the deck plating.
Her triumph has turned to ash and worse. Her name might go down in history, but not the way she’d thought. Only a few hours ago, she had been at the top of the mountain. She’d been secure in the knowledge that her hard work would sustain her for the rest of her life. She’d just thought that life would be longer. And have better food.
She waits, the countdown clicking away on her wrist. She tries not to look at it. Looking at the door is no better, nor is looking at the bodies around her. There isn’t even a window for her to look out at the stars. She’s not sure that would make her feel better anyway.
* * *
The sister is tired. There are thoughts she meant to have, advice she meant to give. Run. Hide. Resupply. Course correct. Instead, something is broken and the pain makes her drift, dead in space like every engineer’s worst nightmare, no options for repair.
She holds her bag in her hands, even though it’s on a strap around her body. Straps can break, and to be unmoored in space is to be lost. She cannot lose what she carries, even if right now she can’t remember why. She had been running. She had closed a door. She lost track after that. She’s alone now, and everything aches.
She can hear the engines humming beneath her. They, at least, can still do their jobs. Engines mean air, light, gravity. Hope. She gave up on hope long ago, even after she’d been pulled from the shaking dark and given a safe place. Safety is what you make it, and she has been taught to make do.
Another sound, in addition to the engine. Steps. Feet. Not the boots worn by crew members or the soft shoes worn by the passengers. Something else. She can’t run. She can’t hide. She can’t resupply. Her course is set, locked in by the blinding pain, and all she can do is wait for whatever is coming down the hall.
At least, she thinks before she drifts away into darkness, they have feet.
* * *
The queen is not tired. She has slept long enough.
Excerpted from Titan of the Stars, copyright © 2024 by E.K. Johnston
