Would you exploit the future to save the present—and profit?
Precedence, the first book in Kevin Jackvony’s Hourglass Trilogy, is a science-driven speculative novel that begins with a breakthrough in clean energy and then steadily morphs into something far more unsettling: a meditation on the perils of foresight, power, and absolute certainty.
The story follows two physicists whose attempt to solve the world’s energy crisis accidentally fractures time itself—not through dramatic portals or temporal displacement but through something far more plausible and infinitely more dangerous: information arriving before it should.
The trouble begins in a converted industrial building in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Ben Kwong and David Kaplan are completing the final checks on their experimental machine, Mabel 2. Designed to generate electricity by pulling electrons from a quantum state, the device represents years of work and dwindling funding.
“It was a machine that could change the world.”
But when the experiment finally succeeds, it does more than produce energy. Subtle anomalies in the data reveal a time offset—signals from one system component appear to precede their cause. As Ben explains, “The power curve fluctuations are not synced up. They are off by […] thirteen seconds!”
In addition to providing the desired power, this temporal mismatch gives the two scientists access to data from increasingly far in the future, which they leverage to grow their company rapidly and lucratively. Of course, they have to keep that aspect of their success quiet from competitors, regulators, and even those closest to them.
So Jackvony takes time to establish the human context surrounding the phenomenon. Ben and David are not isolated geniuses; rather, they are embedded in relationships, obligations, and compromises. Ben is a family man facing financial pressure, while David is an introverted theorist with serious emotional blind spots.
Together, they have the power to change the world, but they also have the tendency to annoy each other. “You’re more than welcome to climb under here and check the sensors yourself if I’m not going fast enough for you, Big D.” This friction keeps them grounded and ensures they remain relatable, despite their monumental achievements.
Their discovery quickly evolves beyond energy into a predictive system capable of reading future information (most lucratively, stock market data). What follows is not a tale of reckless ambition but of rationalized secrecy, incremental ethical erosion, and the belief that intelligence confers moral exemption. And there’s seemingly far worse to come.
David Kaplan is an excellent protagonist. While Ben might be more sympathetic, David is the complex one. He is not arrogant or cruel; he is paralyzed by overthinking and trying to avoid conflict. His internal monologue is meticulous and self-critical, especially regarding his failure to be honest with Naomi, his fiancée.
Naomi’s family history and heirlooms also provide an interesting counterpoint to the scientists’ accidental discovery. David understands “the sacrifices they made, all the tiny, seemingly insignificant choices it took to bring it from the Europe of old to this very room,” but he fails to see how his own choices will echo just as powerfully.
Jackvony excels at showing how technological power reshapes social dynamics. As wealth flows in through predictive trading, the characters’ lives expand materially but contract ethically. David’s engagement party, which is held in an extravagant Boston restaurant, becomes a microcosm of this central tension.
Surrounded by investors, colleagues, and friends who benefit from the technology without fully understanding it, David grows increasingly uncomfortable. His inner commentary—on money, privilege, and performance—reveals a man who has achieved success without agency over its consequences.
The supporting cast is strong too. Karen, the brilliant software architect, embodies pragmatic competence and moral detachment; Rakesh represents bought loyalty and the illusion of control via compensation; and Billie serves as a moral sensor, intelligent enough to notice inconsistencies but not cynical enough to dismiss them.
For instance, David’s realization that he has unsettled Billie with a poorly handled conversation is chilling precisely because of its subtlety. His quiet admission—“Dammit, I just made this worse!”—captures the novel’s recurring lesson: that secrecy increases risk rather than contains it.
Jackvony allows complex scientific ideas to coexist naturally with emotional introspection. Technical explanations are embedded in characters’ perspectives, ensuring they build narrative momentum rather than halting it. The pacing is deliberate, mirroring the way ethical compromise unfolds—slowly, almost imperceptibly, until reversal becomes impossible.
In contrast to much speculative fiction, Precedence does not frame the manipulation of time as empowerment. The ability to know the future does not bring certainty or peace; instead, it destabilizes trust. David’s greatest fear is not exposure to the authorities but exposure to those closest to him.
His silence becomes a form of betrayal, and the novel makes it clear that the intent does not absolve the doer from the outcomes. Once glimpsed, the future exerts pressure on the present, narrowing rather than expanding moral choice. “The future was hidden in plain sight.” Can anyone really be trusted with such insight?
As the first volume in a planned trilogy, Precedence lays solid foundations. It steadily builds tension and cannily positions ethical consequences—not temporal paradoxes—as the true danger. It asks an unsettling question and refuses to answer it easily: If you could see what comes next, would you still be capable of making the right choice?
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