"The Darkest Hour," the latest offering from Katherine Howell, manages to be both more polished than its predecessor and plagued by familiar shortcomings, resulting in a middling experience. While the narrative exhibits signs of maturation, it struggles to fully escape the gravitational pull of its flaws, leading to a read that is equal parts engaging and exasperating.

Central to the novel is Sydney ambo Lauren, whose arc unravels across a sequence of ever more dubious decisions. In theory, flawed characters can be captivating, but Lauren's choices stretch plausibility to the point of alienation. As the plot thickens, her credibility as a protagonist thins, rendering her more a puppet of the plot than a believable person. Reader sympathy is sorely tested as her increasingly erratic behaviour overshadows the attempts to flesh out her complexity.

Ambitious cop Ella, the central figure in the series, occupies the narrative's heart but remains frustratingly inscrutable. Two volumes in, and she still seems to drift like a shade in the periphery, her inner world left tantalisingly out of reach. Her opacity makes it difficult to fully invest in her journey.

Where the novel does achieve moments of arresting realism, particularly in its portrayal of paramedic trauma. These sections pulse with a visceral authenticity that leaves a mark, capturing the harrowing toll of the profession in all its discomfiting intensity. The writing in these passages is masterful, even if, at times, the rawness may verge on overwhelming for sensitive readers.

Still, character development emerges as Howell's Achilles' heel. The antagonists are archetypes rather than fully realised individuals. This lack of dimensionality robs the story of the rich interpersonal dynamics it could otherwise achieve, leaving interactions that feel perfunctory rather than profound. Nowhere is this more evident than with the supposed criminal mastermind, whose tactical ineptitude is akin to a bull crashing through a china shop.

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