Leanna Martinez writes long-form fiction across noir espionage, cyberpunk, and urban fantasy, often circling the quiet spaces where identity begins to blur. Her stories are drawn toward memory, moral ambiguity, and the fragile interior lives of people moving through systems designed to erase them.

She tends to favor slow tension over spectacle. Silence matters. So do pauses, half-truths, and the things left unsaid. The worlds she builds are dense but restrained, shaped less by grand declarations than by accumulated detail — a cigarette burning too low, a city humming at three in the morning, a song drifting through an open doorway and vanishing before it can be named.

Her primary work, Dominion Protocol, is a noir espionage saga that follows Jessica Sanchez, a woman altered by secret programs and pursued by forces that thrive on disappearance. Set against a shifting landscape of intelligence networks, vanished experiments, and buried wars, the series traces how power reshapes memory, and how survival often demands a form of quiet defiance. Over multiple volumes, the story moves through fractured identities, uneasy alliances, and the long shadow cast by institutions that rewrite history as easily as people.

Alongside this, Raven at the Gate explores a more lyrical register. Rooted in urban fantasy and liminal myth, it unfolds between Tokyo jazz bars, desert thresholds, and unseen borders between worlds. Where Dominion Protocol leans toward conspiracies and hidden systems, Raven lingers on grief, music, and the small human rituals that anchor us when certainty dissolves. Together, the two projects form a conversation between tension and stillness, shadow and song.

Leanna’s work often returns to a single question: what remains of a person after everything essential has been altered? The answer is rarely simple. Her characters move through broken cities and compromised histories carrying pieces of themselves that refuse to disappear — memories, loyalties, and half-remembered dreams that persist even when they no longer make sense.

She believes that stories should breathe. That emotional truth is found as much in hesitation as in action. That meaning sometimes emerges only after the noise has faded and the world has gone quiet enough to listen.

Leanna lives among unfinished drafts, scattered notebooks, and half-formed ideas, following her characters wherever they choose to lead. She invites readers into those spaces — not to offer easy answers, but to walk beside them through uncertainty, memory, and the long echo of unfinished songs.