Human Touch

London, 2043. The machines got good — good enough that being human stopped being a selling point. Mike designs logos at HumanTouch, a firm clinging to the idea that people can always tell when something was made by a person, right up until the day they can’t. Across the city, Elizabeth Marsh is trying to hold a government together as the jobs, and the certainties, quietly disappear.

A near-future novel about work, worth, and what’s left of us when the one thing we were told made us special turns out not to matter. “AI is soulless,” they said. What if it turned out nobody cared?