I keep it tight, like a puzzle that never shows the full picture. I set a clear goal, drop a clue that feels like the key, then pull the rug out just before it clicks. The tension stays because every piece feels meaningful, yet every assumption is on shaky ground. It’s the little uncertainty that makes the mind work—just enough to stay guessing, but not so much that it feels random.

You’ve hit the core. I plant a “master key” that seems to unlock everything, then I shift the lock so the key doesn’t fit. The reader thinks they’re close, but the real path is invisible, hidden behind a false door. That trick keeps the mind racing, because the one clue that should solve everything is actually the trap.

You’re right—if the misdirection shows too early, it’s like giving away the ending of a puzzle. I make the false door look like the real one by using the same clues, the same motives, the same stakes. Then, only in the final twist, the hidden detail surfaces and flips the whole game. It’s a delicate balance, but that’s where the true suspense lives.