Leviathan Falls (The Expanse, #9)

by James S.A. Corey

“That feels unfair,” Jim said. “What a crew does with its rail-gun capacitor in the privacy of its own ship shouldn’t be anyone else’s business.”

Kit understood that she meant it as a statement of love and acceptance. He also understood it was a power play. The apparent contradiction of being both things at once made sense to him in a way it didn’t to Rohi, but he’d been raised with it. The dysfunctions and idiosyncrasies of childhood became the self-evident norms of adulthood.

After dinner, they walked home slowly. She took his hand, and he leaned against her. For a while, it was almost like they were courting again, only deeper. Richer. Fuller.

She sent it to Trejo like an atheist confessing her sins.

And Jim seemed . . . not tired, exactly, but all used up. Like his fuel tank was empty and he was just trying to coast gracefully to the finish line.