It was a real book—onionskin pages bound in what might have been actual leather. Miller had seen pictures of them before; the idea of that much weigh… - James S. A. Corey

He probed himself like a doctor searching for inflammation. Did it hurt here? Did he feel the loss there? He didn’t. There was only a sense of relief so profound it approached giddiness.

When we get out," she said. "Not if. When. We're going to need a plan. If every ship just bolts off on its own, we'll lose contact. They shouldn't know where we went, but we should. At the very least, we should have a record of who went where. This every-man-for-himself-and-God-against-all shit's romantic, but we have to plan for something past just this.

You think we're going to die?
Yup.
Of this?
Maybe.