I reach for her hand and wind my fingers through hers, turning them so the rain patters down onto her palm. I trace a circle there with my thumb, smoothing the water in her skin....
—Amie Kaufman
But who names a starship the Icarus? What kind of man possess that much hubris, that he dares it to fall?
All of it—for this. Leading us to a door we can’t open, a password we don’t have.
—Meagan Spooner
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