Book regarded Mal’s change in demeanor in kind. He stood his ground and returned the scorching stare. His mind raced over the three years he had spent on this ship. With this crew. With this Captain. With River.

Then he thought back further.

Book remembered the distorted face of the shuttle pilot as he died in agony. He could still feel the cold metal of the neuralizer in his hand, gently vibrating the life out of the poor man.

He felt that stab of guilt again, under the intensity of Mal’s gaze.

He thought back to Persephone, how he had tracked them there. How his partner had identified the fugitive with his metal sarcophagus.

He remembered removing the blood-spattered blue gloves for the last time.

Book broke the silence.

“I did things, Mal. Things I thought I had to do. But I didn’t finish them. For that, you should thank God.”