The Ends, by James Smythe (brief note)

Second paragraph of third chapter:

I do not often walk, these days. I do not often leave the house, as I can’t make it too far. My legs ache, my bones ache. Birdie once said, ‘You keep acting like it’s a symbiotic relationship or something. It’s not you and the disease, it’s you, and then the disease has latched onto you. It’s a fucking assault, is what it is. It’s a terrorist, holding you hostage while it tortures you to death.’

I quite liked it, and in particular it’s a rare case of the fourth book in a series where I didn’t feel it mattered too much that I had not read the other three. You can get it here.