Jesus fuck. It’s Wileyites. Dozens of them have pushed through and are blocking enforcement’s path with their bodies and large plastic sheets to obscure their vision. I see a flash of familiar purple hair and I’ve just managed to grasp that these Wileyites are putting themselves in front of weapons to protect us when I see the second group. These are dressed like the first, but they aren’t pale. They’re Ashtown. The children we sent away, the adults who managed to immigrate, the ones I always thought never looked back. And there, at the edges with their sleeves rolled up, is Jax. I knew I
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