Wyatt sinks to his knees in the middle of the yard, not feeling strong enough to hold up the ten annuals and more of horror and grief weighing his son down. He's figured it out. Somehow, probably from talking with Glitch, Jeb's figured it all out. That not only were they sold out by someone they trusted, by someone they took into their home, shared what little food they had with, someone they let lay low time and again when the resistance movement was taking its first, tentative baby steps.

Not only were they sold out by one of their own; not one of them had the decency to repay the risks they took, their hard work, by setting Wyatt free. Not one of them, for over ten annuals.

He squeezes his eyes shut, rocking his son to and fro - his only son, his boy, Adora's beautiful baby boy - and begging forgiveness every way he knows how.