For cultivators, distance was no problem, so long as no array restrictions were put in place.
Raiders from different underground organizations came swift, like gale.
A third of the dud estates were hit first. Crippled men, women, and youths, numbering by the thousands.
The simple ones. Names that would make small waves.
The sort of missing that could be filed under misfortune and forgotten by supper.
Those men were not chosen at random. The traitorous dogs did not need to hunt hard.
The information had been archived on the other side for a long time, not just from the white papers.
They were already copied from long ledgers and watchlists, passed along by hands that pretended they were only doing their jobs.
Names, routes, habits. Where a man slept. Who he spoke to. What he feared.
Too bad they were too late.
