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“Mom, no—”
He laughs. It’s shaky, human, wonderful.
His eyes are open. Empty. His hands rest on his knees. Floating an inch above his palms: a shard of blue crystal, humming.
“Who?” Jonathan asks.
The drone explodes in a ball of fire. Clark doesn’t flinch. He just watches the pieces fall.
His lips move, but the voice comes from everywhere and nowhere.
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