Angel's POV
The slave trader was crying. And not quietly.
Agnes had both fists in his jacket.
She was not shouting. That was the thing that made it worse to watch - she was very quiet, her face very close to his, her voice low and relentless.
"Think," she said. "You took him from my arms. You handed him to someone. There was a transaction. Think about the transaction."
"I… there were so many, I swear to you, I swear on everything I…"
"He had a birthmark," Agnes said. "On his left shoulder. The shape of a…"
"I don't… I don't look at them that closely, I don't…"
"Think."
She shook him again. His teeth clicked together audibly.
I stood very still behind her.
I should stop her, some part of me noted, from a very calm and distant place. I should step forward and put a hand on her arm and say Agnes, enough, this isn't helping.
But I did not move.
