[ Of course that wouldn’t work. Vangeance returns his gaze to the window. Abel’s eyes leave fine pinpricks of sensation against his skin, like needles burrowing deep. Maybe that’s why there’s a faint edge to his words when he finally responds. ]

Why do you ask, Abel?

[ He knows the answer to that. It’s because Abel is a fundamentally good person, sincerely worried for someone who appears to be suffering alone. So as much as it pains him, he can’t leave it at that question alone. Vangeance continues quietly. ]

You’ve said you’re speaking not as a priest, but as an individual. I’ve told you my feelings won’t affect my actions, and I’ve asked you to drop the matter. You’re willing to be ‘cruel.’ So you can’t driven by sympathy alone. Then — are you acting on your past experiences? [ ’Underhanded,’ his conscience hisses in his ear. ’Cowardly.’ And it truly is a cheap move, attempting to turn the matter back on Abel. ] Was there someone else in your past you interrogated in this fashion? I’d be curious to know if it worked.

[ ‘Despicable.’ ]