Riley felt neither disgust nor satisfaction toward the business taking place here, nor did he feel the need to stain his hands with the slave master's blood.
He knew better than most that the fat man had not been the cause of the wars that ravaged the land, nor the plagues of hunger that had swept through the region.
He was merely a parasite feeding on the aftermath—profiting from misery left behind by forces far greater than himself.
And yet, Riley understood another uncomfortable truth.
Without men like him, many of the caged souls would have already perished in alleyways, their bodies left to rot, unnoticed and unnamed.
Life was cruel, and every person played a role within its vast, merciless design.
Riley had long since accepted this reality, even if he did not condone it.
With those thoughts settled, he turned toward the cage.
Riley reached out and wrapped his fingers around the iron lock.
