It's not a secret that Charles was a slave, but it's also not a thing he talks about. It's a thing he'd confessed to Jack one night, when there had been a shipment of slaves in the harbor destined for the inland plantations. Charles had stared and then gone and drunk himself into a stupor. Jack had come to fish him out of a fight in the tavern and haul him back to his tent, stumbling and belligerent. He'd wiped Charles's brow, given him water, and said if I'm to be your keeper I at least deserve to know why you've gotten yourself into this state. And Charles had told him, words slurring together, not the specifics but the general idea.

Max throws herself backwards onto the bed as if doing a freefall over a cliff or something. Anne chews at her lip and scuffs the ground with her toe, but she’s still the idiot who takes the leap right after her.

The first time Jack calls Max Anne's husband, Anne and Max both have some complicated feelings about it.

No one overestimates a scrawny sixteen year old who wields his words like a knife, instead of wielding the actual knives he has on his belt. Now, at twenty-nine, men still underestimate him because he prefers to run his mouth and talk circles around them, rather than fight with his fists. Jack's been underestimated too many times, it's time he takes it into his own hands.