Page 148 of What We Burn

Interesting.

Holden stands, adjusting his jacket. Nods once at the three of them and walks toward the bar, where he orders a coffee he won’t drink because it’s part of the exit routine. He’s buying me time. Making his departure look unhurried while I finish the last of the data pull.

I check my screen. Chris’s phone is at 94% cloned. Darren’s is at 97%. Jake’s is lagging at 71%, but I’ve got his texts, his photos, and most of his apps.

And that’s when I see it.

Buried in Jake’s app drawer there’s a small black icon with the white outline of a kennel and a padlock across the door—which, considering this guy doesn’t have any pictures of pets, seems off.

I switch to my laptop. The app doesn’t show up in any standard app store search. It’s not on Google Play. It’s not on the App Store. It’s not anywhere I can search on a regular network. No. This app has been sideloaded, which means someone sent Jake the installation file directly.

My gut drops.

I tap it.

A login screen appears. Username. Password. No recovery option, terms of service, or branding beyond a name at the top.

The Kennel.

The name catches.

Brock’s cloned phone had that dog-training group chat—the one I dismissed until The Lodge made me go back and read it properly. Breeds. Temperaments. Breaking stubborn bitches. None of it had been about dogs.

That forum Fenrir found, the Lodge, showed us men sharing women and abuse tactics online. Then it disappeared, and we suspected its users had moved somewhere harder to reach.

Now one of Tyler’s friends has an encrypted app called The Kennel.

It isn’t proof.

But it’s one hell of a coincidence.

At the bottom of the screen, a single line appears.

By invitation only.

“Shit.”

There’s no saved login info inside the device, and no way I can see to force my way past this login screen. Whatever’s inside is locked down tighter than a nun’s pussy. I can see the file size—it’s substantial, which means content. Stored data. Cached messages or media or both. But I can’t crack the encryption here, not on a phone screen in a sports bar with a Coke going warm beside me.

I need Fenrir.

As soon as the phones have finished cloning, I save a snapshot of the app architecture, the encryption headers, and every piece of metadata I can scrape without triggering any security protocols. Then I package the whole dump—all three phones, flagged and sorted—and route it through my secure relay to Fenrir’s server.

Holden’s still at the bar. His coffee has arrived. He stirs it once, doesn’t drink, and catches my eye in the mirror behind the bottles.

I give him a single nod. All three phones are cloned, and I now have ongoing access to the lives of these fuckers. We’ve got what we need.

He sets money on the bar and leaves first. I wait ninety seconds, then close my laptop, kill the rig, and stuff everything into my backpack. Everyone’s phones will reconnect to their carrier signals within seconds. Nobody will notice a gap.

I’m amazing at this. Nobody ever notices a gap.

I slide off the stool and walk past their booth on my way out. Chris is talking low to Darren, his hand cupped around his mouth like he’s worried the walls have ears. Jake is sitting apart from them, rigid, staring at his phone.

Jake lifts his head as I pass. Our eyes meet for less than a second before he looks back down at his phone, completely dismissing me. There’s nothing in his face. No recognition or suspicion that a man just walked past him with a mirror image of his entire digital life in a backpack.

I push through the door and the night air hits me.

Holden is in his car at the far end of the lot, engine running, lights off. I climb in.