Page 151 of What We Burn

It buzzes again.

With a sigh, I reach for it. The screen shows a number with no contact name. I know the number anyway. Everyone in the unit knows it, but none of us have stored it, because you don’t put Odin’s encrypted line in a phone that could be seized, searched, or cloned.

Odin doesn’t call. In five years of working for him, he has never once called my phone.

I answer.

“We have trouble.”

“Define trouble,” I say, sitting up straighter, one hand on Fury’s back.

“Fenrir got into the app this morning—the one Milo found on Jake Petersen’s phone,” Odin says.

“Shit. How bad is it?”

“Milo was right to flag it.”

Fury is watching me. She can’t hear Odin’s words, but she can read my face, and whatever she sees there has already drained the color from hers.

“The Lodge was a discussion board,” Odin continues. “Men sharing methods, trading photographs, congratulating each other. It was disgusting, but semi-passive. The Kennel is active. They’re not simply talking about hurting women. They’re running a coordinated operation. They share target profiles with photos and locations. Geographic zones with assigned operators. Schedules. After-action reports.”

“After-action reports?” I repeat, and the words taste like bile.

“Detailed accounts of assaults. Written up like mission logs. Filed by username and region. Some of them include photographs and video.”

My hand tightens on the phone. The plastic groans.

“How many users?”

“We don’t know yet. This seems to be a fraction of a bigger network. There are thirty-seven active accounts for this geolocation. Some are legacy Lodge members who migrated. Others are new. The platform has a vetting process. You can’t join without an invitation from an existing member and a contribution, which means proof that you’ve participated.”

“Participated,” I say. The word doesn’t fit in my mouth. Too small for what it means.

“SMAN69 is among them. Same username. Active posting as recently as yesterday.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.” Odin’s voice tightens by a fraction, the most emotion I’ve ever heard from him. “It’s bad, Knox. We’re following up, but this is stretching far wider than we knew. This isn’t one man. It’s an abuse syndicate.”

I look at Fury.

Someone built a system to hurt women like her.

“What do you need from us?” I ask.

“Meeting. Tomorrow. Full team.” Odin pauses. “And Knox. Bring Sage. She needs to hear this.”

The line goes dead.

I set the phone down. Fury is sitting up now, both hands in her lap, her damp hair framing a face that’s gone from soft to steel in the space of a phone call. She’s watching me with the kind of focus she gets when she’s already decided she’s going to fight and is waiting to find out what she’s fighting.

“What is it?” she asks.

I don’t soften it. She doesn’t want soft.

“Fenrir got into the encrypted app Milo found on Jake’s phone. It’s called The Kennel.” I let the name sit between us. “It’s a coordination network for predators. They run operations. They file reports on what they’ve done. Share photos.”

Her jaw tightens. Her hands curl into fists.