Page 154 of What We Burn

Odin looks around the room. “Fenrir has established a stable mirror of the platform through Jake Petersen’s account. At present, The Kennel doesn’t know its security has been breached.”

Milo connects his laptop to the wall screen.

A black page appears with nothing but two blank fields and a small white outline of a dog collar beneath them.

Milo types something.

The screen changes.

Thirty-seven circles spread across a map of the city. Some are clustered close together. Others sit alone. Thin lines connect several of them, branching and crossing until it looks like someone dropped a handful of tangled wire over the city.

Milo clicks one of the circles. A username I don’t recognize. Beneath it is a list of dates, posts, and uploaded files.

My stomach twists.

“This is a copy of what the admins of the app can see,” he explains. “The main app is a scorecard of sorts, with a leaderboard and discussion threads full of tips and tricks. Much like that dog training chat we found, it’s coded to look like they’re talking about animals. But once you get past that and into the admin area, everything changes.” He clicks on the username and a profile fills the screen. “We’ve tied this username to Jake Petersen. Ole Jakey-boy has made seven confirmed contributions over eight months.” Milo’s voice has none of its usual bounce. “Three written reports. Two photo sets. One video. One target profile.”

“Target profile?” I ask.

Milo’s fingers move over the keyboard.

A woman’s face fills the screen.

She looks about twenty-five. Maybe younger. She’s wearing an apron and standing behind the counter at a florist. The photograph has been taken through a window without her knowledge. Beneath it are her first name, workplace, neighborhood, and daily schedule.

There are notes about her boyfriend.

Her rent.

The nights she closes alone.

A score sits beside the word compliance.

I stare at it until the numbers blur.

“They rate them?”

“Everything is rated,” Milo says. “Appearance. Accessibility. Existing support structures. Financial pressure. Sexual boundaries. How they respond to threats. How likely they are to report.”

Micah leans forward, forearms on the table. “They’re documenting how to isolate them.”

“Among other things.”

Milo scrolls.

There are words I recognize individually, but together they make my skin crawl.

Training.

Correction.

Performance.

Reward.

Sharing.

“They talk about women like dogs,” I say.