Page 163 of What We Burn

The pressure in my chest eases by half an inch.

Holden nods. “The three men live together off campus. They’ve been given a prospective target and told to submit evidence from the party. That makes the assault imminent, which puts it inside the exception Odin gave us yesterday.”

“So the stand-down still holds,” I say. “We don’t touch the thirty-seven active accounts.”

“Correct. Fenrir’s managed to match only eight usernames to people so far—and that’s including Brock’s circle of abusers. These three are outside that. They haven’t been admitted. We remove them before they can complete the initiation and The Kennel has no reason to think we’ve identified anyone inside the network.”

“How?” Eli asks.

Holden pulls a fourth sheet from the packet. “Odin wants a suicide pact. Three men with existing accusations who panicked about exposure and decided they couldn’t face what was coming. Their confession notes will cover what they’ve already done. Nothing about the initiation. Nothing about The Kennel.”

Milo raises his hand, celery included. “Before anyone asks, yes, I can build the digital spiral. Group messages. Search history. Drafted apologies. A slow descent into shared guilt with three distinct voices because I’m an artist and I refuse to let anyone describe what I do as administrative support.”

“No invented victims,” I say.

His eyes flick to mine. “Never.”

Holden continues. “Fenrir will monitor the applicant channel. To the recruiter, three prospects got cold feet and took themselves out before they could become a liability. The active members remain untouched. The platform stays open.”

“And the woman they chose?”

“Odin’s team has already taken her out of play,” Eli says. “She received an offer for an out-of-state training program this afternoon. Fully funded. She leaves Wednesday.”

“Does she know why?”

“No.”

I don’t love that. I understand it, but I don’t love it.

Knox pulls the house plans closer. “They’re all home Friday after practice. No party. No other tenants.”

Holden points to the attached garage. “We stage them there. Alcohol in their systems, engine running, doors sealed. The notes are found inside the house. It reads as planned, private, and final.”

“I can get them home,” Milo says. “Jeffries gets a message from Sands. Sands gets one from McConnell. McConnell gets one from Jeffries. A perfect little circle of nobody remembering who started the conversation.”

“I’ll handle the garage,” Knox says.

“I’ll handle them,” Eli adds.

Holden nods. “I’ll control the scene and the timing. Micah, you monitor vitals and confirm. Milo handles devices and the digital trail. Which means we draw for who stays with Sage.”

“I volunteer as tribute,” Milo says immediately. “No need to involve stationery. I have a movie queue, snacks, and a highly detailed plan for⁠—”

“I’m a short straw?”

We all turn.

Sage stands in the kitchen doorway wearing one of Milo’s T-shirts, black knee socks, and a scowl. Her dark hair is messy from bed, but there’s nothing sleepy about her eyes.

Holden straightens. “Wildcat⁠—”

“Don’t wildcat me. I’ve been standing here since ‘three targets.’” She walks to the table and looks over the files. “Yesterday, I sat in Odin’s war room while he told me I was part of this. Twenty-four hours later, you’re back to planning around me.”

“We’re following Odin’s restriction,” Eli says.

“I know what Odin said. I’m not arguing that part right now.” She plants both hands on the table. “I’m arguing with the five men discussing who gets stuck babysitting me like I’m an inconvenient shift nobody wants.”

“Nobody gets stuck with you,” Milo says. “Staying with you is the winning straw. The entire system is corrupt because we all want it.”