Page 78 of What We Burn

There’s always a cup on the table in front of Odin. Today it’s an espresso that’s untouched. I know what to expect. He’ll take one, maybe two sips, then discard it.

I’ve never seen the man finish a drink.

I think it’s a power move. Everything with Odin is a power move, right down to the way he sits—jacket buttoned, one ankle crossed over his knee, his pale gray eye taking in the room, while the glass one stares through you.

Today he’s in a two-piece navy suit. He must be feeling casual.

“Gentlemen.” Odin sets down his espresso after the obligatory single sip. “There are two items on today’s agenda. I’ll take them in order. First—the matter of Miss Adams.”

Four men go still in four different ways.

“Fenrir has found something.”

Fenrir is a ghost—none of us have seen him, few of us have spoken to him, and Milo is the only one who’s worked with him directly, even then through screens and a voice processor. What I know is that Fenrir can find things in the digital world that shouldn’t be findable. Dead data. Buried accounts. The stuff that gets deleted, overwritten, and forgotten about.

Fenrir doesn’t forget.

“As you know,” Odin continues, “we’ve been running a deep background on Brock Davis since the original operation. Standard procedure—mapping associates, financial connections, digital footprint. Most of what we found was consistent with the profile: he’s a predator operating in relative isolation, enabled by social structures but not connected to any organized network. Or so we thought.”

He pauses to flick open a slim folder on the table in front of him. With one finger, he slides a single printed page to the center of the table.

“Fenrir flagged this three days ago. A members-only platform that operated on the deep web. The forum has been defunct for five years, but Fenrir recovered cached data from a mirror server that was never properly wiped.”

Milo leans forward, eyes on the printout. His pen cap stops mid-chew.

“The forum was called The Lodge. It presented itself as a men’s rights discussion board, but the private channels told a different story. It was a place for the morally bankrupt. They shared intimate photographs without consent. Provided each other with advice on how to isolate, manipulate, and assault.” Odin’s voice doesn’t change at all, which is somehow worse. “It was a coordination platform for sex abusers.”

My stomach turns.

“We identified a username—ApexMars—that Fenrir connected to Brock. Mars was the name of his dog. He reused the handle across a couple of platforms, including a Reddit account we’ve tied to him. The posting history is consistent with his syntax and general profile. While routinely heinous across the board”—Odin taps the printout—“Fenrir flagged this specifically.”

Holden pulls the page closer. I lean in to read over his shoulder.

It’s a screenshot of a private message exchange between two users. One is Brock, ApexMars, and the other goes by SMAN69.

“Stephen?” I ask, glancing up at Odin.

He shrugs. “We’re unsure, but it’s possible.”

The messages are timestamped March 2018, and the conversation is brief.

ApexMars: she’s at the party 2nite. same 1 from the bar. Sent u the pic

SMAN69: the redhead?

ApexMars: yeh

SMAN69: U sure?

ApexMars: positive. gonna follow her home. That’s when I’ll do it

SMAN69: don’t fuck it up this time. make sure she can’t talk after

ApexMars: relax. i’ve got it handled. U good for 2nite?

SMAN69: pics or it didn’t happen

SMAN69: Yeah, I’m good. Call when done