What the Body Knows an Anthony Canis

WHAT THE BODY KNOWS

An Anthony Canis Novel

**Written by Paul Goodman **

Genre: Murder Crime Thriller
Series: Anthony Canis

DEDICATION

For every Derek Millhouse who saw evil and tried to stop it.
For every pack that finished what they started.
For everyone who refuses to look away.

◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER ONE

The wrench fit Anthony’s hand the way a wrench should. Weight distributed right. Grip worn smooth from other hands before his. He liked tools that had been used. They knew their work.

The Kawasaki’s engine ticked as it cooled. Anthony had his hands inside it, feeling where the problem was before he looked. Oil leak. Small one. Gasket probably. He’d know when he pulled the cover.

“Anthony.” Carol’s voice from the office. “Tow truck’s here.”

He straightened, wiped his hands on the rag hanging from his belt. The garage was warm. Smelled like motor oil and old concrete and the coffee Carol kept going all day. Good smells. Honest smells.

Outside, the tow truck backed up to the garage bay. Anthony walked out, squinting against the afternoon light. The driver waved.

“Got a pickup from the creek,” the driver said. “Police released it. Owner’s family wants it out of impound.”

The bike came off the truck. A Suzuki GSX. Midnight blue. Scratched up on one side. Anthony moved closer.

That was when he smelled it.

Fear.

Not a smell most people would notice. But Anthony wasn’t most people. He’d spent his first years in the mountains, and the mountains taught you: fear has a scent. Sharp. Metallic. Like copper and sweat and something animal.

This bike reeked of it.

“Who’s the owner?” Anthony asked.

The driver checked his paperwork. “Was. Kid named Derek Millhouse. Seventeen. Found him in the creek last week. You didn’t hear about it?”

Anthony had heard. Everybody had heard. Runaway kid. Drowned. Accident. The police closed it fast. People talked about it for two days, then moved on.

He moved around the bike slowly. His hands didn’t touch it yet. The scratch on the fairing was fresh. Week old, maybe. The front tire had a gouge. The kickstand was bent.

“They saying it was an accident?” Anthony asked.

“That’s what the cops said. Kid was running away, bike went into the creek. Happens.” The driver shrugged. “Insurance paperwork needs a signature.”

Anthony wasn’t listening anymore. He crouched next to the bike. Put his hand on the gas tank. Cold metal under his palm.

The fear was recent. Very recent. Not from a week ago. This bike had been afraid after Derek died.

That didn’t make sense.

Unless.

“Anthony?” Carol was standing in the garage doorway, clipboard in hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He stood. “Just looking.”

But he wasn’t okay. Something was wrong with this bike. Something was wrong with the story everyone was telling. Anthony could smell lies the same way he could smell fear.

Carol signed the paperwork. The driver left. The bike sat in the middle of the garage, sun cutting across its battered blue frame.

Anthony walked around it again. This time he touched it. Ran his hands over the scratches, the bent kickstand, the gouged tire.

His hands found things his eyes missed. That was how Carol taught him. “Feel it first,” she always said. “The bike will tell you what’s wrong.”

This bike was telling him something.

The right handlebar had stress marks. Someone gripped it too hard. The clutch cable showed wear. Not normal wear. Panicked wear. Someone grabbed at it, pulled at it.

Anthony opened the small storage compartment under the seat. Registration. Insurance card. A folded piece of paper.

He unfolded it.

If anything happens to me, check the school basement. Third room. Behind the old gym mats.

Derek’s handwriting. Had to be.

Anthony folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

“That the one from the creek?” Freddie’s voice. Anthony turned. His friend stood in the garage doorway, backpack over one shoulder, that easy smile on his face. Freddie always smiled. It was his gift. People trusted him immediately.

“Yeah,” Anthony said.

“Sad shit.” Freddie walked over, looked at the bike. “You knew him?”

“He came in here last Tuesday. Week before he died.” Anthony remembered now. Derek, skinny kid, nervous, asking if Anthony could look at his bike. “Said something felt wrong with it.”

“Did it?”

“No. Bike was fine. But he was scared.”

Freddie’s smile faded. “Scared of what?”

“Don’t know.” Anthony looked at his friend. “But I’m going to find out.”

“Anthony—” Freddie’s voice had that careful tone. The one that meant don’t do something stupid. “Kid drowned. Police closed the case. It’s done.”

“It’s not done.”

“How do you know?”

Anthony couldn’t explain how he knew. He just did. The way he knew when a storm was coming. The way he knew when someone was lying. The way he’d always known things, since before the mountains, since before anything.

“His body says it’s not done,” Anthony said finally.

Freddie looked at him for a long moment. Then he sighed. “You gonna tell the others?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re not gonna like it.”

“I know.”

Freddie shook his head, but he was smiling again. “Alright. I’ll text them. Maria’s place tonight?”

“Yeah.”

After Freddie left, Anthony stood alone with the bike. The afternoon sun was lower now. The garage was cooler. Carol had gone home. He was alone with the fear-smell and the broken parts and the note in his pocket.

He put his hands on the bike again. Felt the metal. Felt the story the bike was trying to tell.

Derek came to the garage scared. Derek wrote a note and hid it. Derek died in the creek. The police said accident.

But Derek’s bike said run. Derek’s bike said danger. Derek’s bike said wrong wrong wrong.

Anthony trusted the bike more than the police.

He pulled his phone out, took photos of the damage, the stress marks, everything. Then he grabbed his tools and started working. He’d fix the bike first. While he worked, he’d think. His hands did their job. His mind did its job. Both working together, both finding what was hidden.

That’s what Carol taught him. “The work teaches you, if you let it.”

He was letting it.

By the time the sun set, he had the bike mostly stripped down. Every part laid out on the workbench. Organized. Clean. Ready to be understood.

Tomorrow he’d talk to the pack. Tonight he’d finish this. He’d understand what this bike was trying to tell him.

Because someone had scared Derek. Someone had killed Derek. Someone had made it look like an accident.

And someone thought they’d gotten away with it.

Anthony picked up his wrench. Felt its weight. Got back to work.

The bike would tell him everything he needed to know.

He just had to listen.

End Chapter One

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER TWO

Marvin Gottershank read the newspaper the old-fashioned way: with coffee, at his desk, before the day began. Most of his colleagues got their news from phones now, scrolling through headlines between meetings. But Marvin liked the ritual. Liked the weight of newsprint. Liked the act of turning pages, deciding what mattered.

This morning, a small article on page six caught his eye.

MILLHOUSE CASE CLOSED - ACCIDENTAL DEATH RULING

He read it twice. Derek Millhouse, seventeen, found in the creek near the industrial zone. The police investigation concluded the boy had been running away from home. His motorcycle went into the water. He drowned. No signs of foul play. The family accepted the ruling and asked for privacy.

Case closed.

Marvin set his coffee down and read it a third time.

Something about it bothered him. Not the facts themselves—runaways died in accidents all the time, and it was tragic, but it happened. What bothered him was how quickly the case had closed. The article mentioned the investigation took less than three days. The medical examiner’s report was expedited. The family issued their statement within hours of the ruling.

That was fast. Too fast, perhaps.

Marvin had been a defense attorney for twenty-six years. He’d seen enough police investigations to know that speed usually meant one of three things: overwhelming evidence of exactly what happened, political pressure to close the case, or investigator laziness. Sometimes all three.

He pulled out his phone and did what he always did when something nagged at him: he made a note. Just a few lines. Derek Millhouse. Accidental drowning. Three-day investigation. Expedited ME report. Check police scanner archives if Anthony asks.

Why would Anthony ask?

Marvin didn’t know. But Anthony had a way of noticing things. Of smelling things, as he put it. And if Anthony noticed this case, Marvin wanted to be prepared.

He was always preparing for Anthony. It was his job. Guardian and attorney. Two roles that sometimes fit together well and sometimes pulled in opposite directions.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Gottershank? Mrs. Patterson is here for her nine o’clock.”

“Thank you, Sarah. Send her in.”

Marvin closed the newspaper and shifted into his professional mode. Mrs. Patterson needed help with her estate planning. Straightforward work. The kind of law he mostly practiced now: wills, trusts, real estate closings, the occasional civil dispute. He’d left criminal defense years ago. Left it the same year he’d taken Anthony on as a client.

Not a client. A ward.

Not a ward. A son, almost.

He didn’t let himself think about that too much. The boundaries were important. Marvin was Anthony’s attorney and guardian. Those were legal relationships with clear definitions. He taught Anthony how the human world worked, how to navigate its rules and systems, how to protect himself.

What he didn’t teach Anthony was how much the boy had changed Marvin’s life.

Mrs. Patterson wanted to leave her house to her daughter but her pension to her son. There were tax implications. Marvin walked her through the options, explained the forms, answered her questions with the calm patience he’d cultivated over decades. This was what he was good at: taking complicated systems and making them comprehensible. Making them serve the people caught inside them instead of grinding those people down.

By noon, he’d worked through four more appointments. Standard stuff. He was good at standard stuff now.

He used to be good at other things. Harder things.

His phone rang just as he was leaving for lunch. Anthony’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” Marvin said. He kept his voice easy. Anthony didn’t like it when people were tense around him. “What’s up?”

“You know that kid who drowned? Derek Millhouse?”

Marvin stopped walking. Stood in the middle of his office, looking out the window at the street below. Of course. Of course Anthony would ask.

“I read about it this morning,” Marvin said carefully. “Why?”

“His bike came to the shop. Something’s wrong with the story.”

“Anthony—”

“I know what you’re going to say. The police closed the case. It’s done. But it’s not done.”

Marvin closed his eyes. This was the thing about Anthony: the boy trusted his instincts absolutely. And his instincts were usually right. But instinct wasn’t evidence. Instinct didn’t hold up in court. Instinct got people in trouble.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Marvin asked.

“I can smell it.”

“That’s not going to convince the police.”

“I’m not trying to convince the police. I’m telling you.”

Marvin sat down at his desk again. Looked at the note he’d made earlier. *Check police scanner archives if Anthony asks.*He’d known. Somehow he’d known.

“Tell me what you found,” he said.

Anthony told him. The fear-smell on the bike. The panic damage to the handlebars and clutch. The note hidden in the storage compartment. The fact that Derek had come to the workshop scared a week before he died.

Marvin listened without interrupting. When Anthony finished, Marvin said, “Have you told anyone else about the note?”

“Not yet. Pack meeting tonight.”

“Don’t mention the note to anyone outside your friends. And even with them, be careful. If this is what you think it is—”

“You believe me?”

The question was direct. Anthony always asked directly. No games. No pretense.

Did Marvin believe him? He thought about the article. Three days. Expedited report. Case closed. Family accepting it immediately.

“I believe something feels wrong to you,” Marvin said carefully. “Whether that means something is actually wrong, I don’t know yet. But I believe you should be careful.”

“I’m going to investigate.”

“I know you are. That’s why I’m telling you to be careful.”

There was a pause. Then Anthony said, “You’re worried.”

“I’m your attorney. Worrying is my job.”

“You’re worried about me. Not about the law.”

Marvin smiled despite himself. Anthony was getting better at reading people. Or maybe Marvin was just getting worse at hiding things.

“Both,” Marvin admitted. “If the police closed this case fast because someone pressured them to, that means someone with power doesn’t want questions asked. Someone with power can make trouble for anyone asking those questions. Including you.”

“They don’t scare me.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

Another pause. Then Anthony said, “Will you help?”

And there it was. The question Marvin had been waiting for since the conversation started. The question he’d been waiting for since he first read that article this morning.

Will you help?

The right answer—the attorney answer, the guardian answer, the responsible answer—was: Let the police handle it. Don’t get involved. Stay safe.

But Marvin had learned over the past few years that Anthony didn’t respond to the right answer. Anthony responded to honesty.

“Yes,” Marvin said. “I’ll help. But we do this carefully. We don’t break laws. We don’t give anyone a reason to come after you. And if it gets dangerous, we stop. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Marvin didn’t believe him. Anthony would agree to anything in the moment and then do exactly what his instincts told him to do when the moment arrived. But at least they’d had the conversation. At least Anthony knew Marvin was worried.

At least Anthony knew Marvin cared.

After they hung up, Marvin sat at his desk for a long time. The newspaper was still folded to page six. He read the article again. Derek Millhouse, seventeen. Running away from home. Motorcycle in the creek. Drowned. No foul play.

Case closed.

But was it?

Marvin thought about all the cases he’d worked over twenty-six years. The ones that went to trial. The ones that pleaded out. The ones that got dropped because evidence disappeared or witnesses changed their stories or prosecutors suddenly lost interest.

He thought about the cases where everyone knew what had really happened but no one could prove it. The cases where the powerful stayed powerful and the vulnerable stayed vulnerable and the system ground along exactly as designed.

He thought about why he’d left criminal defense.

His phone buzzed. A text from his ex-wife: Did you remember to sign the papers?

Right. The divorce papers. Final signatures. He’d been meaning to do it all week.

He texted back: Sorry. Will get them to you by Friday.

Another text: You’re always sorry, Marvin. Just do it.

He set his phone down. Looked at the newspaper again.

Derek Millhouse had been someone’s son. Someone’s friend. Someone had cared about him. And now he was dead, and the case was closed, and everyone was supposed to move on.

But Anthony wasn’t moving on. Anthony had smelled something wrong and decided to act.

And Marvin was going to help him. Not because it was smart. Not because it was safe. But because Anthony was right: this wasn’t about the law. This was about the boy in the creek who died scared.

Someone should care about that.

Someone should ask questions.

Even if the answers were dangerous.

Marvin opened his laptop and pulled up the police scanner archives. Started searching for calls from the night Derek died. There would be something. There was always something. You just had to know where to look and be willing to see it.

He’d taught Anthony how to navigate the human world. How to follow rules, work within systems, protect himself through legal means.

But maybe Anthony was teaching him something too. Maybe Anthony was teaching him that sometimes the rules were wrong. That sometimes the systems failed. That sometimes you had to trust your instincts and act, even when the wise thing was to stay quiet.

Marvin scrolled through the scanner logs. Looking for the night Derek died. Looking for what the official story left out.

Looking for the truth that someone wanted buried.

He found the call log from that night. Multiple calls. First one at 10:47 PM: motorcycle accident, creek near industrial zone. Second call at 11:23 PM: body recovered. Third call at 11:58 PM: medical examiner en route.

Then nothing until 2:34 AM: all units, stand down. Detective Walsh taking lead.

Marvin wrote that down. Detective Walsh. He knew that name. Walsh had a reputation. Good cop, mostly. But also a cop who knew how to close cases fast when he needed to.

Walsh had closed this case in three days.

Why?

Marvin kept digging. Found the medical examiner’s preliminary report in the public records database. Cause of death: drowning. Evidence of blunt force trauma to the head, consistent with impact during the accident. Toxicology: negative. Time of death: between 10 PM and 11 PM.

Everything lined up with the accident story. Everything was neat. Clean. Official.

Too clean?

Marvin saved the files. Sent copies to his secure backup. Then he did something he rarely did anymore: he called someone from his old life.

“Gutierrez,” the voice answered.

“Marco. It’s Marvin Gottershank.”

A pause. “Marvin. Been a while. What do you need?”

“Information. Quietly. About a case Detective Walsh closed last week.”

“Derek Millhouse?”

“You heard about it?”

“Everyone heard about it. Kid drowned. Walsh closed it fast. You asking for a reason?”

“My ward has questions about it.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “Your ward. That the feral kid?”

“That’s not how I describe him.”

“Sorry. But that’s what people say. Kid who lived in the mountains. Some kind of animal instinct. That him?”

“Yes.”

“And he has questions about the Millhouse case?”

“He does.”

“What kind of questions?”

“The kind I need to ask carefully. Can we meet?”

Marco sighed. “Yeah. But not at my office. And not anywhere you’ll be seen. This gets back to Walsh, we both have problems.”

“I understand.”

“Tomorrow. Six AM. The diner on Route 7. You remember it?”

“I remember.”

“Come alone. And Marvin? If your kid is sniffing around this case, tell him to stop. Walsh doesn’t like questions. And the people Walsh answers to like questions even less.”

The call ended.

Marvin sat in his office as the afternoon light faded. He should go home. Should eat dinner. Should sign those divorce papers.

Instead he sat and thought about the fact that Marco—a cop Marvin had known for fifteen years, a cop he trusted—had just warned him off this case.

That meant something.

That meant Anthony was right.

Marvin picked up his phone and texted Anthony: Be very careful tonight. Don’t tell anyone outside your circle about what you found. I’m looking into some things. We’ll talk tomorrow.

Anthony’s reply came instantly: I’m always careful.

Marvin smiled despite everything. Anthony was never careful. Anthony trusted his instincts and acted and dealt with consequences later. That’s what made him dangerous. That’s what made him free.

And maybe that’s what Marvin envied most.

He packed his briefcase. Locked his office. Drove home through the quiet streets to his quiet house. Made himself dinner. Ate alone.

Thought about Derek Millhouse, seventeen, found dead in a creek.

Thought about Anthony, nineteen, who smelled something wrong and decided to act.

Thought about himself, fifty-one, who’d spent half his life learning how to work within systems and was only now learning—from a boy who’d lived with bears—how to question them.

Tomorrow he’d meet Marco. Tonight Anthony would meet with his pack. And somewhere in this town, someone who’d killed a boy was sleeping soundly, thinking they’d gotten away with it.

They were wrong.

Anthony was hunting.

And Marvin—God help him—was going to help.

End Chapter Two

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER THREE

Maria’s apartment smelled like sage and old books. Anthony stood in the doorway, letting the scent tell him who was already here. Freddie—soap and laundry detergent. Mickey—motor oil and cigarettes. Gavin—nothing, which meant he’d showered recently and wore clean clothes, which meant he was nervous about something.

“Come in,” Maria said. She stood barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. “You’re the last one.”

Anthony stepped inside. The apartment was small. One room that served as living space and bedroom, kitchen barely big enough for two people, bathroom with a door that didn’t quite close. But Maria had made it hers. Plants everywhere. Books stacked on every surface. Tapestries hanging from the walls. It felt like a place someone actually lived, not just somewhere someone slept between other places.

The pack was already arranged. Freddie sat on the couch, legs stretched out, looking comfortable the way he always looked comfortable. Mickey perched on the arm of the couch, coiled energy barely contained. Gavin stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the street below.

“Beer’s in the fridge,” Maria said without looking up from the stove. “Help yourself.”

Anthony didn’t want beer. He wanted to tell them about Derek. But pack didn’t work like that. You didn’t burst in and demand attention. You settled first. You let everyone be where they were. Then you talked.

He went to the fridge, got a beer, twisted off the cap. Took a drink. The cold helped. He’d been running hot since the bike arrived. His body wanted to move, to hunt, to act. But his mind knew: the pack moved together or not at all.

“So,” Mickey said. “Freddie says you found something on that dead kid’s bike.”

Anthony looked at Freddie. His friend shrugged. “I told them the basics. Figured you’d want everyone here.”

“Yeah.” Anthony sat on the floor, back against the wall. His spot. He never sat on furniture if he could avoid it. Felt wrong. Too soft. “I found something.”

“The kid who drowned?” Maria asked. She brought the pot over to the coffee table, started spooning rice and beans into bowls. “Derek Millhouse?”

“You knew him?”

“Sort of. Same school. Different grade. He was quiet. Kept to himself mostly.” She handed a bowl to Freddie, then Mickey. “Why? You think something’s wrong with how he died?”

“I know something’s wrong.”

Gavin turned from the window. “The police closed the case. Ruled it an accident. That’s usually what ‘case closed’ means.”

“Police close cases for lots of reasons,” Anthony said. “Doesn’t mean they’re right.”

“But it also doesn’t mean they’re wrong.” Gavin came over, took the bowl Maria offered him. “What makes you think you know better than the cops?”

This was why Anthony liked Gavin. The others would follow Anthony into fire if he asked. Gavin questioned everything. Made you prove things. Made you think before you acted.

“His bike came to the shop today,” Anthony said. “Tow truck brought it from impound. I worked on it.”

“And?” Gavin said.

“And it told me things.”

“Jesus.” Gavin shook his head. “You can’t smell your way through an investigation, Anthony. You need evidence. You need proof.”

“I have proof.” Anthony pulled the note from his pocket, unfolded it, held it up. “Found this hidden in the bike’s storage compartment.”

The pack went quiet. Maria set down her spoon. Freddie sat up straighter. Mickey leaned forward, squinting at the paper.

Anthony read it aloud: “If anything happens to me, check the school basement. Third room. Behind the old gym mats.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said quietly.

“That’s Derek’s handwriting,” Maria said. “I’ve seen his work in the library. That’s his.”

Gavin walked over, took the note, examined it. “This doesn’t prove murder. Could be he was paranoid. Could be he was in trouble with someone and it had nothing to do with how he died.”

“He came to the shop a week before he died,” Anthony said. “Scared. Said something felt wrong with his bike. But nothing was wrong. He just needed to talk to someone.”

“Did he tell you what he was scared of?” Maria asked.

“No. I didn’t ask. Figured he’d tell me if he wanted to.” Anthony looked at his hands. “I should have asked.”

“Hey.” Freddie’s voice was gentle. “You didn’t know.”

“I knew he was scared. That should have been enough.”

The pack was quiet. Anthony felt their attention on him. Not judgment. Just presence. This was what pack meant: you didn’t have to explain yourself. You didn’t have to justify. You just had to be honest, and they’d be there.

“So what do you want to do?” Maria asked finally.

“Check the school basement. See what he wanted us to find.”

“Us?” Gavin said.

“He left the note. He wanted someone to look. We’re the ones who found it. So we look.”

Mickey grinned. “Breaking into the school. I like it.”

“We’re not breaking in,” Anthony said. “Maria goes there. She can get us in.”

Maria nodded slowly. “The basement’s unlocked during the day. Janitors use it. Storage. Old equipment. No one really pays attention to it.”

“Then we go tomorrow,” Anthony said. “Between classes. Quick in and out.”

“I have calculus third period,” Maria said. “I can skip it. Mr. Hernandez never takes attendance.”

“I’m working tomorrow,” Mickey said. “But I can call in sick.”

Freddie looked at Anthony. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah.”

“The cops closed the case. If they find out we’re poking around—”

“They won’t.”

“But if they do—”

“Then we deal with it.”

Gavin made a sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. “You know this is crazy, right? We’re kids. We’re not investigators. We’re not even particularly good at staying out of trouble.”

“I know,” Anthony said.

“And you’re still going to do it.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Anthony thought about Derek’s bike. The fear-smell. The panic damage. The note left hidden, hoping someone would find it. Derek had been scared and alone and he’d tried to tell someone and now he was dead and everyone was pretending it was an accident.

“Because no one else is,” Anthony said finally. “No one else is asking. No one else cares. Police closed the case. Family’s accepting it. Everyone’s moving on. But Derek left that note for a reason. Someone should care about that.”

The pack exchanged glances. The kind of glances that happened when you’d known each other long enough that whole conversations could happen without words.

“Alright,” Gavin said finally. “I’m in. But we do this smart. We don’t get caught. We don’t make noise. We go in, check the room, get out. And if we find something, we figure out what to do with it before we do anything stupid.”

“Agreed,” Anthony said.

Mickey punched the air. “Fuck yes. Finally something interesting.”

“This isn’t a game,” Maria said quietly. “If Derek was killed, whoever killed him is still out there. And if they find out we’re looking—”

“They won’t,” Anthony said. “We’ll be careful.”

Maria looked at him for a long moment. “You always say that. And then you do something reckless.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You always mean it.”

She was right. Anthony knew she was right. When his instincts said move, he moved. Careful didn’t come naturally. Careful was something he’d learned from Marvin, and he wasn’t very good at it yet.

But this was different. This wasn’t just about him. This was the pack. And he wouldn’t let the pack get hurt because he couldn’t control himself.

“I promise,” he said.

Maria nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. Third period. Meet at the north entrance. I’ll get us in.”

“What about me?” Freddie asked.

“You’re the lookout,” Anthony said. “You’re good at talking to people. If anyone asks what we’re doing, you explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Whatever you need to. You’re good at that.”

Freddie smiled. “Yeah. I am.”

They ate Maria’s rice and beans. Talked about other things. Mickey’s new job at the garage—not Westside Motors, a different place across town, where the pay was shit but the boss didn’t care if you showed up hungover. Gavin’s latest programming project, something about encryption that Anthony didn’t fully understand but appreciated anyway. Freddie’s little sister who was applying to colleges and needed help with essays.

Normal things. Pack things.

This was what Anthony had learned since coming down from the mountains: humans needed this. Needed to be together. Needed to talk about nothing while eating food someone made. Needed to know they belonged somewhere.

In the mountains, his pack had been bears. Now his pack was these four people. Different species, same principle. You stayed close. You protected each other. You moved together when it mattered.

Around midnight, Gavin left first. He had work early. Mickey followed shortly after. Then Freddie. Anthony stayed a little longer, helping Maria wash dishes.

“You really think Derek was murdered?” Maria asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Anthony didn’t know how to explain it. The smell. The instinct. The way his body knew things before his mind caught up. Maria understood that kind of knowing better than most people—she read emotions the way Anthony read fear—but this was different.

“His bike was scared,” Anthony said finally. “I know that sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy.” Maria dried a bowl, set it aside. “You feel things. That’s your gift. Mine is people. Freddie’s is connection. Mickey’s is action. Gavin’s is patterns. We all have something.”

“What’s Derek’s?”

“Was,” Maria corrected gently. “And I don’t know. I didn’t know him well enough.” She paused. “But I remember he took a lot of pictures. Always had his phone out, photographing things. Maybe that was it. Seeing things. Capturing them.”

Anthony thought about that. Derek with a camera. Derek seeing something. Derek scared because of what he saw.

“The note said to check the school basement,” Anthony said. “Maybe he hid photos there.”

“Maybe.” Maria finished the last dish. “Or maybe something worse.”

They stood in the quiet kitchen. Outside, the city made its night sounds. Cars. Voices. The distant wail of sirens. Inside, the apartment was still. Safe. Pack-scented.

“You should go home,” Maria said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow might be—”

“Complicated?”

“I was going to say dangerous. But complicated works too.”

Anthony pulled her into a hug. She was small against him, but strong. She hugged back hard.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For believing me. For helping.”

“We’re pack,” Maria said simply. “This is what pack does.”

Anthony left her apartment and walked to his motorcycle. The night was cold. Clear. Stars barely visible through the city light. He sat on his bike for a moment, not starting it yet. Just breathing. Thinking.

Tomorrow they’d go to the school. They’d find what Derek wanted them to find. And then they’d know what to do next.

He hoped.

The truth was, Anthony didn’t know how to do this. He knew how to fight. Knew how to hunt. Knew how to survive in mountains with bears who spoke body language he understood better than human words.

But investigating a murder? Finding justice for a dead boy? Standing up against whatever powerful people had closed this case?

That was new territory.

But he wasn’t alone. He had the pack. And the pack moved together.

Anthony started his bike. The engine rumbled to life. He pulled out onto the street, heading home to Marvin’s house, where his room waited and his guardian probably sat up worrying.

Behind him, in Maria’s window, the light went dark.

Tomorrow, Anthony thought. Tomorrow we find out what Derek saw.

Tomorrow we start hunting whoever killed him.

Tomorrow the pack moves.

End Chapter Three

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER FOUR

Maria knew the hallways were lying before she even reached her locker.

The morning had that too-bright quality people put on when they were pretending everything was normal. Voices pitched just slightly louder than necessary. Laughter that lasted a beat too long. Everyone performing fine while underneath, the fear ran like groundwater.

She’d felt it the week Derek died. That collective holding of breath. But then the police ruled it an accident and everyone exhaled in relief—not because they were sad Derek was gone, but because accident meant it couldn’t happen to them.

Now, two weeks later, the fear was back. Quiet. Careful. But there.

Maria opened her locker and pretended to organize her books while she watched the hallway. Coach Carver walked past, heading toward the gym. He looked tired. More than tired. Haunted, maybe. His shoulders were hunched in a way they hadn’t been before Derek died.

Interesting.

“Maria. Hey.”

She turned. Jesse Thornton, Derek’s friend. Or had been Derek’s friend. Past tense now. Jesse was a junior like Derek had been. Quiet kid. Photography club. Debate team.

“Hey, Jesse,” Maria said.

“You were asking about Derek yesterday. In the library.” Jesse shifted his backpack. “Why?”

Maria had known this question would come. She’d asked too many questions, too many people. In a school this size, word got around.

“Just curious,” she said carefully. “Seemed like the case closed really fast.”

“Yeah. It did.” Jesse looked around the hallway, checking who might be listening. “Can we talk? Not here.”

“Sure. Where?”

“There’s a study room on the third floor. East wing. No one uses it.” He was already walking away, not waiting to see if she’d follow.

Maria followed.

The study room was exactly what Jesse said: unused. Dusty. Windows that probably hadn’t been opened in years. Jesse shut the door behind them.

“Derek left something for me,” Jesse said. “Before he died. He said if anything happened to him, I should give it to someone. But I don’t know who.”

Maria’s heart rate picked up. “What did he leave?”

Jesse pulled out his phone, unlocked it, opened an app. “Photos. He sent them to me the day before he died. Said to keep them safe. Said to make sure they got out if something happened.”

“Can I see?”

Jesse hesitated. “These are... bad. Like, really bad.”

“I can handle it.”

He turned the phone toward her. Started scrolling through the photos.

The first few were timestamps. Metadata. Dates and locations. Then the actual images started. Maria felt her stomach tighten.

Men. In a room she didn’t recognize. Some she recognized. Coach Carver. Mr. Brennan from the English department. Two men she didn’t know but who looked like they had money—expensive suits, that particular kind of confidence that came from never having to ask permission.

And boys. Young boys. Derek’s age. Younger.

Maria’s hands went cold.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Jesse’s voice was flat. Dead. “Derek found these on Coach Carver’s computer. He was supposed to help Carver set up some video equipment for the basketball team. Carver left him alone with the laptop. Derek went digging.”

“Why didn’t he go to the police?”

“He was going to. But then he saw who was in the photos. The guy on the left, the one in the suit? That’s Detective Walsh’s brother. The one on the right is someone’s dad. Someone important. Derek realized—” Jesse stopped. Swallowed. “He realized the police wouldn’t help. That no one would help. So he started documenting everything. Taking screenshots. Building evidence. He was going to send it to a journalist. Someone outside town. Someone who couldn’t be bought.”

“But he died first.”

“He didn’t die. He was killed.” Jesse said it like a fact. Like something he knew down to his bones.

“How do you know?”

“Because Derek called me that night. The night he died. Said he was being followed. Said if anything happened, I should get the photos out. Then the line went dead. Next day, they found him in the creek.” Jesse looked at Maria. “He was murdered. And the cops covered it up. And everyone’s pretending it was an accident because it’s easier than admitting what’s happening in this town.”

Maria thought about Anthony. About the note. About the pack meeting last night. About how Anthony had smelled something wrong and decided to act.

“I need you to send me those photos,” she said.

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“I have friends who can help. Friends the police can’t touch. We’re already looking into Derek’s death. These photos—this is what we need.”

Jesse studied her face. Maria let him look. Let him see whatever he needed to see. People trusted her. It was her gift. She knew how to be steady when everything else was chaos.

“Okay,” Jesse said finally. “I’ll send them. But Maria—these people are dangerous. They killed Derek. They’ll kill anyone who tries to expose them.”

“I know.”

“Do your friends know what they’re getting into?”

Maria thought about Anthony, who’d lived with bears and trusted his instincts absolutely. About Mickey, who moved toward danger instead of away from it. About Gavin, who would want proof and logic and evidence, and now they’d have it. About Freddie, who knew everyone and could navigate social waters Maria couldn’t.

“They know,” she said. “And they’re going to do it anyway.”

Jesse nodded. Sent the photos to her phone. Maria felt the weight of them arrive. Digital files. Evidence. Proof. And also a target painted on anyone who carried them.

“Be careful,” Jesse said.

“You too.”

After he left, Maria stood in the empty study room for a long moment, phone heavy in her hand. Outside, the hallway noise continued. The too-bright performances of normal. The collective lie.

She opened the photos again. Looked at the faces. Coach Carver, who taught health class and ran the basketball team and smiled at students in the hallways. Mr. Brennan, who assigned essays about moral courage and social justice. Walsh’s brother. The important man whose name she didn’t know yet but would find out.

And the boys. Faces blurred in most shots, to protect them. But some were clear enough. Some Maria recognized. Some were gone now—moved away, dropped out, disappeared into whatever came after something like this happened to you.

Derek had tried to save them. Had tried to document what was happening. Had tried to find someone who would care enough to act.

And they’d killed him for it.

Maria felt something tighten in her chest. Not fear. Anger. Cold and clear and sharp.

She thought about what Gavin had said last night: We’re kids. We’re not investigators.

But Derek had been a kid too. And he’d done the investigating anyway. And he’d paid for it with his life. And now someone needed to finish what he’d started.

Maria closed the photos. Pulled up the group text with the pack.

Need to talk. Before we check the basement. I have something.

Responses came fast. Anthony: Where?

Maria looked around the study room. No. Too exposed. Someone might come.

My place. After school. This can’t wait.

Mickey: What did you find?

Maria hesitated. Then typed: Proof. That Derek was murdered. That it’s bigger than we thought.

Freddie: How much bigger?

Maria looked at the photos again. Coach. Teacher. Walsh’s brother. Important man. How deep did this go? How many people were involved? How many people had looked the other way?

A lot bigger. See you at 3.

She locked her phone. Put it in her pocket. Felt it there like a weight. Like a responsibility. Like a weapon.

Second period was AP Literature. Mr. Brennan’s class. Maria had liked Mr. Brennan. He was a good teacher. Made literature feel alive and relevant. Talked about authors like they were people, not just names in textbooks.

Now she sat in his classroom and looked at him and saw the man in the photos. The one who’d helped hurt those boys. The one who taught them about moral courage while destroying theirs.

He was teaching Antigone today. The play about a girl who defied the law to do what was right. About how sometimes the law itself is wrong. About how sometimes you have to break rules to honor something higher.

“Creon represents the state,” Brennan said, pacing at the front of the room. “He believes order must be maintained at all costs. But Antigone believes some things are more important than order. More important than law. She believes in a higher justice.”

Maria watched him. Watched the way he gestured. The way he performed passion for justice while being the thing Antigone would have opposed. The cognitive dissonance must be exhausting.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe people could split themselves that easily. Teacher here. Predator there. Two separate boxes. Never mixing.

“The tragedy,” Brennan continued, “is that both of them are partly right. Creon’s not wrong that society needs laws. Antigone’s not wrong that some laws are unjust. The question is: who decides? Who gets to say when a law is unjust enough to break?”

A student raised her hand. “But Antigone knew she’d be killed. She broke the law anyway. Isn’t that kind of stupid?”

“Stupid? Or brave?” Brennan smiled. “That’s the question the play asks us to consider. Is it stupid to die for your principles? Or is that the only way principles mean anything?”

Maria felt sick.

When class ended, she gathered her books and headed for the door. Fast. But not fast enough.

“Maria. Can I see you for a moment?”

She stopped. Turned. Brennan stood by his desk, papers in hand, that teacher expression on his face. Concerned. Helpful. Caring.

“Yes, Mr. Brennan?”

“Your essay on The Handmaid’s Tale was excellent. Really thoughtful work. But I noticed you didn’t turn in the extra credit assignment.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Everything okay? You seem distracted lately.”

Maria felt his attention on her. Assessing. The way predators assessed. Looking for weakness. Looking for vulnerability. Looking for opportunity.

“I’m fine,” she said. Kept her voice steady. Kept her face neutral.

“You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong. My door is always open.”

“I appreciate that. But I’m fine. Really.”

He watched her for another moment. Then smiled. “Alright. But the offer stands. And get that extra credit in if you can. Your grade could use it.”

Maria left the classroom. Walked quickly down the hallway. Didn’t run. Running drew attention. But moved with purpose. Away from Brennan. Away from his office. Away from the carefully constructed lie of a man who taught justice while practicing cruelty.

In the bathroom, she locked herself in a stall and let herself shake. Just for a minute. Just long enough to let the fear move through her and out. Fear was useful. Fear told you where the danger was. But you couldn’t let it paralyze you.

After a minute, she steadied. Washed her hands. Fixed her hair. Looked at herself in the mirror.

This was what Derek had faced. This knowledge. This weight. These dangerous men with their careful performances of normalcy. And he’d faced it alone.

But Maria wasn’t alone. She had the pack. And the pack was going to finish what Derek started.

She pulled out her phone. The photos were still there. Encrypted now. She’d done that during second period, while Brennan talked about Antigone. Used one of Gavin’s apps. Made sure no one could access them except her.

But she’d made copies too. Sent them to a secure email account. To a cloud storage folder. To three different places, just in case. Because Derek had taught her that having only one copy was how evidence disappeared.

The bathroom door opened. Two sophomore girls came in, gossiping about something. Maria dried her hands. Left. Headed for her locker.

Calculus next. Then lunch. Then the afternoon classes she’d have to sit through, performing normal, while carrying proof of murder and abuse and conspiracy on her phone.

But tonight—tonight the pack would see the photos. Tonight they’d know what Derek had known. Tonight they’d decide what to do.

And Maria already knew what they’d decide. Because that’s what pack meant. You didn’t look away. You didn’t pretend. You didn’t let powerful people get away with hurting vulnerable ones just because it was dangerous to stop them.

You acted. Even if it cost you. Especially if it cost you.

That’s what Derek had done.

That’s what they’d do.

Maria closed her locker. Headed toward calculus. Felt the phone in her pocket. Felt the weight of proof. Felt the ghost of Derek walking beside her, waiting for someone to care enough to act.

We care, she thought. We’re coming. We’re going to finish what you started.

Hold on a little longer.

Justice is coming.

End Chapter Four

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER FIVE

Anthony smelled it on Maria before she opened the door. Fear and anger mixed together. Adrenaline. The scent humans gave off when they were carrying something too heavy to hold alone.

“You came fast,” Maria said.

“You said it couldn’t wait.”

He followed her inside. The apartment was empty. Too early for the others. Anthony had left the workshop the moment he got her text. Told Carol he had an emergency. She’d waved him off without questions. That was Carol’s gift—knowing when not to ask.

Maria’s hands shook as she poured water. Drank it. Set the glass down.

“I need to show you something before the others get here,” she said. “Because once I show everyone, there’s no going back. Once we all know, we’re all in danger. I need you to understand that first.”

Anthony sat on the floor. His spot. Back against the wall. “Show me.”

She pulled out her phone. Unlocked it. Opened an app. Her fingers hesitated over the screen.

“Derek’s friend Jesse gave these to me today. Derek sent them to him the day before he died. Told him to get them out if anything happened.”

She turned the phone toward Anthony.

The first photo loaded.

Anthony’s body went very still. The stillness that came before violence. Before hunting. Before teeth and claws and the hot rush of blood.

Men. Boys. A room. Faces he recognized.

Maria swiped. Another photo. Another. Another.

Anthony’s vision narrowed. His breathing slowed. Every muscle coiled tight.

“Anthony?” Maria’s voice. Distant. Careful.

He couldn’t speak yet. If he spoke, he’d growl. If he growled, he’d move. If he moved, he’d hunt. And the men in these photos weren’t here to hunt.

Not yet.

“Anthony, I need you to stay with me.”

He forced himself to breathe. To think in words instead of instinct. To remember he was Anthony, not the thing he’d been in the mountains before humans taught him language.

“How many?” His voice came out rough. Wrong.

“Jesse gave me forty-three photos. There might be more.”

“The coach. The teacher. Walsh’s brother.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s the other one?”

“I don’t know yet. Someone important. Someone with money.”

Anthony stood. Paced. Needed to move. Needed to do something with the energy building in his chest. The rage. The absolute certainty that he would find these men and hurt them the way they’d hurt those boys.

No.

Not hurt.

Kill.

The word came clear and simple. These men had killed Derek. They’d hurt children. They were predators. And predators needed to be stopped.

“Anthony.” Maria’s voice again. Closer now. “I need you here. I need you thinking, not just feeling.”

He stopped pacing. Looked at her. Small Maria with her books and plants and ability to read what people felt. She was scared. Not of him. For him.

“I’m here,” he said.

“Are you?”

“Yeah.” He breathed. Let the rage settle. Not disappear. Settle. Find its place. “I’m here. Show me the rest.”

She showed him. All forty-three photos. Timestamps. Metadata. Locations. Faces blurred for the victims, except where they weren’t. Except where Derek had captured them clearly enough to identify.

Boys Anthony’s age. Younger. Some he might have seen at Maria’s school. Some gone now. Disappeared into whatever happened after something like this destroyed you.

When the last photo loaded, Anthony sat back down. Put his head in his hands. Breathed.

“Derek tried to stop this,” Maria said quietly. “He found these on Carver’s computer. Started documenting everything. Was going to send them to a journalist. Someone outside town who couldn’t be bought. Then they killed him.”

“They made it look like an accident.”

“Walsh’s brother is in the photos. That’s why Walsh closed the case fast. That’s why no one’s asking questions. The whole system is protecting them.”

The door opened. Freddie came in, then Gavin, then Mickey. All together. They must have met outside.

“What’s going on?” Freddie asked. “Your text said—”

He stopped. Saw Anthony’s face. Saw Maria’s hands shaking.

“Sit down,” Maria said. “All of you. I have something to show you.”

They sat. Maria showed them the photos. One by one. Forty-three images of horror.

Mickey was the first to speak. “We kill them.”

“No,” Gavin said immediately. “No. We can’t—”

“Look at the photos, Gavin. Look at what they did.”

“I’m looking. I see. But we can’t just—”

“Why not?” Mickey’s voice was hard. “They killed Derek. They’re hurting kids. The police won’t stop them. Who else is going to?”

“There are legal ways—”

“The legal ways are run by Walsh!” Mickey stood. Started pacing the way Anthony had. “His brother’s in the photos. The police are protecting them. The school’s protecting them. Everyone’s protecting them except us.”

“So what, we become vigilantes?” Gavin’s voice rose. “We become murderers?”

“They’re already murderers.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to be!”

“Stop.” Anthony’s voice cut through the argument. Quiet but absolute. Both of them stopped. “Fighting doesn’t help.”

“Then what does help?” Mickey asked. “Tell me, Anthony. What do we do with this?”

Anthony looked at the photos again. Thought about Derek, scared, coming to the workshop with a bike that didn’t need fixing. Derek, taking these photos, building evidence, trying to find someone who’d care. Derek, calling Jesse, saying he was being followed. Derek, dead in a creek, case closed, everyone moving on.

“We finish what Derek started,” Anthony said.

“Which is what?” Freddie asked. His voice was careful. Gentle. The way you talked to someone standing on a ledge.

“We get the photos to someone who can use them. Someone outside this town. Someone who can’t be bought or threatened or killed without people noticing.”

“A journalist,” Maria said. “That’s what Derek was planning.”

“Do we know any journalists?” Mickey asked.

“No,” Gavin said slowly. “But I know someone who knows journalists. Someone who works with investigative reporters. Someone who’s done this kind of thing before.”

They all looked at him.

“Who?” Maria asked.

“My uncle. He’s a lawyer in the city. Works on civil rights cases. He’s connected to people who investigate corruption. He’d know who to send this to.”

“Can we trust him?” Anthony asked.

“Yeah. He’s—” Gavin hesitated. “He’s why I know some things aren’t worth hiding. Why I know secrets can kill you if you keep them alone.”

A beat of silence. The pack understanding that Gavin had just shared something he didn’t usually share. Something about his identity secret. Something about why he presented differently than his reality.

“Okay,” Anthony said. “We send the photos to Gavin’s uncle. He gets them to the right journalist. Someone big. Someone who can’t be intimidated.”

“And then what?” Freddie asked. “These people are powerful. They’ve killed before. Once the story breaks, they’ll know someone gave the photos to the press. They’ll come after whoever did it.”

“They’ll come after us,” Maria said quietly. “All of us. Because we’ll be the ones who knew. The ones who acted.”

The pack was quiet. Understanding settling over them. The weight of what they were choosing. Safety versus justice. Their lives versus those boys in the photos.

Anthony thought about the mountains. About living with bears who protected their cubs absolutely. Who killed threats without hesitation. Who understood that some things were worth dying for.

“I’m doing this,” he said. “With or without you. But I’d rather with you.”

“You’re not doing this alone,” Maria said immediately.

“Neither am I,” Mickey added.

Gavin looked at the photos again. At Coach Carver. At Mr. Brennan, who taught him about justice. At Walsh’s brother. At the unknown important man.

“I need proof to believe things,” Gavin said finally. “Now I have proof. So yeah. I’m in.”

Everyone looked at Freddie.

Freddie was quiet for a long moment. Then he smiled his easy smile. But his eyes weren’t easy. His eyes were sad and determined and already mourning what this choice would cost them.

“Pack moves together,” he said simply. “That’s what you taught me, Anthony. So we move together. Even into this.”

Anthony felt something loosen in his chest. Not relief. Something deeper. The certainty that comes from knowing you’re not alone. That when you choose to fight monsters, your pack chooses to fight beside you.

“Alright,” he said. “This is how we do it. Gavin, you send the photos to your uncle tonight. Tell him everything. Tell him to get them to a journalist who can’t be bought. Someone big enough that killing them would cause more problems than it solves.”

Gavin nodded. “I’ll encrypt the transfer. Make sure no one can intercept it.”

“Good. Maria, you make two more backup copies. Send one to an email account no one knows about. Put one in cloud storage somewhere random. If something happens to us, those copies still exist.”

“Done. I already did one backup. I’ll do two more.”

“Freddie, you start talking to people at school. Quiet. Careful. Find out if anyone else saw anything. If anyone else has information. If anyone else Derek might have told.”

“On it.”

“Mickey, you and I check the school basement. The note Derek left—maybe there’s more there. Maybe he hid physical evidence too.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. During school. Maria gets us in.”

“They’ll be watching now,” Maria warned. “Brennan noticed I was distracted. He knows something’s wrong.”

“Then we’re careful. We don’t give them a reason to think we’re the ones who have the photos. We act normal. We go to class. We do homework. We pretend we don’t know anything.”

“While secretly investigating a murder and preparing to expose an abuse ring,” Gavin said. “Sure. Totally normal.”

Anthony almost smiled. “We’re pack. We can do both.”

The meeting continued. Details. Plans. Contingencies. What to do if someone came after them. What to do if the journalists didn’t believe the photos. What to do if the photos weren’t enough.

By the time they finished, the sun was setting. The apartment was dark except for the streetlight coming through Maria’s window.

“There’s one more thing,” Maria said. “We should tell Marvin.”

Anthony had been thinking about that. Marvin. His guardian. His attorney. The man who’d taught him how to navigate the human world. The man who’d told him to be careful. To not break laws. To not give anyone a reason to come after him.

“Yeah,” Anthony said. “We tell Marvin. Tonight. I’ll call him after this.”

“He’s not going to like it,” Freddie said.

“No. But he’ll help anyway. That’s what he does.”

The pack stood. Hugged. The kind of fierce hugs that said we might not survive this but we’re choosing it together.

After the others left, Anthony stayed. Helped Maria clean up. Washed the few dishes. Gave her hands something to do besides shake.

“You were brave today,” he said.

“I was terrified.”

“Brave is doing it anyway.”

She leaned against the counter. “Those boys in the photos. They’re someone’s pack. Someone’s children. Someone cares about them. And no one helped them. Everyone looked away.”

“We’re not looking away.”

“No. We’re not.” She met his eyes. “Do you think we’ll survive this?”

Anthony thought about predators and prey. About how prey survived by running. But sometimes running wasn’t enough. Sometimes you had to turn and face the thing hunting you. Fight or die.

“I think we have a chance,” he said. “Because we’re pack. Because we’re choosing this. Because they don’t know we’re coming.”

“They will soon.”

“Yeah. But by then it’ll be too late. The photos will be out. The story will break. And they can kill us, but they can’t unkill the truth.”

Maria nodded. “Derek would like that. The truth living when he couldn’t.”

Anthony left her apartment. Got on his motorcycle. Sat in the parking lot for a moment, engine running, thinking about what came next.

He pulled out his phone. Called Marvin.

“Hey,” Marvin answered. “I was just thinking about you. Marco’s information was—”

“I need you to come home,” Anthony said. “Now. There’s something you need to see.”

A pause. “Anthony, what did you find?”

“Everything. We found everything. And now we’re in danger. All of us. I need you to come home.”

“I’m already driving,” Marvin said. “Be there in twenty minutes.”

The line went dead.

Anthony sat on his bike in the parking lot. Felt the evening air. Heard the city sounds. Sirens in the distance. People living their lives. Unaware that five teenagers had just decided to destroy powerful men who thought they were untouchable.

The hunt was on.

The predators just didn’t know they’d become prey.

Anthony started his bike. Headed home. To tell Marvin. To show him the photos. To watch his guardian’s face when he realized how bad this was.

Tomorrow, Marvin would try to talk them out of it. Would explain the danger. Would offer legal alternatives.

And Anthony would thank him. Would listen. Would understand.

And then would do it anyway.

Because some things were worth dying for.

And those boys in the photos were worth it.

Derek had known that.

Now the pack knew it too.

End Chapter Five

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER SIX

Marvin knew something was catastrophically wrong the moment he walked through the door and saw Anthony’s face.

Not scared. Anthony didn’t do scared the way most people did. But there was something in his eyes. Something ancient and violent barely held in check. The boy who’d lived with bears, looking at the world with predator logic.

“Sit down,” Anthony said.

Marvin sat.

Anthony handed him a phone. Maria’s phone, he realized. “Start swiping. Don’t stop until you’ve seen all of them.”

The first photo loaded.

Marvin felt his stomach drop.

By the fifth photo, his hands were shaking.

By the twentieth, he understood why Anthony had called him home.

By the fortieth, he was thinking about the gun he kept locked in his desk drawer and hadn’t touched in seven years.

When the last photo finished loading, Marvin set the phone down very carefully. Looked at Anthony. At Maria, standing in the doorway. At the other kids—Freddie, Mickey, Gavin—sitting around his living room like this was normal. Like they hadn’t just shown him evidence of a conspiracy so deep and so evil that Marvin’s entire career as an attorney suddenly felt like a joke.

“Where did you get these?” His voice came out steady. Professional. Years of courtroom training.

“Derek’s friend gave them to Maria today,” Anthony said. “Derek took them a week before he died. He was going to send them to a journalist. Then someone killed him.”

“And made it look like an accident,” Marvin finished. “Because Walsh’s brother is in these photos. Because half the power structure of this town is in these photos.”

“Yes.”

Marvin stood. Paced. His hands needed something to do. His mind needed time to process what this meant. For Anthony. For these kids. For the case he’d told himself he wouldn’t get involved in.

“You understand what this is?” he asked. “What you have?”

“Evidence of murder and abuse,” Gavin said. “Proof that multiple men in positions of authority have been hurting children and getting away with it.”

“It’s more than that.” Marvin turned to face them. “This is the kind of evidence that gets people killed. Not just Derek. Anyone who tries to expose this. The journalist who publishes it. The source who provided it. Everyone involved.”

“We know,” Maria said quietly.

“Do you? Do you really understand?” Marvin heard his voice rising and didn’t care. “These men—they’ve already committed murder. They’re not going to stop at one. They have money, power, connections. They can make people disappear. They can ruin lives. They can—”

“We know,” Anthony repeated. “We talked about it. We decided anyway.”

Marvin stopped. Looked at his ward. Nineteen years old. Still learning how the human world worked. Still trusting his instincts over his training. Still believing that doing the right thing mattered more than staying safe.

“What did you decide?” Marvin asked, though he already knew the answer.

“We’re sending the photos to Gavin’s uncle,” Anthony said. “Tonight. He’s a civil rights attorney in the city. He has contacts with investigative journalists. He’ll know who can handle this. Who’s big enough that killing them would cause more problems than it solves.”

“And you think that will protect you?” Marvin asked. “Once these photos are public, these men will know someone gave them to the press. They’ll come after you.”

“Probably,” Freddie said. “But what else are we supposed to do? Let them keep hurting kids? Let Derek’s death mean nothing?”

“You could give the photos to me. Let me handle this through legal channels. Build a case that—”

“That what?” Mickey cut in. “That goes to Detective Walsh? Who’s protecting his brother? That goes to a DA who probably plays golf with these guys? That gets buried in the same system that covered up Derek’s murder?”

Marvin wanted to argue. Wanted to tell them the legal system wasn’t that corrupt. That there were good cops and honest prosecutors and judges who cared about justice.

But he couldn’t. Because he’d seen enough over twenty-six years to know Mickey was right. The system didn’t work when the system itself was compromised.

He sat back down. Put his head in his hands. Thought about all the cases he’d worked. All the ways he’d learned to navigate broken systems. All the times he’d told clients: Work within the law. Don’t give them a reason to come after you. Stay safe.

And now Anthony was asking him to help do the opposite.

“Tell me your plan,” he said finally. “All of it.”

They told him. Gavin would send the photos to his uncle tonight. Encrypted transfer. His uncle would get them to a journalist. Someone at a major newspaper. Someone with resources and protection. Someone who couldn’t be easily intimidated.

Maria had made multiple backups. Cloud storage. Email accounts. Physical copies hidden in different locations. If something happened to them, the photos still existed.

Freddie would gather information at school. Find out if anyone else knew. If anyone else had evidence. If Derek had told anyone what he’d found.

Mickey and Anthony would check the school basement tomorrow. See if Derek had hidden additional evidence there.

And then they’d wait. Wait for the story to break. Wait for the consequences.

It was a good plan. Smart. Careful. About as safe as you could be when taking on powerful predators with nothing to lose.

It was also going to get them killed.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Marvin said. “Something about why you’re willing to risk this.”

The kids exchanged glances. Then Maria spoke.

“I sat in Mr. Brennan’s class today. He taught us about Antigone. About a girl who broke the law to do what was right. And the whole time, I knew what he was. What he’d done. And I thought: if Antigone could defy a king, we can defy this.”

“Antigone died,” Marvin said quietly.

“I know. But she was right.”

Marvin looked at them. Five teenagers. Anthony, who trusted his instincts absolutely. Maria, who read people like books. Freddie, who connected everyone. Mickey, who moved toward danger. Gavin, who needed proof before believing.

Five kids who’d decided that some things mattered more than safety.

He thought about his own son. The one he’d never had. The emptiness in his life that Anthony had somehow filled. The divorce papers still unsigned on his desk. The career he’d walked away from because he couldn’t stomach defending the guilty anymore.

The question wasn’t whether to help them. The question was how.

“Alright,” he said. “Here’s what I need you to understand. Once you send these photos, there’s no taking it back. Your lives change permanently. These men will come after you. They’ll use every tool they have—legal, illegal, somewhere in between. They’ll try to discredit you. Threaten you. Maybe worse.”

“We know,” Anthony said.

“I’m not finished. I’m going to help you. But we do this my way. With protections. With safeguards. With legal cover that makes it harder for them to touch you without consequences.”

“What kind of protections?” Gavin asked.

“First, we document everything. Tonight. Right now. You each write down what you know, when you learned it, how you got the photos. Sign and date it. I keep copies in my office safe. If something happens to any of you, that documentation becomes public automatically.”

“A dead man’s switch,” Gavin said. “Smart.”

“Second, I contact a friend at the FBI. Off the record. Give her a heads up that something big is about to break. Make sure federal eyes are on this before the story publishes.”

“The FBI?” Mickey sounded skeptical. “They’re not going to help a bunch of kids.”

“They will if those kids have evidence of a criminal conspiracy involving local police. The FBI loves taking down corrupt cops. It makes them look good.”

“Won’t that tip off Walsh?” Maria asked.

“Not if I do it right. My friend is careful. Discreet. She won’t move until the story breaks. But she’ll be ready to move fast when it does.”

“What else?” Anthony asked.

“Third, you stay visible. All of you. You go to school. You go to work. You maintain your routines. You don’t hide. You don’t run. Because if you disappear, no one notices. But if something happens to five visible teenagers right after a major scandal breaks? That’s a story. That brings attention. Attention is protection.”

Freddie nodded slowly. “Make ourselves too expensive to kill quietly.”

“Exactly.” Marvin stood. Went to his office. Came back with a legal pad and pens. “Start writing. Everything you know. Everything you’ve done. Everything you plan to do. And for God’s sake, be honest. Because if this goes to court—and it will—every lie you tell now will destroy your credibility later.”

They wrote. Marvin watched them. Five kids hunched over paper, documenting how they’d decided to take on an abuse ring with nothing but phones and courage.

While they wrote, Marvin made calls.

First, his friend at the FBI. Sarah Rivera. They’d worked together years ago when Marvin still did criminal defense. She owed him a favor. Several favors.

“Marvin,” she answered. “Long time. What do you need?”

“Off the record conversation. Tomorrow morning. It’s urgent.”

A pause. “How urgent?”

“Child abuse ring. Local police complicit. Evidence about to go public. I need you ready to move when it breaks.”

Another pause. Longer. “I’ll meet you. Seven AM. The coffee shop on Maple.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If this is what you say it is, things are going to get very complicated very fast.”

“I know.”

Next, he called his insurance agent. Increased his liability coverage. Added riders for Anthony and the house. Made sure there were no gaps that could be exploited if someone came after them legally.

Then he called his colleague who specialized in media law. Left a message: “I need advice on source protection and shield laws. Call me tomorrow. It’s urgent.”

Finally, he called his ex-wife. The divorce papers still sat unsigned. Maybe they always would.

“Marvin?” She sounded surprised. “It’s late. Is everything okay?”

“No. But I wanted you to know—if something happens to me in the next few weeks, the documents in my office safe need to get to the FBI. Sarah Rivera. I’ll send you her contact information.”

Silence. Then: “What did you get yourself into?”

“Something important. Something I can’t walk away from.”

“Is it Anthony?”

“Yes. And some other kids. Good kids. Brave kids. Kids who need someone to protect them while they do something dangerous and necessary.”

Another silence. Then, softer: “Be careful. Whatever this is, be careful.”

“I will.”

“I mean it, Marvin. You’re too good at making yourself responsible for other people’s problems.”

“Maybe. But someone has to be.”

After he hung up, Marvin stood in his quiet house and thought about the ways his life had changed since Anthony arrived. The way responsibility had returned. The way purpose had returned. The way caring about someone had made him vulnerable in a way he’d forgotten he could be.

Anthony finished writing first. Handed his statement to Marvin. Three pages. Dense. Detailed. Starting with Derek coming to the workshop scared, ending with the plan to send photos to Gavin’s uncle.

Marvin read it. Signed it as witness. Dated it. Put it in an envelope.

One by one, the others finished. Maria’s statement was longest—eight pages, every detail from Jesse’s revelation to Brennan’s behavior in class. Freddie’s was shortest but precise. Mickey’s was angry and raw. Gavin’s was logical and methodical, complete with technical details about the encryption.

By midnight, Marvin had five signed statements, all witnessed, all sealed in separate envelopes. He’d put them in his office safe tomorrow. Program the automatic release if he or any of the kids disappeared or died.

“There’s one more thing,” he said. “Before Gavin sends those photos, I need you all to understand something. Once this becomes public, your lives belong to the story. Reporters will want interviews. People will question your motives. Defense attorneys will try to paint you as vindictive teens with an agenda. You’ll be scrutinized. Judged. Your entire lives picked apart looking for reasons to discredit you.”

“Let them look,” Maria said. “We’re not the ones who hurt children.”

“I know. But the public won’t always see it that way. And these men have money for the best lawyers. Lawyers who will argue entrapment, false evidence, doctored photos, conspiracy. They’ll throw everything at the wall and see what sticks.”

“So what do we do?” Freddie asked.

“You tell the truth. Only the truth. Every time. You don’t exaggerate. You don’t embellish. You don’t speculate. You stick to what you know and how you know it. And if you don’t know something, you say you don’t know.”

“And if they still don’t believe us?” Mickey asked.

“Then we make them believe. With evidence. With consistency. With the fact that five teenagers with nothing to gain are willing to put their lives on the line for boys they don’t even know.”

Marvin looked at Anthony. His ward. His almost-son. The feral boy who’d learned to navigate a human world that didn’t make sense to him. Who still trusted his instincts over his training. Who’d just committed to a course of action that could get him killed.

“I wish you’d come to me first,” Marvin said quietly. “Before you made this choice.”

“Would you have tried to stop us?” Anthony asked.

Marvin thought about it honestly. “Yes. I would have.”

“That’s why we didn’t.”

“But you came to me after.”

“Because we trust you. Because we need you. Because—” Anthony hesitated. Then said simply: “Because you’re family.”

Marvin felt something break in his chest. The careful distance he’d maintained. The professional boundaries. The reminder that this was a legal relationship, guardian and ward, attorney and client.

All of it bullshit. All of it lies he’d told himself to avoid getting hurt again.

“You’re family too,” he said. “Which is why I’m helping you do something I know is dangerous. Because family doesn’t let family fight alone.”

He looked at the others. “That goes for all of you. You’re pack, Anthony says. Pack moves together. Fine. Then I’m pack too. You don’t go into danger without backup. And my backup is twenty-six years of knowing how to work a corrupt system from the inside.”

They sat together in Marvin’s living room. Attorney and teenagers. Guardian and pack. People who’d chosen each other across every boundary of age and species and socialization.

“Send the photos,” Marvin said to Gavin. “Tonight. Get them to your uncle. Get them to a journalist. Get them out before anyone realizes you have them.”

Gavin pulled out his laptop. Set up the encryption. Prepared the transfer.

“Once I do this,” he said, “we’re committed.”

“We’re already committed,” Maria said. “We were committed the moment Derek died and no one cared enough to ask why.”

Gavin nodded. Typed in his uncle’s email address. Attached the files. Encrypted them with a key only his uncle would have.

His finger hovered over the send button.

“Do it,” Anthony said quietly.

Gavin hit send.

The files uploaded. Encrypted packets of evidence traveling through digital space toward a man none of them had met. A civil rights attorney in the city who would open them tomorrow morning and realize what they were. Who would understand what they meant. Who would know exactly which journalist to contact.

And then it would begin.

The exposure. The investigation. The arrests.

The consequences.

“It’s done,” Gavin said. He looked pale. Scared. Determined.

“Yeah,” Anthony said. “Now we wait.”

They left around one AM. Freddie drove Maria and Mickey home. Gavin had his own car. One by one, they disappeared into the night, heading back to their separate lives that would never be separate again.

Anthony stayed. This was his home. Marvin was his guardian.

They sat together in the quiet living room.

“You could still stop this,” Marvin said. “Gavin could tell his uncle it was a mistake. Delete the files. Walk away.”

“Could we?” Anthony asked.

“No. Probably not. The moment Jesse gave those photos to Maria, the clock started. Someone will realize they’re out. Someone will start looking for them. Walking away now just makes you vulnerable without giving the boys in those photos any justice.”

“Then why offer?”

“Because I needed to say it out loud. Needed you to know you still had a choice. Even if that choice was an illusion.”

Anthony was quiet for a moment. Then: “Do you think we’ll survive this?”

Marvin wanted to lie. Wanted to promise everything would be fine. That the justice system would work. That the bad guys would go to prison and the good guys would live happily ever after.

But Anthony deserved honesty.

“I think you’ve given yourselves the best chance possible,” Marvin said carefully. “You have evidence. You have witnesses. You have backup. You’re being strategic instead of reckless. That’s more than most people have when they take on power.”

“But?”

“But power doesn’t like being challenged. And these men have a lot to lose. They’ll fight. They’ll fight dirty. And some of you might not make it to the other side.”

Anthony nodded. “Derek didn’t make it.”

“No. He didn’t. And he was alone. You’re not alone.”

“Because of you.”

“Because of each other. I’m just providing legal cover.” Marvin stood. “Go to bed. Tomorrow you have school. Tomorrow you have to pretend everything’s normal while carrying the weight of what you’ve done.”

“What about you?”

“I have coffee with an FBI agent at seven AM. Then I have phone calls to make. People to warn. Protections to set up.” He smiled grimly. “I haven’t worked this hard since I left criminal defense.”

“Why did you leave?” Anthony asked. “You never told me.”

Marvin looked at him. At the boy who’d become the son he’d never had. Who trusted him absolutely. Who deserved the truth.

“Because I realized the system wasn’t interested in justice,” he said. “It was interested in order. In maintaining the status quo. In protecting power. I could navigate that system. I was good at it. But I couldn’t believe in it anymore.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m helping five teenagers burn it down from the inside. And it feels like the first honest work I’ve done in years.”

Anthony stood. Hugged him. Quick and fierce. Then headed upstairs to his room.

Marvin sat alone in his living room. Thought about the gun in his desk. About Sarah Rivera and the FBI. About his ex-wife and the unsigned divorce papers. About the five envelopes in his office safe that would be opened if any of these kids died.

About Anthony, upstairs, sleeping the way animals sleep—ready to wake at the first sound of danger.

Tomorrow it would begin. The investigation. The exposure. The hunt.

And Marvin would be ready. Would be the bridge between Anthony’s animal instincts and the human world’s legal systems. Would be the protection his pack needed while they did something brave and dangerous and absolutely necessary.

“Let them come,” he said quietly to the empty room. “We’re ready.”

Outside, the city slept. Unaware that tomorrow, everything would change.

End Chapter Six

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER SEVEN

The school basement smelled like mildew and forgotten things. Anthony followed Maria down the concrete stairs, Mickey close behind. Third period. The hallways above were full of students pretending to learn things that didn’t matter while teachers pretended to teach them.

Down here, everything was real.

“The janitor’s office is that way,” Maria whispered, pointing left. “We want to go right. Third room. Behind the gym mats.”

They moved quietly. Not sneaking—that drew attention. Just three students with a legitimate reason to be here. Maria had a hall pass. Anthony and Mickey were helping her carry supplies for a project. Totally normal.

The third room’s door was unlocked. Inside: old equipment, broken desks, filing cabinets no one had opened in years. And against the far wall, stacked gym mats. Blue and red. Dusty.

“Behind there,” Maria said.

Anthony and Mickey moved the mats. Heavy. Old. Smelling like sweat and rubber. Behind them, the wall had a small access panel. Maintenance panel, probably. For pipes or wiring.

The panel was loose.

Anthony pulled it open. Inside, a metal box. The kind you’d use to store important documents. Fireproof. Locked.

But the lock was cheap. Mickey had it open in thirty seconds with a paperclip.

Inside the box: a USB drive, a notebook, and a burner phone.

Anthony took the notebook first. Opened it. Derek’s handwriting. Page after page of notes. Dates. Times. Names. Locations. A methodical documentation of what he’d discovered.

October 3: Saw Coach Carver with Walsh’s brother at the gym after hours. They didn’t see me. Carver looked nervous.

October 7: Found the photos on Carver’s computer. Couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Took screenshots. Need to be careful.

October 10: Confirmed Mr. Brennan is involved. Saw him at the same location in one of the photos. Can’t tell anyone at school. Don’t know who’s safe.

October 15: Walsh’s brother means police won’t help. Need to find someone outside. Maybe a journalist? Someone who can’t be bought.

October 20: Made copies of everything. Put them in safe places. If something happens to me, someone needs to know. Someone needs to stop this.

October 22: Someone followed me today. Dark car. Didn’t get the plates. Getting scared. Told Jesse about the photos. Made him promise to get them out if anything happens.

October 23: They know I know. Coach pulled me aside after practice. Asked if I’d been “snooping around.” I said no. Don’t think he believed me. Need to move fast.

The entries ended there. Two days before Derek died.

Anthony felt his chest tighten. Derek had been alone. Scared. Trying to do the right thing with no one to help him. And then someone had killed him and made it look like an accident.

“Anthony.” Mickey’s voice. “You need to see this.”

Mickey held the USB drive. “This is encrypted. But there’s a note taped to it.” She showed him. Small piece of paper with a password written on it. “Derek wanted someone to find this.”

“What’s on the phone?” Maria asked.

Anthony picked up the burner. Turned it on. Battery almost dead but still functional. Opened the messages. Only one conversation. To a number not in Derek’s contacts.

The messages were timestamped to October 23. The day Derek wrote his last entry.

D: I have evidence of abuse ring. High-level people involved. Police won’t help. Need to talk to journalist.

Unknown: Who is this? How did you get this number?

D: Friend of friend gave it to me. Said you expose corruption. Said you can’t be bought.

Unknown: What kind of evidence?

D: Photos. Documents. Names. Everything.

Unknown: Call me.

Then nothing. No more messages. Derek must have called. Must have talked to whoever this was.

Anthony checked the call log. One outgoing call to the same unknown number. Duration: forty-three minutes.

“He talked to a journalist,” Anthony said. “Or tried to. The night before he died.”

“Who?” Maria asked.

“Don’t know. Number’s not saved. But whoever it was, Derek talked to them for forty-three minutes.”

Mickey swore quietly. “So they knew. The journalist knew. And Derek still ended up dead.”

“Maybe the journalist didn’t believe him,” Maria said. “Or wasn’t fast enough. Or—”

“Or Derek’s killers found out he’d made contact,” Anthony finished. “Realized he was about to go public. Killed him before he could.”

They stood in the basement room, holding Derek’s carefully hidden evidence. His insurance. His attempt to make sure the truth survived even if he didn’t.

“We need to take this,” Mickey said. “All of it.”

“No.” Anthony’s instinct kicked in. “We photograph everything. But we leave the originals here.”

“Why?” Mickey asked.

“Because if Derek’s killers realize we have this, they’ll know we found his hiding spot. But if we leave everything exactly as it is, they might not know. Might not realize we have copies.”

Maria nodded. “Smart. And it means there are two sets of evidence. If something happens to us, Derek’s originals are still here.”

They spent the next twenty minutes photographing everything. Every page of the notebook. The USB drive from every angle, including the password. The phone’s messages and call log. The metal box itself. The location behind the gym mats.

Anthony’s phone storage filled up. Maria’s too. They split the photos between them. Backed them up to Gavin’s cloud account immediately. Encrypted transfer. The way Gavin had taught them.

When they finished, they put everything back exactly as they’d found it. Metal box. USB drive. Notebook. Phone. Closed the box. Replaced the lock. Moved the gym mats back into position.

“No one can know we were here,” Anthony said.

They left the room. Walked back toward the stairs. Slow. Casual. Three students who’d been in the basement for perfectly legitimate reasons.

They were halfway to the stairs when they heard voices.

Coach Carver. And someone else. Coming down.

“—need to check,” Carver was saying. “Make sure nothing’s been moved. Walsh says we should verify the location is still secure.”

Anthony’s body went still. Hunting still. Every sense focused.

Maria grabbed his arm. Mouthed: storage room.

They slipped into the nearest storage room. Door left slightly open. Enough to see out. Not enough to be obvious.

Carver walked past with a man Anthony didn’t recognize. Older. Expensive suit. The same confidence Anthony had seen in the photos. The unknown important man.

“I told you,” the man was saying. “The boy is dead. The case is closed. There’s no risk.”

“What about the friend?” Carver asked. “Jesse Thornton. He and Derek were close. What if Derek told him something?”

“Then we deal with Jesse too. But carefully. Another accident so soon would raise questions.”

They walked into the third room. The one Anthony and Mickey and Maria had just left. The one with Derek’s evidence hidden behind gym mats.

Anthony heard the sound of mats being moved. The access panel opening. The metal box being pulled out.

“It’s still here,” Carver said. Relief in his voice.

“Of course it’s still here. Who else knows about it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe no one. Derek might not have told anyone. He was a scared kid trying to be a hero.”

“And now he’s a dead kid. That’s what happens to heroes.” The important man’s voice was cold. Flat. “Check the lock. Make sure it hasn’t been tampered with.”

Anthony’s chest tightened. Mickey had picked that lock. They’d been careful, but was there a scratch? A mark? Some way Carver would know?

Silence. Long. Tense.

Then: “Lock looks fine. No one’s been here.”

“Good. Leave it. Walsh wants it as insurance. If anyone starts asking questions, we can make the evidence disappear. But right now, leaving it where Derek hid it is safest. If it vanishes, people might wonder where it went.”

“What about the USB drive? The password’s written right on it.”

“So? The password opens Derek’s encrypted files. Files that show what he found. But the files are on our servers now. We control them. If someone finds this and tries to decrypt it, they’ll get nothing. We replaced Derek’s evidence with corrupted data.”

Anthony felt cold understanding settle over him. Derek’s USB drive was a trap. Anyone who found it and tried to use it would get nowhere. The killers had already neutralized it.

But Derek had been smart. He’d sent the photos to Jesse. Kept backups. The USB drive wasn’t his only copy. It was bait.

The men put everything back. Replaced the mats. Left the room. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete stairs.

Anthony, Maria, and Mickey waited. Five minutes. Ten. Making sure they were really gone.

“They know about the hiding spot,” Maria whispered. “They’ve been monitoring it.”

“They corrupted the USB drive,” Mickey said. “Replaced Derek’s evidence with nothing.”

“But they don’t know about the photos Jesse has,” Anthony said. “Don’t know we already sent them to Gavin’s uncle. Don’t know we photographed everything in the notebook.”

“The notebook,” Maria said urgently. “It’s still there. Derek’s handwritten notes. His timeline. His documentation. That’s real evidence. We need to take it.”

“No,” Anthony said again. “If we take it, they’ll know someone found it. But if we leave it, they think they’re safe. They think their trap worked. They think no one’s coming.”

“But—”

“Maria, they’ve already seen the photos. They’re already in motion. The notebook doesn’t give us anything new. What it gives us is them thinking they won. Thinking they’re safe.”

She understood. Anthony saw it in her eyes. The realization that sometimes the best move was not moving at all. Letting the enemy think they’d already won.

“We have what we need,” Anthony continued. “Photos of the notebook. Photos of the USB. Photos of the phone messages. Derek’s call to the journalist. That’s enough.”

They left the storage room. Moved quickly now. Up the stairs. Back into the hallway where students moved between classes. Back into the performance of normalcy.

In the bathroom, Anthony pulled out his phone. Texted the pack group chat: Found everything. Derek’s notebook, USB, phone. Photographed all. Evidence in place. Killers checking location regularly. Don’t touch it.

Responses came fast.

Freddie: Holy shit. Did they see you?

Anthony: No. We’re safe. But they’re monitoring the hiding spot. They replaced USB evidence with corrupted files. It’s a trap.

Gavin: Smart. Derek’s USB is useless. Good thing we have the photos from Jesse. Those are the real evidence.

Mickey: What about the notebook? Real handwritten documentation. We should grab it.

Anthony: No. Leave it. Let them think no one’s coming.

Maria: Anthony’s right. If they realize someone found Derek’s hiding spot, they’ll know we have his evidence. But if we leave everything alone, they think they’re safe. They make mistakes when they think they’re safe.

Marvin’s text came through on Anthony’s personal phone: Where are you? I heard from my FBI contact. Need to talk. Now.

Anthony showed Maria and Mickey. They nodded. Freddie and Gavin would cover for them at school. Say they went home sick. Say anything.

Anthony texted back: Coming home. Be there in 20.

They left school through the north entrance. Mickey peeled off toward her car. Maria rode with Anthony on his motorcycle. Arms around his waist. Holding tight.

On the ride back, Anthony thought about Carver and the important man standing in that basement room. Checking on evidence they thought no one knew about. Congratulating themselves on corrupting Derek’s USB drive. Thinking they were safe.

They weren’t safe.

The photos were already sent. The notebook was photographed. The call to the journalist was documented. And in less than a day, maybe less, a story would break. A story that would end their careers, their freedom, their lives.

They just didn’t know it yet.

And that was the gift Derek had given them. Time. Surprise. The ability to strike before they knew they were being hunted.

Anthony pulled into Marvin’s driveway. Helped Maria off the bike. They walked inside together.

Marvin was on the phone. Saw them. Held up one finger. Wait.

“Yes,” Marvin was saying. “I understand the risks. But the evidence is real. And the source is reliable. Multiple sources, actually. You’ll see when the story breaks.”

A pause.

“Tomorrow. Maybe sooner. The journalist is moving fast. Once he verifies everything—and he will verify it, these people are thorough—it’s going live.”

Another pause.

“I’ll send you the backup documentation tonight. Encrypted. You’ll have everything you need to move immediately after publication.” Marvin’s eyes found Anthony. “Thank you, Sarah. I mean it. These kids—they’re doing something brave. They need us to have their backs.”

He hung up. Looked at Anthony and Maria. “Sit down. We need to talk about what happens next.”

They sat.

“The journalist Gavin’s uncle contacted is moving fast,” Marvin said. “He’s got the photos. He’s verified they’re real. He’s contacted the FBI independently to coordinate timing. The story breaks tomorrow morning. Front page. Online simultaneously. They’re calling it the biggest local corruption scandal in twenty years.”

“Tomorrow,” Maria breathed.

“Tomorrow. Which means tonight is your last night before everything changes. Before you become the kids who took down a child abuse ring. Before your faces are on every screen. Before everyone knows your names.”

“And before the killers realize we have their evidence,” Anthony said.

Marvin nodded grimly. “That’s why Sarah Rivera—my FBI contact—is positioning agents in town tonight. Watching the suspects. Ready to move fast if any of them try to flee or retaliate. The moment the story breaks, they arrest everyone involved. Carver, Brennan, Walsh’s brother, the others. Simultaneous raids. No time for anyone to destroy evidence or coordinate stories.”

“What about us?” Maria asked.

“You stay visible. Stay together. You don’t go anywhere alone. And if anything—anything—feels wrong, you call me immediately.”

“For how long?” Anthony asked.

“Until they’re all in custody. Until the trials are over. Until the threat is gone.” Marvin met his eyes. “Months, probably. Maybe longer. This is what you signed up for when you decided to act. This is the cost.”

Anthony thought about Derek. Alone. Scared. Trying to expose this with no one to help him. And failing. And dying.

“It’s worth it,” Anthony said.

“Yeah,” Maria agreed quietly. “It is.”

Marvin pulled out his phone. Showed them a news alert. MAJOR INVESTIGATIVE REPORT DROPS TOMORROW: LOCAL CORRUPTION SCANDAL ALLEGED.

“They’re already teasing it,” he said. “Building anticipation. By morning, everyone will know. And the men who killed Derek will realize their carefully constructed lies are about to collapse.”

“Good,” Anthony said. He felt the predator satisfaction. The hunter’s patience finally rewarded. “Let them realize. Let them understand. We’re coming.”

Maria took his hand. Squeezed. “Derek’s coming. Through us.”

“Yeah,” Anthony said. “Through us.”

Outside, the afternoon sun was setting. Tomorrow, everything would change. The pack had made their move. Now they waited for the consequences.

End Chapter Seven

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER EIGHT

Freddie’s phone exploded at 6:47 AM.

Not literally. But it felt that way. Notification after notification. Texts. Calls. Social media mentions. His screen lit up like a slot machine hitting jackpot.

He grabbed it. Saw the first message. From his little sister.

Holy shit Freddie. Are you okay? Is this real?

Attached: a screenshot. News article. Headline in bold:

CHILD ABUSE RING EXPOSED: LOCAL OFFICIALS, EDUCATORS IMPLICATED IN YEARS-LONG CONSPIRACY

Below it, a photo. Not Derek. Not the boys.

Anthony. Maria. Mickey. Gavin. And Freddie himself.

Sources who provided evidence request anonymity but are identified as local teenagers who discovered documentation left by Derek Millhouse, 17, before his death...

Freddie’s chest went tight.

It was happening.

More messages flooded in. Friends from school. People he barely knew. His cousin in California. His ex-girlfriend. Everyone.

Is this you? Are you safe? Did you really take down Coach Carver? Holy shit Freddie This is insane Are you a hero or crazy?

He got out of bed. Stumbled to the bathroom. Splashed water on his face. Looked at himself in the mirror. Same face as yesterday. Same Freddie. But the world had changed around him.

His phone kept buzzing.

He opened the article. Read it. All of it.

The journalist was thorough. Detailed. Named names: Coach Brian Carver. Mr. Theodore Brennan. Marcus Walsh (Detective Walsh’s brother). Lawrence Hartwick (the important man, finally identified—city councilman, real estate developer, major donor to local politicians).

Evidence cited: photographs, testimony, documentation. Derek Millhouse’s investigation, completed by unnamed sources after his death.

Police response: No comment pending investigation.

FBI involvement: Confirmed. Special Agent Sarah Rivera leading multi-agency task force. Arrests expected imminently.

School district response: “Shocked and horrified. Full cooperation with authorities. Counselors available for students.”

And then, the part that made Freddie’s stomach drop:

The sources, all teenagers, came forward at significant personal risk. Law enforcement officials say they acted with remarkable courage and have provided extensive evidence that has been independently verified. Their identities are being withheld for their protection, though several names have circulated on social media...

Freddie checked social media. His name was trending locally. So were Anthony’s, Maria’s, Mickey’s, Gavin’s. Someone had connected the dots. Someone always did.

His phone rang. Mom.

“Are you okay?” she asked immediately. “I just saw the news. Freddie, please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, Mom.”

“This article—are you one of the sources? Please tell me you’re not involved in this.”

Freddie hesitated. His mother was good at reading his hesitations.

“Oh my God. Freddie. This is—do you know what you’ve done? These people are dangerous. These are powerful men. They’ve already killed one boy. What if they—”

“Mom.” His voice came out steadier than he felt. “I’m okay. We were careful. The FBI is protecting us. And it’s done now. The story’s out. There’s no taking it back.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re safe!”

“I know. But we did the right thing.”

Silence on the line. Then, quieter: “You should have told me. I could have helped. I could have—”

“You couldn’t have. No one could have. This was something we had to do ourselves.”

Another silence. “Where are you now?”

“Home. I’m supposed to go to school.”

“School? Freddie, you can’t—”

“I have to. Marvin said we stay visible. We maintain routines. We don’t hide.”

“Marvin? Anthony’s guardian?”

“He’s helping us. He’s been helping us. He knows what he’s doing.”

His mother was quiet for a long moment. Then: “I’m coming home. I’m leaving work right now. You don’t go anywhere alone. Do you understand? Nowhere. Not school. Not the store. Nowhere.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Freddie.”

“I know. I promise.”

After she hung up, Freddie sat on his bed and read more articles. They were everywhere now. Local news. State news. Starting to go national. The story was too big to contain.

Another message. The pack group chat.

Maria: It’s everywhere. My phone won’t stop.

Mickey: My boss just called. Asked if I was “that Mickey.” Like there’s more than one Mickey involved in taking down an abuse ring.

Gavin: My uncle says the FBI executed raids at 6 AM. All four suspects in custody. No bail. Federal charges.

Anthony: Marvin says we go to school like normal. Pack stays together. No one alone.

Freddie: My mom’s freaking out. Says I can’t go to school.

Marvin’s number appeared in the thread. He’d been added.

Marvin: Parents’ concern is understandable. But the suspects are in federal custody. They can’t hurt you now. And being visible at school sends a message: you’re not afraid. You’re not hiding. That’s protection.

Another message from Anthony: Freddie’s our bridge. People know him. Trust him. If anyone can handle school today, it’s him.

Freddie stared at his phone. At the confidence Anthony had in him. The role he’d been given in the pack. Bridge. Connector. The one who made people feel comfortable.

He could do this. He’d done harder things. Like deciding to help investigate a murder in the first place.

He got dressed. Jeans. T-shirt. His usual. Nothing special. Nothing that said “I just became semi-famous for taking down corrupt officials.”

Breakfast was surreal. His little sister stared at him like he was a stranger. His dad, who usually left early for work, was still home, reading articles on his tablet, looking worried and proud simultaneously.

“The school might be chaos today,” his dad said. “You sure you want to go?”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

Freddie thought about how to explain it. About pack. About visibility as protection. About not letting fear win.

“Because hiding means they win,” he said finally. “Even from jail. If we hide, they’ve still controlled us. Still made us afraid. So we don’t hide.”

His dad looked at him for a long moment. “When did you get so brave?”

“I’m not brave. I’m just...” He thought about Anthony, who moved toward danger without thinking. About Maria, who’d sat through Brennan’s class knowing what he was. About Mickey, who was probably at school already despite everything. About Gavin, who’d given them his uncle’s contact despite the risk.

“I’m just part of something bigger than me,” Freddie finished. “And you don’t abandon that because it’s scary.”

His mom arrived home as he was leaving. Hugged him fiercely. Made him promise to text her every hour. Made him promise not to talk to reporters without a lawyer. Made him promise to come home if anything felt wrong.

He promised everything.

The drive to school was strange. Normal streets. Normal traffic. But Freddie felt like everyone was looking at him. Recognizing him. Knowing.

The school parking lot was chaos.

News vans. Reporters. Camera crews. Police officers keeping them off school property. Students clustered in groups, phones out, talking urgently.

Freddie parked. Got out. Immediately, heads turned.

“That’s him,” someone said. “That’s Freddie Williams. He’s one of them.”

A reporter called out: “Freddie! Can we get a statement?”

“Are you worried about retaliation?”

“What made you decide to come forward?”

“Did Derek Millhouse contact you before he died?”

Freddie kept walking. Head down. Not answering. Marvin’s instructions: “Don’t talk to media. Not yet. Let the story settle first.”

Inside, the hallway was packed. Students everywhere. Talking. Staring at phones. Looking for faces they recognized from the articles.

Freddie’s friends saw him. Rushed over.

“Dude, is it true?”

“You actually took down Coach Carver?”

“Holy shit, Freddie, you could have been killed!”

He didn’t know what to say. Smiled his easy smile. The one that usually defused tension. But today it felt wrong. Inadequate.

“I’m okay,” he said. “We’re all okay.”

“Where’s Anthony?” someone asked.

“Maria?”

“Are they here?”

“They’re coming,” Freddie said. Though he wasn’t sure. The pack had agreed to meet at school. But maybe the others were getting this same chaos. Maybe they couldn’t get through.

His phone buzzed. Maria: Inside. East wing. This is insane.

Another buzz. Mickey: Reporters tried to follow me into the building. Had to get a cop to make them leave.

Gavin: In library. People keep staring.

Anthony: Outside. Can’t get through the news vans. Going around back.

Freddie: Meet at Maria’s locker. Safety in numbers.

He pushed through the crowded hallway. Students parted for him. Some stared. Some smiled. Some looked scared, like he was contagious. Like getting close to him meant getting close to danger.

At Maria’s locker, the pack assembled. One by one. Maria looking overwhelmed but steady. Mickey grinning despite everything. Gavin pale but present. Anthony arriving last, moving through the crowd like water, people instinctively making space for him.

“This is crazy,” Maria said quietly.

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “But we did it. They’re in custody. Carver. Brennan. Walsh’s brother. That Hartwick guy. All of them. In federal custody.”

“For now,” Gavin said. “They’ll get lawyers. Expensive lawyers. This isn’t over.”

“But it started,” Freddie said. “That’s what matters. We started something they can’t stop.”

The first bell rang. Students began moving toward classrooms. But slowly. Reluctantly. Everyone wanted to stay, to talk, to process what had happened.

Freddie had AP History first period. Walked in. Every eye in the room turned to him. The teacher, Mr. Rodriguez, looked up from his desk.

“Freddie,” he said. “I... I’m glad you’re here. And safe.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rodriguez.”

He sat in his usual seat. Behind him, whispers started immediately.

“Did you see the photos?”

“My mom says Coach Carver was arrested at 6 AM.”

“FBI raided Brennan’s house.”

“Four federal agents. Body armor. Everything.”

“Brennan was still in his pajamas when they took him.”

“Good. Bastard deserves worse than jail.”

Mr. Rodriguez cleared his throat. “I know today is... difficult. The news this morning has affected everyone. But we still have class. And sometimes, doing normal things when the world feels crazy is the healthiest response.”

He started teaching. The Civil War. Normal lesson. Normal routine.

But nothing felt normal. Freddie couldn’t focus. His phone kept buzzing with messages. His mind kept replaying the past week. Derek’s bike. The pack meetings. The photos. The decision. The waiting.

And now this. The consequence. The exposure. The sudden visibility.

At lunch, the cafeteria was stranger than the hallways. Groups of students whispering. Some crying. Some celebrating. Some angry that adults they’d trusted had betrayed them. Some scared that their school had become famous for the worst possible reason.

The pack sat together. Their usual table. But today it felt like sitting on a stage. Everyone watching. Everyone aware.

Jesse Thornton approached. Derek’s friend. The one who’d given Maria the photos.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For finishing what Derek started. For making sure his death wasn’t for nothing.”

“He did the hard part,” Maria said. “He figured it all out. We just made sure people knew.”

“Still. Thank you.” Jesse looked at them. “People are saying you’re heroes. Are they right?”

Freddie thought about that. Heroes. They’d just done what needed doing. What no one else would do.

“We’re just people who couldn’t look away,” he said finally. “That’s all. Derek couldn’t look away either. And they killed him for it. So we owed it to him. To finish it.”

Jesse nodded. Walked away.

More students approached throughout lunch. Some thanking them. Some asking questions. Some just wanting to be close to whatever this was. This moment. This breaking of something terrible into public light.

By the end of the day, Freddie was exhausted. Not from classes. From being looked at. Being known. Being part of something that everyone had an opinion about.

The pack met outside after final bell. Still together. Still whole.

“Tomorrow’s going to be worse,” Gavin said. “Once the initial shock wears off. Once people start processing. Taking sides. Some will think we’re heroes. Some will think we’re troublemakers. Some will hate us for disrupting the comfortable lie.”

“Let them,” Mickey said. “We know what we did. Why we did it. That’s enough.”

“Is it?” Maria asked quietly. “Because my phone has three death threats already. Anonymous accounts. Probably just trolls. But still.”

Anthony’s body went very still. “What did they say?”

“The usual. That I’m a liar. That I ruined innocent men’s lives. That I should die for what I’ve done.” She said it calmly. Like she’d already processed it. Already decided it wasn’t real enough to fear.

“Forward them to Marvin,” Anthony said. “And to the FBI agent. Sarah Rivera. Marvin has her contact.”

“I did. She said they’re monitoring social media. Tracking threats. If anyone makes a credible move, they’ll know.”

“If anyone makes a credible move, I’ll know,” Anthony said. His voice had that edge. The predator edge. “No one hurts the pack.”

Freddie felt something loosen in his chest. Fear he hadn’t realized he was carrying. Because Anthony meant it. Would act on it. Would protect them with the same absolute commitment he’d shown in exposing the abuse ring.

That was pack. That was what they’d built together.

“We should go home,” Freddie said. “Regroup. Process. Rest. Today was—”

“Exhausting,” Maria finished.

“Yeah.”

They separated. Heading to different cars. Different homes. Different families who were processing this in different ways.

Freddie drove home through streets that looked the same but felt different. His town. His home. Now infamous. Now known for harboring predators. For protecting them. For letting Derek die trying to stop them.

But also for five teenagers who’d finished what Derek started. Who’d refused to look away. Who’d taken on power and won.

His phone buzzed one more time. Unknown number.

He almost didn’t answer. But something made him.

“Hello?”

“Is this Freddie Williams?” A woman’s voice. Professional. Calm.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Catherine Morrison. I’m a journalist with the paper that broke the story this morning. I’d like to interview you and your friends. Tell your side. Make sure people understand what you did and why.”

Freddie thought about that. About telling their story. About making sure people understood.

“I need to talk to my friends first,” he said. “And our attorney. We’re not making decisions alone.”

“Smart,” Catherine said. “That’s exactly right. When you’re ready, call this number. I’ll wait. And Freddie? What you did was brave. You should be proud.”

She hung up.

Freddie sat in his car outside his house. Phone in his hand. Story requests. Death threats. Thank you messages. Chaos in digital form.

And somewhere in federal custody, four men who’d thought they were untouchable were realizing they weren’t. Were understanding that five teenagers had destroyed their carefully constructed lives. Were facing decades in prison for what they’d done.

Derek’s death had meant something after all.

The pack had made sure of that.

Freddie got out of his car. Went inside. Where his family waited. Where normal life was trying to continue despite everything.

Tomorrow would be different. Every tomorrow would be different now.

But tonight, Freddie Williams—bridge, connector, friend, pack—was just grateful to be alive. To have friends who moved together. To have done something that mattered.

Even if the cost was being known. Being visible. Being part of history in a way he’d never wanted.

At least it was honest.

At least it was real.

At least Derek’s death hadn’t been for nothing.

End Chapter Eight

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER NINE

Anthony needed to move.

School had been suffocating. All those eyes. All that attention. Students treating him like he was something other than what he was. A person. Just a person who’d done what needed doing.

By the time he got home, his skin felt too tight. His muscles coiled. The animal part of him that lived in his bones needed release.

Marvin was on the phone with someone. FBI probably. Or lawyers. Always someone. Anthony grabbed his motorcycle keys.

“Going out,” he said.

Marvin covered the phone. “Where?”

“Don’t know. Just need to ride.”

Marvin’s eyes assessed him. Attorney eyes. Guardian eyes. Reading the tension. “Be back by midnight. And Anthony—be careful. The arrests don’t mean you’re safe.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because you look like you’re about to do something reckless.”

Anthony almost smiled. “Just riding. That’s all.”

He left before Marvin could argue. Got on his bike. Felt the engine rumble to life beneath him. Better already. Movement. Freedom. The thing that made sense when nothing else did.

He rode without direction. Just let his instincts guide him. Through neighborhoods. Past the school. Past Westside Motors where Carol was probably still working, not caring about the news, just fixing bikes because that’s what mattered.

Eventually he ended up near the industrial zone. Where Derek had died. Where the creek ran dark and cold.

Anthony parked. Walked down to the water. Stood where Derek’s body had been found. Tried to understand what Derek’s last moments had been like. Scared. Alone. Knowing he was being hunted.

“You did good,” Anthony said quietly to the empty air. “We finished it. They’re in custody. They can’t hurt anyone else.”

The creek didn’t answer. Just kept flowing. Cold and dark and indifferent to human suffering.

Anthony sat on the bank. Felt the earth beneath him. Felt the weight of the past week settling into his bones. The photos. The plan. The waiting. The exposure. The consequences.

He was tired. Not physically. But something deeper. The kind of tired that came from carrying heavy things for too long.

His phone buzzed. Maria: You okay? You left fast.

Anthony: Yeah. Just needed to move.

Maria: I get it. Today was a lot.

Anthony: Tomorrow’s going to be worse.

Maria: Probably. But we’re pack. We handle it together.

He smiled despite everything. Pack. Yeah. That’s what got them through.

Another message. From a number he didn’t recognize.

You don’t know me. But you saved my little brother. He was one of the boys in the photos. I can’t thank you enough. You’re a hero.

Anthony stared at the message. Hero. That word again. He didn’t feel like a hero. He’d just done what his instincts told him to do. Seen predators. Decided to stop them. Nothing heroic about it. Just necessary.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t know what to say. Instead he stood. Walked back to his bike.

But he didn’t get on. Not yet.

There was a bar across the street. The kind that didn’t care about IDs too much. Anthony had been there before. Not to drink—alcohol didn’t interest him—but because sometimes after work Carol and the other mechanics went there, and Anthony went along to be social. To learn how humans unwound.

Tonight he could smell it from here. Bodies. Sweat. Desire. The chemical mix of people looking for connection, for release, for anything that made the world feel less heavy.

Anthony crossed the street. Went inside.

The bar was half-full. Working people. Tired people. People who didn’t care about the news, didn’t care about corruption scandals, just wanted a drink and maybe some company.

He sat at the bar. Ordered water. The bartender gave him a look but poured it.

That’s when he smelled it. Sexual availability. That particular scent-signature that meant someone was open. Interested. Looking.

Anthony turned.

A man at the other end of the bar. Maybe twenty-five. Dark hair. Work clothes. Tired eyes that sharpened when they met Anthony’s. Recognition. Not of who Anthony was. But of what he wanted. What they both wanted.

The man smiled. Raised his glass slightly. An invitation.

Anthony stood. Walked over.

“Hey,” the man said. “I’m Davis.”

“Anthony.”

“You look like you’ve had a day.”

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Davis studied his face. Understanding. “Want something else?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t talk much after that. Just finished their drinks. Left together. Davis lived nearby. Walking distance. A small apartment. Clean. Sparse. A person who didn’t accumulate things.

“You sure about this?” Davis asked as he unlocked the door. “You look young.”

“I’m nineteen. And I’m sure.”

Inside, Davis turned on a lamp. Soft light. He stood close to Anthony. Close enough that Anthony could smell him fully. Soap. Coffee. Desire. No fear. No games. Just honesty about what this was.

“What do you want?” Davis asked.

“This,” Anthony said simply. “Just this.”

Davis nodded. Understood. Sometimes people needed connection without complication. Touch without history. Release without consequence.

He kissed Anthony. Slow at first. Testing. Then deeper when Anthony responded. Hands on Anthony’s shoulders. Then his chest. Then lower.

Anthony let himself feel it. The warmth. The pressure. The simple animal pleasure of another body against his. No categories. No labels. Just two people choosing each other for this moment. This hour. This release.

They moved to the bed. Clothes came off. Davis’s hands were rough. Worker’s hands. Anthony liked that. Liked the calloused fingers on his skin. Liked the weight of someone pressing him down into the mattress. Liked surrendering control after a week of holding everything together.

Davis was good at this. Patient. Attentive. Reading Anthony’s responses. Finding what worked. Building the pleasure slowly. No rush. No performance. Just presence.

When Davis entered him, Anthony felt something uncoil in his chest. The tension he’d been carrying. The weight. The constant vigilance. For these moments, he could let it go. Could be just body. Just sensation. Just here.

They moved together. Finding rhythm. Building heat. Davis’s breath hot against Anthony’s neck. His hands gripping Anthony’s hips. The steady thrust that pushed thought away and left only feeling.

Anthony came first. Hard. Unexpected. His body taking what it needed. Davis followed soon after. Collapsing against Anthony’s back. Both of them breathing hard. Tangled together. Sweating.

They lay like that for a while. Not talking. Just existing. Two bodies cooling in the quiet apartment.

Finally Davis rolled off. Lay beside Anthony. Looked at him in the dim light.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Anthony felt lighter. Clearer. “Needed that.”

“I could tell.” Davis smiled. “You’re wound pretty tight.”

“It’s been a week.”

“Want to talk about it now?”

“No. But thank you. For this.”

“Thank you. It’s been a while since I connected with someone who wasn’t looking for something more than I could give.”

Anthony understood that. The burden of other people’s expectations. The weight of being more than just yourself.

“What do you do?” Anthony asked.

“Construction. Mostly renovation work. You?”

“Motorcycle mechanic.”

“Nice. Always wanted to learn that. Seems like good honest work.”

“It is.”

They talked for a while. Not about anything important. Just work. The city. Places they’d been. Easy conversation between two people who knew this was temporary and was fine with that.

Eventually Anthony got dressed. Davis walked him to the door.

“You going to be okay out there?” Davis asked. “Whatever you’re dealing with?”

“Yeah. I have people.”

“Good. That’s what matters.” Davis paused. “If you need this again—just this, no complications—you know where I live.”

“Thanks.”

They didn’t exchange numbers. Didn’t make promises. Just smiled at each other. Two people who’d helped each other through a hard night. That was enough.

Anthony walked back to his bike. The night air was cold but felt good on his skin. He felt settled. Grounded. Ready to face whatever came next.

His phone had messages. Pack checking in. Marvin asking where he was. Anthony texted back: Heading home now. I’m okay.

The ride back was different. Calmer. The animal part of him satisfied. The human part remembering that connection could be simple. Honest. Free of the complications that had dominated his week.

When he got home, Marvin was still up. Sitting in the living room. Reading files.

“You alright?” Marvin asked.

“Yeah.” Anthony sat on the floor. His spot. “Just needed to clear my head.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.”

Marvin didn’t push. Just accepted it. That was one of the things Anthony appreciated about him. Marvin understood that Anthony processed things differently. Needed different things. Moved through the world with different logic.

“The FBI agent called,” Marvin said. “They’re concerned about threats. Someone sent Maria three more since school ended. All from different anonymous accounts. They’re tracking the IPs but it takes time.”

Anthony’s calm evaporated. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Her parents are home. The FBI has a patrol car outside her building. But Anthony—this isn’t over. The arrests were just the beginning. These men have allies. People who believe them. People who think you’re the villains for exposing them.”

“Let them think that.”

“I’m serious. You need to be careful. All of you. The pack needs to stay together. Stay visible. But also stay smart.”

“We will.”

Marvin looked at him. Really looked. “Where were you tonight?”

“Out.”

“Anthony—”

“I was safe. I was careful. I was with someone who didn’t know who I was and didn’t care about any of this. Just someone who needed the same thing I needed.” Anthony met Marvin’s eyes. “I’m allowed that. To be human. To need release. To exist outside of this.”

Marvin was quiet for a moment. Then nodded. “You’re right. You are allowed that. I just worry.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not judging. I’m just—” Marvin stopped. Started again. “I’m learning how to be family. Real family. Not just legal guardian. And family worries.”

“Family also trusts,” Anthony said gently.

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m working on that.”

They sat together in the quiet living room. Guardian and ward. Almost-father and almost-son. Pack in their own way.

“Tomorrow’s going to be hard,” Marvin said finally. “The defense attorneys will start attacking. They’ll go after your credibility. Your motives. They’ll try to paint you as troubled kids with an agenda.”

“We are troubled kids.”

Marvin almost laughed. “Fair point. But they’ll use it against you. Make you look unstable. Unreliable. That’s what defense attorneys do when the evidence is against them. They attack the witnesses.”

“Let them.”

“Anthony, I’m serious—”

“So am I. Let them attack us. We have the truth. We have the evidence. We have Derek’s documentation and the photos and witness testimony. They can attack us all they want. It doesn’t change what their clients did.”

Marvin studied him. “You’re more confident than I am.”

“That’s because you know the legal system. I just know what’s right.”

“Those aren’t always the same thing.”

“I know. But this time they are. This time the evidence is too strong. The photos too clear. The victims too real. This time justice might actually work.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“Me too.”

Anthony went upstairs to his room. Lay on his bed. Felt the lingering warmth of Davis’s touch. The memory of simple connection. The reminder that he was more than just this case. More than just the pack. More than just the feral boy who’d lived with bears.

He was Anthony. Who liked motorcycles and honest work. Who needed touch sometimes. Who belonged to people and let people belong to him. Who’d done something brave and was dealing with the consequences.

Tomorrow would be hard. The defense attorneys would attack. The threats would continue. The scrutiny would intensify.

But tonight, Anthony felt okay. Grounded. Ready.

He’d needed that release. That honest connection. That reminder that despite everything, he was still just a person. Still capable of simple pleasures. Still allowed to exist outside the weight of what they’d done.

His phone buzzed one more time. Maria: Anthony. Thank you. For everything. For being pack. For not letting Derek’s death be for nothing.

Anthony: We did it together.

Maria: I know. But you started it. You smelled something wrong and you acted. Without you, none of this happens.

Anthony: Without all of us, none of this happens. That’s what pack means.

Maria: Yeah. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to suck.

Anthony: Probably. But we’ll handle it.

Maria: Together.

Anthony: Together.

He set his phone aside. Closed his eyes. Let himself drift toward sleep. Tomorrow would bring whatever it brought. But tonight, he’d found a moment of peace. A moment of simple human connection. A moment where he was just Anthony, not a hero or a witness or a symbol.

Just a person who’d needed something and found it.

That was enough.

That was everything.

End Chapter Nine

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER TEN

Mickey knew she was fired before her boss even opened his mouth.

She could see it in the way Jim stood in the doorway of the garage office. Arms crossed. Face closed. The look that meant this isn’t personal but it’s happening anyway.

“Mickey. Come here.”

She set down her wrench. Wiped her hands on her jeans. Walked over. Every eye in the garage followed her. The other mechanics. The customers waiting in the lobby. Everyone knowing who she was now. What she’d done. What she’d become.

Inside the office, Jim closed the door. Sat behind his desk. Mickey stayed standing. She wasn’t going to sit for this.

“You’re a good mechanic,” Jim started. “Best young tech I’ve had in years. Fast learner. Hard worker. Customers like you.”

“But,” Mickey said.

“But I can’t keep you on.”

“Because of the story.”

“Because three customers called this morning threatening to take their business elsewhere if you’re still here. Because my insurance guy called asking if I knew I had ‘that girl’ working here and what that might mean for my liability coverage. Because—” Jim stopped. Ran his hand through his hair. “Because I have a business to run. And right now, having you here is bad for business.”

Mickey felt the familiar heat rising in her chest. The anger. The impulse to act, to move, to fight.

“Those men hurt kids,” she said carefully. “We exposed them. We did the right thing. And you’re firing me for it?”

“I’m not firing you for doing the right thing. I’m firing you because keeping you puts my business at risk. That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Jim looked tired. Old. Like the weight of making this decision had aged him. “Look. In a few months, when this blows over, when the trials are done, call me. Maybe things will be different then. Maybe—”

“Don’t,” Mickey interrupted. “Don’t pretend this is temporary. You’re choosing money over what’s right. Just say it.”

“Fine. I’m choosing to keep my business open. I have six other employees who need their jobs. I have a mortgage. I have responsibilities. And I’m sorry, Mickey, but you’re not one of them anymore.”

He slid an envelope across the desk. “Two weeks’ pay. Plus a bonus for the trouble. It’s all I can do.”

Mickey looked at the envelope. At the money that was supposed to make this okay. Make abandonment feel like generosity.

She didn’t take it.

“Keep it,” she said. “I don’t need your guilt money.”

“Mickey—”

“You know what the funny thing is? Those three customers who called? I bet one of them has kids. I bet they all pretended to care about child safety. But really they just don’t want to be inconvenienced. Don’t want to think about it. Don’t want to be reminded that evil exists in their nice comfortable town.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Mickey opened the door. “Thanks for the opportunity, Jim. Hope your business thrives.”

She walked out of the office. Grabbed her toolbox. Felt every eye on her again. But this time she didn’t care. Let them look. Let them judge. She’d done the right thing and she’d do it again.

Outside, she threw her toolbox in her truck. Sat in the driver’s seat. Stared at the steering wheel.

Fired. Day two of being visible. Day two of consequences.

Her phone buzzed. Pack group chat.

Anthony: Mickey you okay? Haven’t heard from you today.

Mickey typed: Just got fired.

Immediate responses.

Maria: What? Why?

Mickey: Because I’m bad for business. Because customers threatened to leave.

Freddie: That’s fucked up.

Gavin: Is that even legal? Firing you for whistleblowing?

Mickey: Don’t know. Don’t care. Not fighting it.

Marvin’s number appeared: Actually, you could fight it. There are protections for whistleblowers. I can make calls.

Mickey: No. Let it go. I’ll find another job.

Anthony: Come to Westside Motors. Carol’s always looking for good mechanics.

Mickey felt something loosen in her chest. That was Anthony. Solution-oriented. No drama. Just: here’s what we do next.

Mickey: Thanks. I’ll talk to her.

Maria: Are you okay though? Really?

Mickey thought about that. Was she okay? She’d just lost her income. Lost the routine that kept her grounded. Lost the one place that wasn’t about the case or the pack or the exposure.

But she was alive. She was free. And she’d helped stop monsters. So yeah. She was okay.

Mickey: Yeah. I’m good. Just pissed.

Freddie: Want company? I can skip last period.

Mickey: No. You stay in school. I’m fine.

She started her truck. Drove without destination. Just needed to move. To process. To let the anger work itself through her system.

She ended up at the park. The one near the creek. Near where Derek died. Parked. Got out. Walked.

There were flowers at the memorial spot. Cards. Photos. People had been leaving them since the story broke. Turning Derek’s death into something public. Something shared.

Mickey stood at the edge of the memorial. Read some of the cards.

Thank you for your bravery. You saved my son. Rest in peace, hero.

She thought about Derek. Seventeen. Scared. Alone. Trying to do the right thing with no one to help him. And now dead. And now a hero. And now immortalized by strangers who’d never met him.

Would Derek have wanted this? The attention? The memorial? The fame?

Probably not. Derek had been quiet. Private. The kind of kid who took photos instead of appearing in them.

But he’d done it anyway. Had exposed the abuse ring anyway. Had risked everything anyway. Because some things mattered more than safety.

Mickey understood that. The impulse to act even when acting was dangerous. The inability to look away when looking away would be easier.

That’s what had gotten her into this. The photos Maria showed them. The faces of those boys. The knowledge that powerful men were hurting kids and getting away with it.

Mickey couldn’t have looked away from that. Couldn’t have let it stand. Even knowing the cost.

Even knowing she’d lose her job. Her privacy. Her comfortable anonymous life.

Worth it.

She heard footsteps behind her. Turned.

A man. Forties. Expensive suit. Angry face.

“You’re one of them,” he said. “One of the kids who ruined those men’s lives.”

Mickey’s body went tense. Ready. “Those men ruined their own lives. By hurting kids.”

“You don’t know what you’ve done. Lawrence Hartwick is a pillar of this community. He’s donated millions to schools and hospitals. He’s created jobs. He’s—”

“He’s a child abuser,” Mickey interrupted. “And now he’s in federal custody. Good.”

The man stepped closer. “You little bitch. Do you have any idea what you’ve cost this town? The scandal? The embarrassment? Companies are pulling out. Investors are leaving. All because you couldn’t mind your own business.”

“Children being hurt is everyone’s business.”

“They’re lying. Those photos are doctored. The whole thing is a setup. And you—you stupid kids—you fell for it. Or worse, you’re part of the conspiracy to destroy good men.”

Mickey laughed. Couldn’t help it. The absurdity. The gymnastics this man was doing to avoid believing the truth.

“The FBI verified the photos,” she said. “They’re real. The victims are real. The abuse is real. And your hero Lawrence Hartwick is going to prison for a very long time.”

The man’s face went red. He grabbed Mickey’s arm. Hard. “You need to learn some respect.”

Mickey moved on instinct. Twisted out of his grip. Stepped back. Hands up. Ready to fight if he came at her again.

“Touch me again and I call the cops,” she said. “And then you’ll be the one with a police record.”

“The cops? You think the cops will help you? You just put one of their own behind bars. Walsh is dirty now because of you. You think they’re going to protect you?”

Mickey’s phone was already out. Recording. Had been since the man approached. Anthony had taught them that. Always record confrontations. Always have evidence.

“I’m recording this,” she said. “So if you want to keep threatening me, go ahead. Make it easy for the FBI.”

The man’s face went from red to white. He looked at the phone. At Mickey. At the memorial behind her.

“This isn’t over,” he said. But he was backing away. “You kids have no idea what you’ve started. No idea who you’re up against.”

“Try me,” Mickey said. But the man was already walking away. Back to his expensive car. Back to his comfortable life that was crumbling because five teenagers had refused to look away.

Mickey stopped recording. Sent the video to the pack chat. Then to Marvin. Then to FBI Agent Sarah Rivera’s number that Marvin had given them all for emergencies.

Her phone rang immediately. Rivera.

“Mickey?” The agent’s voice was calm. Professional. “I just got your video. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. He grabbed my arm but I got away. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Where are you now?”

“The park. Near where Derek died.”

“Stay there. I’m sending a patrol car. And Mickey? You did exactly right. Recording it. Staying calm. Not escalating. That’s perfect.”

“What about him? The guy who grabbed me?”

“We’re running his plates. We’ll identify him. And we’ll have a conversation with him about threatening witnesses in a federal case.”

After she hung up, Mickey sat on a bench. Waited for the patrol car. Felt the adrenaline starting to fade. Leaving her shaky. Tired.

This was the cost. This was what being visible meant. Random angry men in parking lots. Jobs lost. Confrontations. Threats.

But also: Derek’s memorial growing. Victims being validated. Abusers in custody. Justice happening.

The patrol car arrived. Two officers. They took her statement. Watched the video. Said all the right things about how brave she was, how important her role had been.

But Mickey could see it in their eyes. The uncertainty. The question of whether she and the pack had done the right thing. Whether exposing corruption was worth the chaos it created.

She understood. Change was uncomfortable. Justice was messy. Sometimes doing the right thing made everything worse before it made anything better.

After the officers left, Mickey sat alone for a while longer. Thought about Anthony and Maria and Freddie and Gavin. About Marvin protecting them with legal maneuvering. About Derek who’d started this alone.

They were pack. They’d chosen this together. And if the cost was lost jobs and confrontations and threats, they’d pay it together.

Her phone buzzed. Anthony: Carol says come by tomorrow. She’ll hire you. Better pay than Jim’s place anyway.

Mickey smiled despite everything. That was pack. Problem? Here’s the solution. No hesitation. No doubt. Just: we take care of our own.

Mickey: Thanks. Tell her I’ll be there at 8.

Anthony: She says 8:30. Shop doesn’t open till 9 and she likes to have coffee first.

Mickey: Perfect.

Another message. Maria: That video is scary. Are you really okay?

Mickey: Yeah. Shook him off easy. Anthony’s instinct training helped.

Maria: Good. But Mickey—be careful. These people are getting desperate.

Mickey: Let them be desperate. We’re not backing down.

Gavin: That man is Lawrence Hartwick’s brother-in-law. CEO of a construction company. FBI is already tracking him down.

Freddie: How do you know that?

Gavin: I looked up his plates. Took thirty seconds.

Mickey laughed. That was Gavin. Always three steps ahead. Always finding the patterns.

She drove home. Her apartment was small. Studio. Barely enough room for her bed and her weights and her punching bag. But it was hers. Paid for with money she’d earned fixing motorcycles.

Well. With money she’d earned until today.

But tomorrow she’d have a new job. At Westside Motors. Working with Carol. Near Anthony. Still doing the work she loved.

Problem solved. Pack taking care of pack.

That night, Mickey couldn’t sleep. Kept replaying the confrontation. The man’s face. His anger. His absolute certainty that she was wrong. That the abusers were victims. That exposing them was the real crime.

How many people thought that? How many people in this town looked at her and the pack and saw villains instead of heroes?

Probably a lot. Probably most. People didn’t like their comfortable lies disrupted. Didn’t like being reminded that monsters wore respectable faces.

But some people—like the person who sent that message to Anthony thanking him for saving their brother—some people understood. Some people knew what the pack had done mattered. Had saved lives. Had stopped something terrible from continuing.

That had to be enough.

Mickey got up. Hit her punching bag. Let the physical exhaustion work the thoughts out of her system. Let movement replace thinking.

By the time she fell into bed, sweaty and tired, she felt better. Grounded. Ready for tomorrow.

New job. Same work. Different shop. Pack still together.

She could handle this. She could handle all of it.

Because that’s what pack meant. You handled things together. You took hits for each other. You solved problems. You moved forward.

Derek had been alone. Had faced this terror alone. Had died alone.

But Mickey wasn’t alone. None of them were.

And that made all the difference.

End Chapter Ten

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gavin’s laptop screen glowed in the dark. Two AM. He should be sleeping. Had school in five hours. But the patterns kept pulling him back. Kept demanding his attention.

The arrests had been clean. Simultaneous raids. Carver, Brennan, Walsh’s brother, Hartwick. All in federal custody within twenty minutes. No one had time to destroy evidence. No one had time to coordinate stories.

But something bothered Gavin. Something didn’t add up.

He pulled up the photos again. Derek’s photos. The ones Jesse had given Maria. The ones that had started everything. Forty-three images. He’d analyzed them before. Timestamps. Metadata. Locations. Everything checked out.

But now, looking again with fresh eyes, he saw something he’d missed.

Five men in the photos. Not four.

Carver. Brennan. Walsh’s brother. Hartwick. And one more. Always in the background. Face partially obscured. Never quite clear enough to identify.

Gavin zoomed in on the clearest shot. Enhanced it. Ran it through facial recognition software he’d coded himself. Waited.

The match came back: No positive ID. Face too obscured. But the build, the posture, the clothing suggested someone older. Professional. Someone used to being invisible.

He opened a new window. Started digging through public records. Who else had access to the locations in the photos? Who else would have been present but not named?

An hour later, he found something.

Property records for the building where most photos were taken. Owned by a shell company. Officers listed as Hartwick and two others. One was Walsh’s brother. The other: Franklin Morrison. Fifty-eight. No criminal record. Clean background. Listed as a “business consultant.”

Gavin ran Morrison’s name through every database he could access legally. Then some he probably couldn’t.

Morrison worked in children’s services. Had for thirty years. Access to vulnerable kids. Access to records. Access to everything.

And in three of Derek’s photos, there was a man in the background whose build matched Morrison’s exactly.

Gavin’s stomach went cold.

They’d arrested four men. But there were five. And the fifth was still out there. Still working with vulnerable children. Still dangerous.

He grabbed his phone. Texted the pack group chat: Need emergency meeting. Found something. Important.

Responses came fast. Even at 2 AM, no one was sleeping well.

Anthony: What did you find?

Gavin: Fifth person. In the photos. Not arrested.

Maria: Are you sure?

Gavin: Yes. Franklin Morrison. Works in children’s services. Was at the locations. In the background of photos.

Mickey: Holy shit. We missed someone.

Freddie: Text Marvin. And Rivera.

Gavin did both. Sent them everything. The enhanced photos. The property records. Morrison’s background. The connections.

Marvin called immediately.

“Gavin. It’s two in the morning. This better be—”

“There’s a fifth person. We missed him. He’s still out there.”

Silence on the line. Then: “Send me everything. I’ll call Rivera now. Don’t do anything. Don’t approach him. Don’t even look at him. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“I mean it, Gavin. This man has already killed once. If he realizes you know about him—”

“I know. I’m not stupid.”

“You’re brilliant. Which sometimes makes you do stupid things. Stay home. Stay safe. Let the FBI handle this.”

After Marvin hung up, Gavin sat in his dark room and thought about what they’d almost missed. A fifth predator. Still working. Still dangerous. Still around vulnerable children.

Derek had captured him on camera. But not clearly enough. Not obviously enough. The man had been careful. Had stayed in shadows. Had almost escaped notice entirely.

Almost.

But Derek had documented everything. And Gavin had found it. And now the FBI knew.

His phone buzzed. Unknown number. Text message:

Stop digging. You’ve done enough damage. Walk away while you still can.

Gavin’s chest tightened. He screenshotted the message. Sent it to Rivera. To Marvin. To the pack.

Another message: I know where you live. I know your schedule. I know everything about you. This is your only warning.

Anthony called. “Don’t respond. Don’t engage. Pack up essential things. You’re coming to Marvin’s house. Now.”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“I don’t care. You’re being threatened. You’re not staying there alone.”

“My parents—”

“Wake them up. Tell them everything. Marvin’s already on his way to talk to them.”

Fifteen minutes later, Marvin was at Gavin’s door. Calm. Professional. Explaining to Gavin’s parents that their son had just identified a fifth suspect in a major federal investigation. That said suspect had threatened him. That protective custody was advisable until the suspect was in custody.

Gavin’s mother looked terrified. His father looked confused. But they packed Gavin a bag. Let Marvin take him.

In Marvin’s car, Gavin said: “I should have caught this earlier. Should have seen the fifth person right away.”

“You caught it when it mattered. That’s what counts.”

“But if I’d seen it sooner—”

“You gave the FBI everything they needed when they needed it. They’re moving on Morrison now. He’ll be in custody by morning.”

“What if he runs?”

“Then they’ll find him. That’s what the FBI does.” Marvin glanced over. “You okay?”

“No. I just got death threats from a child predator who knows where I live.”

“Fair point.”

At Marvin’s house, Anthony was waiting. So was Maria. Mickey and Freddie arrived shortly after. All of them. The whole pack. Converging because one of them was threatened.

“You didn’t have to come,” Gavin said.

“Yes we did,” Maria said simply. “That’s what pack means.”

They set up in Marvin’s living room. Laptops out. Phones charged. Connected. Gavin showed them everything he’d found. The enhanced photos. Morrison’s background. The property connections.

“He was the careful one,” Gavin explained. “Always in the background. Never facing the camera directly. Derek captured him but barely. He almost got away with it.”

“But he didn’t,” Anthony said. “Because you’re good at patterns. You see what others miss.”

Gavin felt something loosen in his chest. The weight of almost missing something. The fear of having let Morrison escape. But he hadn’t. He’d found him. And now the FBI knew.

His phone buzzed. Rivera’s number.

“Gavin. Franklin Morrison is in custody. We arrested him twenty minutes ago. He’s being charged with everything the others are charged with, plus obstruction and witness intimidation for the threats he sent you.”

“How did you find him so fast?”

“He was at home. Packing. About to run. Your analysis gave us enough for a warrant. We moved immediately. He’s not going anywhere now.”

After Rivera hung up, Gavin told the pack.

“All five,” Maria said. “All of them in custody.”

“Because we didn’t look away,” Freddie said. “Because we kept digging even after the arrests.”

“Because Gavin’s a paranoid pattern-seeker who doesn’t sleep,” Mickey added. “Which today turned out to be a good thing.”

Gavin smiled despite everything. “I prefer ‘thorough researcher.’”

“You’re both,” Anthony said. “And it saved kids. Morrison was still working. Still had access. If you hadn’t found him—”

“But I did.”

“Yeah. You did.”

They sat together in Marvin’s living room. The pack. All present. All safe. All together because one of them had been threatened and the others had converged instantly.

This was what they’d built. Not just a group of friends. A pack. Something deeper. Something that functioned without hierarchy. Without command. Just trust and presence and showing up when it mattered.

“Can I ask something?” Gavin said quietly.

“Always,” Maria said.

“Are we going to be okay? After this? When the trials happen? When we have to testify? When defense lawyers try to destroy our credibility? When the world judges everything we’ve done?”

The pack was quiet. Thinking about that question. The one they’d all been avoiding.

“I don’t know,” Anthony said finally. “I think some of us will be okay. I think some of us will struggle. I think all of us will be changed by this. But we’ll be changed together. And that makes it survivable.”

“Barely survivable,” Mickey muttered.

“Still counts.”

Freddie pulled out his phone. “The journalist—Catherine Morrison, no relation to Franklin Morrison apparently—she wants to interview us. Tell our full story. She says it’s important that people understand who we are. What we did. Why we did it.”

“Should we?” Maria asked.

“I think so,” Gavin said. “Because right now we’re just names. Anonymous sources. The defense will try to paint us as vindictive teens. Troublemakers. Liars. But if we tell our story first, in our own words, we control the narrative.”

“Control is generous,” Marvin said from the doorway. He’d been listening. “More like influence. But Gavin’s right. Public opinion matters. Especially before trials. If the jury pool sees you as credible people who did something brave, that helps.”

“When?” Anthony asked.

“Soon. Before the defense gets ahead of the story. I’ll set it up. Coordinate with Rivera. Make sure you’re protected. But yes. You should do it.”

They talked until dawn. About the interview. About what they’d say. About how to present themselves. About the story they wanted to tell.

By the time the sun rose, they had a plan. Catherine Morrison would interview all five of them. Together. As a pack. They’d explain what Derek had found. How they’d finished his investigation. Why they’d come forward. What it had cost them.

And they’d do it honestly. No exaggeration. No drama. Just five teenagers who’d decided that some things mattered more than safety.

Gavin’s parents came to pick him up at seven AM. Hugged him fiercely. Told him they were proud and terrified in equal measure. Took him home to the house that Morrison now knew the address of. But Morrison was in custody. Couldn’t hurt him now.

As Gavin left, Anthony caught his arm. “Thank you. For not sleeping. For being paranoid. For finding the fifth one.”

“I’m just good at patterns.”

“Yeah. You are. And today that skill saved lives.”

Gavin drove home with his parents. Thought about patterns. About the way information connected. About the fifth predator who’d almost escaped because he’d been careful. Almost.

But careful wasn’t enough when someone like Gavin was looking. When someone who saw patterns and connections and gaps in the data was paying attention.

Derek had given them the evidence. Gavin had found the missing piece. And now all five men were in custody. All of them. Every single one.

The pack had done it. Had actually done it. Had taken on powerful, dangerous men and won.

For now.

The trials were still coming. The testimony. The cross-examination. The attempts to destroy their credibility.

But they’d face that together. The way they’d faced everything else.

As a pack.

End Chapter Eleven

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER TWELVE

The journalist’s office smelled like coffee and old paper. Catherine Morrison—no relation to Franklin Morrison, she’d emphasized immediately—had kind eyes and recording equipment spread across her desk.

The pack sat together. Anthony, Maria, Mickey, Gavin, Freddie. On one couch. Close. The way they always were now.

Marvin stood in the corner. Not participating. Just present. Legal protection in human form.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Catherine said. She was older than Anthony had expected. Fifty, maybe. Hair going gray. Wearing jeans and a sweater. Not trying to look like television news. “I know this is difficult. Exposing yourselves publicly. But I think people need to hear your story from you. Not filtered through police statements or court documents.”

“Before we start,” Marvin said, “ground rules. You can ask about Derek’s investigation. About what they found. About why they came forward. But you don’t ask about their personal lives beyond what’s relevant. You don’t ask about their families. You don’t put them in danger.”

“Agreed,” Catherine said. She looked at the pack. “You can stop anytime. You can refuse to answer anything. This is your story. You control how it’s told.”

Anthony felt something settle in his chest. Control. Agency. Not being acted upon but acting.

“Okay,” he said. “Ask.”

Catherine hit record. “Let’s start with how you found out about Derek Millhouse’s investigation. Who wants to begin?”

They looked at each other. That pack communication. Wordless. Negotiating without speaking.

Anthony started. “Derek came to my workshop a week before he died. Said his bike needed work. It didn’t. He was scared. I could smell it. Fear has a scent. Most people don’t notice. But I do.”

“You smell fear?” Catherine’s eyebrow raised. Not mocking. Curious.

“I lived in mountains before I lived with humans. Spent my first years with bears. You learn to read things differently when survival depends on it.”

“That’s documented,” Marvin added from the corner. “Anthony’s background is a matter of public record.”

Catherine nodded. “So Derek came to you scared. What happened next?”

“I didn’t ask why. Figured he’d tell me if he wanted. He didn’t. Just thanked me for looking at the bike. Left. Week later, police said he drowned. Called it an accident.”

“But you didn’t believe that.”

“No. Because his bike told me different. When it came to my workshop from impound, I could smell the fear on it. Recent fear. After-death fear. Someone else had been afraid near that bike. And there was damage. Panic damage. Someone grabbed the handlebars too hard. Someone clutched the clutch in terror.”

Maria picked up the story. “Anthony found a note. Hidden in the bike’s storage compartment. Derek’s handwriting. Said if anything happened to him, check the school basement.”

“Did you check?”

“Not right away. First we—” Maria hesitated. Looked at the pack.

Freddie continued. “First we met. Talked about whether to get involved. Whether to trust Anthony’s instinct. Whether it was worth the risk.”

“What made you decide it was?” Catherine asked.

“Because no one else was asking questions,” Mickey said. “Police closed the case in three days. Everyone accepted it. Everyone moved on. But Derek left that note. He was trying to tell someone something. And if we didn’t listen, no one would.”

Gavin added: “I needed proof. I’m not like Anthony. I don’t trust instinct. I need data. Evidence. Logic. So at first I was skeptical.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Maria got the photos.”

The pack went quiet. This was the hard part. The part that would make people understand or not understand. The part that would define how they were seen.

Maria’s voice was steady. “Derek’s friend Jesse contacted me at school. Said Derek had sent him photos the day before he died. Told him to get them out if anything happened. Jesse gave them to me.”

“And the photos showed—”

“Everything,” Maria said. “Coach Carver. Mr. Brennan. Marcus Walsh. Lawrence Hartwick. Franklin Morrison. And boys. Young boys. Being hurt.”

Catherine’s professional mask slipped slightly. “That must have been devastating to see.”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I called the pack. Emergency meeting. Showed them everything. And then we decided.”

“Decided what?”

Anthony spoke. “To finish what Derek started. To get the photos to someone who could use them. To make sure Derek’s death meant something.”

“Why not go to the police?”

“Walsh’s brother was in the photos,” Gavin said. “Detective Walsh had closed the case. The police weren’t going to help. They were part of the problem.”

“So you went around them.”

“Yes. My uncle is a civil rights attorney. Has connections to investigative journalists. I sent him everything. Encrypted. He got it to you.”

Catherine nodded. “I received the photos three days after Derek’s death. I spent two days verifying they were real. Contacting the FBI. Building the story. Making sure it was bulletproof before publication.”

“Did you contact Derek’s killers?” Mickey asked. “Give them a chance to respond?”

“Thirty minutes before publication. Standard journalism practice. They all said ‘no comment’ or hung up. Except Hartwick. He threatened to sue. Said the photos were fabricated. Said teenagers couldn’t be trusted.”

“But you published anyway,” Freddie said.

“Because the photos were real. The evidence was overwhelming. And the FBI confirmed they were moving on the case. Five teenagers risked everything to expose an abuse ring. That’s a story people need to hear.”

Catherine looked at them. “Can I ask you something difficult?”

“You can ask anything,” Anthony said.

“Why you? Why did five teenagers take this on when adults—teachers, parents, police, social workers—all looked away?”

The pack was quiet. Thinking about that. The question they’d asked themselves a hundred times.

“Because we could,” Maria said finally. “Because we had the evidence. Because Derek trusted us with it. Because looking away felt worse than the danger.”

“Because adults are invested in the system,” Gavin added. “They want it to work. They need it to work. So they don’t see when it fails. But we’re not invested yet. We could see clearly.”

“Because some things are worth fighting for,” Mickey said. “Even when you’re scared. Even when you might lose. Those boys in the photos—they needed someone. And we were the ones who could help.”

Freddie’s voice was quiet. “Because we’re pack. And pack doesn’t abandon. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let evil win because fighting is hard.”

Catherine turned to Anthony. “And you? What made you do it?”

Anthony thought about how to explain. About instinct and ethics and the simple fact that Derek had come to him scared and Anthony hadn’t helped and then Derek died. About owing something to that memory. About living with the kind of guilt that came from knowing you could have acted and didn’t.

“Because I smelled fear on Derek’s bike,” he said finally. “And fear means danger. And danger to one is danger to all. In the mountains, when a bear cub is threatened, the pack responds. Not because they like that cub. Not because they’ll get something from protecting it. But because that’s what pack means. You protect what’s vulnerable. You stop what’s dangerous. You don’t require a reason more complicated than that.”

Catherine was quiet for a moment. Then: “That’s the most honest thing anyone’s said to me in twenty years of journalism.”

She asked more questions. About finding Morrison. About the threats they’d received. About their families’ reactions. About school. About the cost.

“People call you heroes,” Catherine said. “How does that feel?”

“Wrong,” Anthony said immediately.

“Why?”

“Because heroes are supposed to be special. Supposed to have powers or training or something that makes them different. But we’re just people who couldn’t look away. That’s not heroic. That’s just... human. Or should be.”

“The problem,” Maria said quietly, “is that looking away has become so normal that not looking away seems heroic. But it shouldn’t be. It should be the baseline.”

“What do you want people to understand?” Catherine asked. “About what you did? About why you did it?”

The pack looked at each other again. That wordless communication.

“That we were scared,” Freddie said. “The whole time. We weren’t fearless. We were terrified. But we did it anyway.”

“That we made mistakes,” Gavin said. “We almost missed Morrison. We didn’t know what we were doing. We figured it out as we went.”

“That we had help,” Mickey said. “Marvin. The FBI. Each other. We weren’t alone. That’s what made it possible.”

“That we’re not finished,” Maria said. “The arrests are just the beginning. There are trials. Testimony. Cross-examination. Months or years of this. And we’ll probably break sometimes. Probably struggle. But we’ll do it anyway.”

Anthony added: “That anyone could have done what we did. We’re not special. We just had evidence and decided to act. That’s all. Any five people could have made the same choice.”

“But they didn’t,” Catherine said. “You did. Why do you think that is?”

Anthony thought about pack. About how they’d found each other. About how trust had built over time. About how they’d learned to coordinate without hierarchy. About how each person contributed from their strength.

“Because we trusted each other,” he said. “Because we didn’t have a leader telling us what to do. We figured it out together. Made decisions together. Stayed together even when it was hard. That’s what made it work. Not individual heroism. Collective action. Pack.”

Catherine smiled. “I’m going to use that as the headline. ‘Not Heroes. Pack.’”

The interview lasted three hours. By the end, Anthony’s throat was dry. His body was tired. But something had shifted. They’d told their story. Their way. In their words. With their truth.

Catherine packed up her equipment. “This publishes tomorrow. Front page again. Online simultaneously. It’ll be big. Prepare yourselves.”

“Bigger than the first story?” Freddie asked.

“Different. The first story was about the crime. This one’s about you. About what it means when young people refuse to accept that adults have failed them. About taking responsibility when institutions won’t. It’s going to resonate.”

After she left, the pack sat in Marvin’s office. Tired. Relieved. Apprehensive.

“You did well,” Marvin said. “All of you. You were honest without being reckless. You told your story without endangering yourselves further. That’s what mattered.”

“What happens now?” Maria asked.

“Now we wait for the article. Prepare for the response. And then we start preparing for trials. Which will be harder than anything you’ve done so far.”

“How much harder?” Mickey asked.

“Defense attorneys will try to destroy your credibility. They’ll dig into your backgrounds. Find anything they can use. Paint you as troubled teens. Unreliable witnesses. People with axes to grind.”

“But we’re not,” Freddie said.

“Doesn’t matter. They’ll try anyway. That’s their job. To create reasonable doubt. To make juries question whether you’re telling the truth.”

“So what do we do?” Gavin asked.

“What you just did. Tell the truth. Stay consistent. Don’t exaggerate. Don’t get angry. Just answer questions honestly and let the evidence speak.”

The pack dispersed slowly. Back to their separate homes. Their separate families. Their separate lives that would never quite be separate again.

Anthony stayed behind. Helped Marvin clean up. A comfortable silence.

“That thing you said,” Marvin said finally. “About pack. About collective action versus individual heroism. That was good.”

“It’s true.”

“I know. But it’s also the thing people have the hardest time understanding. They want heroes. Want someone to admire. Want individual greatness to aspire to. Collective action is messier. Harder to romanticize. But it’s what actually works.”

Anthony thought about that. “Is that anarchism?”

Marvin smiled. “You tell me. You’re the one living it.”

That night, Anthony lay in bed and thought about the interview. About the story they’d told. About the way Catherine had listened. Really listened. Not looking for sensation. Looking for truth.

Tomorrow the article would publish. Tomorrow the world would know their names. Their faces. Their story.

Tomorrow, everything would change again.

But tonight, Anthony Canis—feral boy, motorcycle mechanic, pack member, reluctant hero—was just grateful for the silence. For the dark. For the moment of peace before the next wave hit.

He thought about Derek. About the note. About the bike that had started everything.

“We finished it,” he said quietly to the dark. “Like we promised. Your story got told. Your death meant something. Rest easy.”

The dark didn’t answer. But Anthony felt something shift anyway. Some weight lifting. Some obligation fulfilled.

They’d done what they set out to do. Exposed the predators. Protected the vulnerable. Finished what Derek started.

The cost wasn’t over. The consequences were still coming. But they’d done the thing.

And they’d done it together.

As pack.

End Chapter Twelve

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Maria’s phone wouldn’t stop. Two days since Catherine’s article published. Two days of messages. Calls. Emails. Social media notifications.

Some supportive. Some hateful. Some from people she’d never met claiming they knew exactly what she was going through. Some from survivors thanking her. Some from defenders of the accused calling her a liar.

She turned the phone off. Put it in a drawer. Sat on her bed and felt the weight of being known.

The article had been everywhere. “Not Heroes. Pack: Five Teenagers Explain Why They Refused to Look Away.” Front page. Trending nationally. Shared millions of times.

Their faces. Their names. Their words. All public now. All permanent.

Maria had thought she was ready for this. Had thought visibility was protection. But she hadn’t understood what visibility meant. What it felt like to walk through a grocery store and have strangers recognize you. To have people form opinions about your entire life based on one article. To become a symbol for something when you were just a person trying to survive.

She pulled out her journal. Started writing. The way she did when her head got too full.

Day 12 since the story broke. Day 10 since we became public faces. I thought I could handle this. I read people. I understand emotions. I should be good at this.

But I’m not.

Because everyone wants something from me now. Survivors want me to represent them. Critics want me to fail so they can say we were wrong. Supporters want me to be perfect so they can keep believing in us. And I’m just... Maria. Small Maria with her plants and books who could read a room but never wanted to be the room everyone was reading.

Mr. Brennan is still teaching me. Even from jail. Because every time I close my eyes I see him in that classroom. Teaching Antigone. Teaching moral courage while being everything Antigone would have opposed. And I wonder: how many other people are like him? How many other teachers? Coaches? Authority figures? How many places is evil hiding behind authority?

And that’s what I can’t escape now. The knowledge. The awareness. The way I’ll never be able to trust easily again.

Someone knocked on her door. Her mother.

“Mija? There are people outside.”

Maria’s chest tightened. “What kind of people?”

“Reporters. Three of them. They want to interview you.”

“I already did an interview.”

“They say they’re from different outlets. National outlets. They say your story is important. They say—”

“Tell them no.”

“Maria—”

“Please. Just tell them no. I can’t. Not today.”

Her mother was quiet. Then: “I’ll tell them. But they’ll probably come back.”

After her mother left, Maria sat in the silence of her room. Her sanctuary. Her safe space. But it didn’t feel safe anymore. Because people knew where she lived now. Knew her schedule. Knew everything about her that had been in that article.

Her phone buzzed. Still in the drawer. Still off. But she could feel it. Could imagine the messages accumulating. The demands on her attention. Her energy. Her story.

She took the phone out. Turned it on. Scrolled through messages.

From a survivor: Thank you for speaking up. No one believed me when I tried. But they believe you. You’re saving lives.

From a critic: You ruined five innocent men’s lives for attention. Hope you’re proud of yourself.

From a stranger: I want to interview you for my podcast. You’re inspiring.

From another critic: Teenagers don’t understand the complexity of the justice system. You’ve made a terrible mistake.

From a supporter: You’re my hero. I want to be brave like you.

Maria’s hands shook. She turned the phone off again. Put it back in the drawer.

She wasn’t a hero. She wasn’t inspiring. She was a nineteen-year-old girl who’d found photos of child abuse and made a choice. That was all. The choice had consequences. Some good. Some terrible. But she wasn’t special. Wasn’t extraordinary. Just a person who’d acted.

But the world didn’t want that. The world wanted heroes or villains. Saviors or criminals. No middle ground. No complexity. No acknowledgment that she was just human.

Her phone rang. The landline. Her mother answered it downstairs. Maria heard her voice rise. Heard her say: “No, you cannot speak to my daughter. No, she is not giving interviews today. Please stop calling this number.”

Maria went downstairs. Her mother looked tired. Stressed. Old in a way she hadn’t looked two weeks ago.

“I’m sorry,” Maria said.

“For what?”

“For making your life harder. For bringing this to our house. For—”

“Stop.” Her mother pulled her into a hug. “You did something brave. Something good. The fact that people are responding badly is not your fault. You didn’t create the evil. You exposed it.”

“But the cost—”

“Is worth it. Because those boys in the photos are safe now. Because five predators are in jail. Because other children won’t be hurt. That’s worth reporters on our lawn. Worth angry phone calls. Worth everything.”

Maria wanted to believe that. Wanted to feel certain the cost was worth it. But she was tired. And scared. And increasingly unsure about everything.

“What if I break?” she asked quietly. “What if I can’t handle the trials? The testimony? The cross-examination? What if I fail?”

“Then you fail. And we pick you up. And we keep going. That’s what family does.”

After her mother went back to work, Maria sat alone in the living room. Looked at her plants. Her books. The tapestries on the walls. The things that made this place home.

And felt like a stranger in her own life.

Her phone buzzed again. She’d forgotten to turn it off after the last time. A text. From the pack group chat.

Anthony: Everyone okay? Haven’t heard from Maria today.

Mickey: I’m good. Reporters showed up at work but my boss told them to fuck off.

Gavin: My parents installed security cameras. Apparently we’re high-risk now.

Freddie: School counselor wants to talk to me. Says exposure to trauma requires processing.

Maria: I’m okay. Just tired.

Anthony: That’s not the same as okay.

Maria: I know.

Freddie: Pack meeting tonight? My place?

Maria hesitated. She wanted to see them. Wanted to be with people who understood. But she also wanted to be alone. To process. To figure out how to be a person in this new reality where everyone knew her name.

Maria: I need a day. Tomorrow maybe.

Anthony: You sure?

Maria: Yeah. I just need to be quiet for a bit.

Freddie: Call if you need anything. We’re here.

She turned the phone off again. For real this time. Put it in the drawer and closed the drawer and tried to pretend it didn’t exist.

The afternoon was strange. No phone. No messages. No demands. Just silence.

Maria tried to read. Couldn’t focus. Tried to water her plants. Hands shook too much. Tried to cook something. Burned it.

Finally she just sat. On her floor. Back against the wall. Breathing.

This was the cost Catherine had asked about in the interview. This feeling. This weight. This knowledge that she’d never be private again. Never be just Maria. Always be “one of the five.” Always be the girl who took down an abuse ring. Always be judged. Always be watched. Always be performing even when she was trying to just exist.

Her mother came home at six. Found Maria on the floor.

“Still there?” she asked gently.

“Yeah.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Come on. I’ll make dinner. You can help.”

In the kitchen, they cooked together. Rice. Beans. The same meal Maria had made for the pack that first night. The night they’d decided to act. The night that had led to everything after.

“Do you regret it?” her mother asked.

Maria thought about that. Honest thought. Real consideration.

“No,” she said finally. “I regret the cost. I hate what it’s doing to us. To me. But I don’t regret the choice. Those boys are safer now. Derek’s death meant something. That matters.”

“Even though it’s hard?”

“Especially because it’s hard. Easy things don’t matter as much.”

They ate together. Just the two of them. Maria’s father was working late. Always working. Avoiding the circus their life had become.

After dinner, Maria went back to her room. Pulled out her journal again. Wrote more.

I think I understand now why people look away. Not because they’re cowards. But because seeing is expensive. Once you see evil clearly, you can’t unsee it. Can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. Can’t go back to comfortable ignorance. And that’s exhausting. Living with eyes open. Living aware. Living responsible for what you know.

Derek saw. And it killed him. We saw. And it’s killing us slowly. Different kind of killing. But still.

But here’s what I’m learning: being killed slowly by truth is better than being killed slowly by complicity. At least truth is honest about what it costs. Complicity pretends to be free while eating you from inside.

So I choose truth. Even though it’s expensive. Even though it hurts. Even though some days I want to close my eyes and go back to not knowing.

I choose it. We choose it. The pack chooses it.

That’s what makes us different. Not that we’re brave. But that we’re willing to pay the price of seeing.

She closed the journal. Felt something settle. Not peace. But resolution. Acceptance of the cost.

Tomorrow she’d turn her phone back on. Tomorrow she’d face the messages. Tomorrow she’d be strong.

But tonight, Maria just needed to be tired. To be overwhelmed. To be human in her humanity.

Around midnight, there was a soft knock on her door.

“Maria?” Anthony’s voice. Quiet. Careful.

She opened the door. He stood there with takeout containers and that look he got. The one that said he’d smelled fear or sadness or pain. The one that said pack responds.

“You said you needed quiet,” he said. “But I brought food anyway. In case you need company more than quiet.”

Maria felt something break in her chest. Relief. Gratitude. Love for this strange boy who’d lived with bears and learned human ways but still operated on animal ethics. Protect the pack. Feed the pack. Show up for the pack.

“Come in,” she said.

They sat on her floor. Ate lukewarm Chinese food. Didn’t talk much. Just existed together.

After a while, Anthony said: “It’s okay to struggle with this. To find it hard. To want to quit.”

“I don’t want to quit.”

“But you could. No one would blame you. You’ve done enough.”

“Have I?”

“Yeah. You found the photos. You got them to us. You started everything. That’s enough.”

Maria thought about that. About permission to stop. About the option to walk away.

“But I won’t,” she said. “Because this isn’t done. The arrests are just the beginning. The trials are coming. And I need to see it through. For Derek. For those boys. For us.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind—”

“I know. Pack would understand.”

Anthony left around one AM. Maria lay in bed and felt different. Still tired. Still overwhelmed. But not alone. Not drowning. Not lost.

Because pack. Because showing up. Because shared burden making impossible things survivable.

She turned her phone back on. Looked at the accumulated messages. Three hundred seventy-two new notifications.

She didn’t read them. Just texted the pack: I’m okay. See you tomorrow. Thank you for being here.

Then turned it off again. Slept. Really slept. For the first time in days.

Tomorrow would be hard. Every tomorrow would be hard. But tonight, Maria had remembered why they were doing this.

And that made the cost bearable.

Barely.

But still.

End Chapter Thirteen

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Anthony found him at the bar. Young guy. Maybe twenty-two. Tattoos up both arms. Laughing with friends. But looking around. The way people looked when they were hunting.

Anthony could smell it. Availability. Want. The particular scent of someone open to possibility.

He’d been restless all day. The interview. Maria’s struggle. The weight of everything. His body needed release. Needed to move. Needed to connect in the way that didn’t require words or explanations or performance.

The guy noticed him looking. Smiled. Interested.

Anthony walked over. Direct. The way he always was.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.

The guy’s smile widened. “That’s forward.”

“Is it working?”

“Yeah. Give me five minutes to tell my friends I’m leaving.”

They left separately. Met outside. The guy’s name was Connor. Or maybe Garrett. Anthony didn’t catch it clearly and didn’t ask again. Names weren’t the point.

“Your place or mine?” Connor-Garrett asked.

“Neither. There’s a place.”

Anthony led him to an old warehouse near the industrial zone. Abandoned. Private. He’d found it months ago. Used it sometimes when he needed space that was neither human nor wild. Just empty.

Inside, Connor-Garrett looked around. “This is... unconventional.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s hot actually. Very ‘fuck the rules.’”

Anthony almost laughed. If he only knew how much Anthony actually fucked the rules. How little category constrained him. How his ethics were animal ethics, uncomplicated by social construction.

They came together fast. No pretense. No slow build. Just want meeting want. Bodies finding each other in the dark.

Connor-Garrett tasted like beer and something sweet. His hands were rough. Confident. He knew what he was doing. Didn’t need guidance. Didn’t need reassurance.

Good. Anthony didn’t have patience for uncertainty tonight.

They moved to the floor. Concrete cold beneath them. Connor-Garrett’s breath hot against Anthony’s neck. His weight solid. Real. Anchoring.

Anthony let himself stop thinking. Stop being the person everyone wanted him to be. Stop carrying the weight of Derek and the pack and the trials and the exposure.

Just became body. Sensation. Movement. Release.

Connor-Garrett matched him. Understood without words what Anthony needed. Rough. Present. Uncomplicated.

Afterward, they lay on the concrete. Breathing. Not talking. The silence comfortable.

Finally Connor-Garrett said: “You’re that kid. From the news. The pack.”

Anthony’s body tensed. “Yeah.”

“That’s heavy shit. Taking down an abuse ring. Being famous.”

“It’s not fame I wanted.”

“But you got it anyway.” Connor-Garrett sat up. Started dressing. “For what it’s worth, I think what you did was brave. My little brother—” He stopped. Swallowed. “My little brother was hurt by a coach once. No one believed him. Case got dropped. So what you did, exposing those men, making sure they face consequences—that matters.”

Anthony sat up too. Pulled on his jeans. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Connor-Garrett finished dressing. “This was good. You needed it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you looked like you were about to shatter. And now you look like you might hold together a while longer.”

He left. No exchange of numbers. No promise to meet again. Just contact and release and then separation. Clean. Honest.

Anthony sat alone in the warehouse for a while. Felt his body. The pleasant ache. The looseness. The way tension had drained out through sex and sweat and shared sensation.

This was what he needed sometimes. Connection without complexity. Touch without attachment. Release without

obligation.

Not because he didn’t care about people. But because sometimes caring was exhausting. Sometimes being pack and being visible and being responsible was too much. Sometimes he needed to be animal instead of human. Body instead of symbol.

His phone buzzed. Mickey: Where are you? Pack meeting in 20.

Anthony: Be there soon.

He left the warehouse. Rode his motorcycle through night streets to Freddie’s house. Where the pack was gathering. Where he’d be person again instead of just body.

But for an hour, he’d been neither. Just sensation. Just alive. Just free.

And that made everything else survivable.

Freddie’s house was warm. Loud. His little sister had friends over. Teenage girls giggling in the living room. His parents cooking something in the kitchen. Normal life. The kind Anthony still found strange and wonderful.

The pack was in Freddie’s room. Maria looked better. Still tired but less fragile. Mickey was eating pizza. Gavin had his laptop out. Always his laptop.

“You’re late,” Freddie said.

“Needed to move.”

“We noticed. You smell like...” Maria stopped. Smiled. “Never mind. You’re here now.”

They didn’t ask where he’d been. What he’d done. The pack understood that sometimes you needed space. Privacy. Release that wasn’t their business.

“Marvin called,” Gavin said. “Trials start in three weeks. Federal prosecutor wants to prep us. Go over testimony. Make sure we’re ready for cross-examination.”

“Three weeks,” Mickey said. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

They talked about what came next. The trials. The testimony. The defense strategies. Marvin had walked them through it. How defense attorneys would try to discredit them. Make them seem unreliable. Troubled. Vindictive.

“They’ll go after our backgrounds,” Gavin said. “Try to find anything they can use.”

“Like what?” Freddie asked.

“Anything. Grades. Disciplinary records. Social media. Relationships. Family issues. They’ll dig.”

“Let them dig,” Mickey said. “We’re not the ones who hurt children. We’re not the ones who murdered Derek. They can try to make us look bad, but the evidence speaks for itself.”

“The jury still has to believe us,” Maria said quietly. “Evidence isn’t enough if they think we’re lying about how we got it or why we came forward.”

“So we tell the truth,” Anthony said. “Like in the interview. Just truth. No exaggeration. No performance. Just what happened and why.”

They continued planning. Coordinating. Supporting. The thing they did best.

Around midnight, people started leaving. Mickey first. Then Gavin. Then Maria. Anthony stayed behind. Helped Freddie clean up pizza boxes and soda cans.

“You good?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah. Better than earlier.”

“Maria told me she was struggling. That you showed up with food.”

“Pack shows up.”

“Yeah. But you’re good at knowing when to show up. Like you can smell when someone’s breaking.”

“I can. Fear has a scent. So does despair. Maria smelled like both.”

Freddie was quiet for a moment. “Do I? Smell like anything?”

Anthony considered. “Worry. Exhaustion. But also determination. You’re holding together. Barely. But holding.”

“Barely is generous.”

“Barely still counts.”

They finished cleaning. Anthony headed home. Through night streets. Past the warehouse where Connor-Garrett had given him an hour of not being responsible for anything.

At Marvin’s house, lights were still on. His guardian sitting up. Waiting. The way he always did.

“You’re late,” Marvin said.

“Yeah.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just needed to move.”

Marvin looked at him. Attorney eyes. Guardian eyes. Seeing more than Anthony said. “Be careful. Even casual encounters can complicate things right now. If someone recognizes you, if word gets out, defense attorneys could use it.”

“Use what? That I had sex with a consenting adult?”

“That you’re sexually active. That you’re reckless. That you can’t be trusted. They’ll find a way to spin anything.”

“So I’m supposed to stop living? Stop being human? Just be the symbol everyone wants?”

“No. But I want you to understand the risks. Everything you do now is visible. Public. Usable. That’s the cost of exposure.”

Anthony felt anger rise. “The cost keeps getting higher. First our safety. Then our privacy. Now our sexuality. What’s next? Our thoughts?”

“I’m not saying you can’t—”

“Then what are you saying?”

Marvin sighed. “I’m saying be careful. Be smart. Protect yourself. Because I care about you and I don’t want to see you hurt more than you already are.”

The anger drained away. Because Marvin was right. Was just trying to protect him. Was doing what guardians do.

“I was careful,” Anthony said. “He doesn’t know where I live. Didn’t get my number. Won’t see me again. It was just... release. Just being body instead of symbol for an hour.”

“Okay. But Anthony—if you need release, if you need to not be responsible for a while, you can tell me. We can find safer ways.”

“Safer than sex?”

“Safer than anonymous sex with strangers in abandoned warehouses during a federal investigation.”

Anthony almost smiled. “When you put it that way.”

“I’m serious. You’re under enormous pressure. All of you are. And you’re handling it remarkably well. But you’re nineteen. You’re still learning how to be human. And right now, the world is watching everything you do. So please. Be careful. Be smart. Protect yourself.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

They said goodnight. Anthony went upstairs. Lay in bed. Thought about Connor-Garrett and Maria and the pack and the trials and the cost that kept rising.

But he’d had an hour tonight where none of that mattered. Where he was just body. Just alive. Just free.

And that was worth protecting. Worth being careful about. Because if he lost that—the ability to stop being symbol and just be animal—he’d lose the thing that made him Anthony.

The thing that had helped him survive the mountains. And would help him survive this.

End Chapter Fourteen

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mickey punched the bag until her knuckles bled.

The gym was empty. Three AM. Just her and the heavy bag and the rage that wouldn’t quit.

Trial prep had been a nightmare. Five hours of the federal prosecutor asking the same questions different ways. Testing their stories. Looking for inconsistencies. Preparing them for cross-examination.

“The defense will try to rattle you,” the prosecutor had said. A woman named Jennifer Talbot. Forties. Sharp. No bullshit. “They’ll imply you’re lying. They’ll suggest you fabricated evidence. They’ll make you repeat yourself until you get frustrated and make mistakes. That’s the game. You have to stay calm. Stay consistent. Don’t get angry.”

Mickey was already angry.

Had been angry since the photos. Since Derek. Since realizing how many adults had known and done nothing. Since understanding how deep the rot went.

The bag swung back. She hit it again. Harder.

Her phone buzzed. Text from her boss: You coming in today? We’re short-staffed.

Mickey: Yeah. Sorry. Overslept.

Lie. She hadn’t slept. Couldn’t sleep. Too much energy. Too much rage. Too much need to move.

She showered at the gym. Changed into work clothes. Drove to the garage where she worked. Not Westside Motors. A different place. Shittier. But they’d hired her when no one else would. When her record made her unemployable everywhere else.

Her record. That’s what the defense would use. Juvenile charges. Shoplifting at fourteen. Assault at fifteen. Sealed records. But defense attorneys had ways of getting sealed records unsealed. Ways of making a troubled past destroy a credible present.

“They’ll paint you as unstable,” Talbot had said. “Angry. Violent. Someone with a grudge against authority. They’ll suggest you fabricated this whole thing as revenge for your own past.”

“But I didn’t,” Mickey had said.

“I know. But they’ll try anyway. So when they bring up your record, you acknowledge it. You own it. You explain that you’ve changed. That you’ve grown. That your past makes you more aware of injustice, not less credible about exposing it.”

Easier said than done.

At work, her boss looked at her knuckles. “Fighting again?”

“Gym.”

“Right. The gym.” He didn’t believe her. Didn’t push. Just handed her a work order. “Honda Civic. Brake job. Think you can handle it without bleeding on the customer’s car?”

“Yeah.”

She worked. Methodically. Carefully. Let her hands do what they knew. Let muscle memory take over. Brake pads. Rotors. Calipers. Bleeding the lines. Work that made sense. Work with clear problems and clear solutions.

Not like the trial. Where problems were complex and solutions uncertain and the defense would try to make right look wrong and victims look like villains.

Her phone buzzed. Pack group chat.

Gavin: Talbot sent me more prep questions. Anyone want to practice responses together?

Maria: I can do tonight.

Freddie: Same.

Anthony: I’ll be there.

Mickey: Yeah.

She finished the brake job. Started on the next car. Oil change. Routine. Easy.

But her mind kept going back to trial prep. To Talbot’s warnings. To the defense strategies.

“They’ll try to separate you,” Talbot had said. “Make you doubt each other. Suggest that one of you is lying and the others are covering. They’ll create division where there’s solidarity. That’s their best weapon.”

“Won’t work,” Mickey had said. “We’re pack.”

“Pack can be broken,” Talbot said. “If the pressure is high enough. If the stakes are clear enough. If someone’s freedom depends on someone else’s credibility. Pack loyalty is admirable. But it’s not legally binding. Remember that.”

Mickey’s hands tightened on the wrench. The defense didn’t understand pack. Didn’t understand bonds that existed outside legal structures. Didn’t understand that she’d go to jail herself before letting the pack break.

Around noon, a customer came in. Recognized her.

“You’re one of them. The kids who exposed the abuse ring.”

Mickey braced. Waited for the judgment. Hero or troublemaker. Savior or criminal. People picked sides fast.

“Thank you,” the customer said. “My daughter—she was one of Carver’s students. Never said anything. But after the arrests, she told me. Told me everything. We’re getting her therapy now. Because of you. Because you made it safe to speak.”

Mickey felt something crack in her chest. “I’m glad she’s safe.”

“She’s not safe. Not yet. Not really. The damage is done. But she’s safer than she was. And that’s because of you. So thank you. From her mother. Thank you.”

After the customer left, Mickey sat in the breakroom and let herself feel it. The weight. The responsibility. The knowledge that their actions had consequences beyond arrests. Beyond trials. Real people. Real lives. Real healing or harm depending on whether they succeeded.

No pressure.

Her boss found her there. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“You look like you’re carrying the world. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Fair. But Mickey—whatever’s going on with you, with that trial stuff, with being famous—you’re still you. Still the kid who showed up here with an attitude and decent mechanical skills. Still the one who works harder than anyone. Don’t let the pressure change that.”

“What if it has to?”

“Then you change. And you come back changed. But you come back. That’s what matters.”

That night, the pack met at Gavin’s house. His parents had made dinner. Insisted they eat before prep. Treated them like humans instead of symbols.

After dinner, they practiced. Gavin asked questions the way defense attorneys would. Hostile. Aggressive. Looking for cracks.

“You have a criminal record, don’t you Miss Williams?”

“I have juvenile charges that were sealed.”

“Charges for what?”

“Shoplifting and assault.”

“So you’re a thief and violent. Why should the jury believe you’re not lying about these charges?”

Mickey felt her jaw tighten. Felt the anger rise. But she breathed. Answered calmly. The way Talbot taught them.

“I made mistakes when I was younger. I’ve taken responsibility for them. And my past has nothing to do with whether five men abused children. The photos are real. The evidence is real. My credibility isn’t based on a perfect past. It’s based on facts.”

“Good,” Gavin said. “But they’ll push harder. They’ll try to make you angry. Try to make you lose control. Show the jury that you’re the violent teenager your record suggests.”

“So I don’t get angry.”

“Can you do that?”

Mickey thought about the bag at three AM. About her bleeding knuckles. About the rage that lived in her constantly.

“I have to.”

They practiced for hours. Each of them taking turns. Each of them facing hostile questions. Learning to stay calm. Stay consistent. Trust the evidence.

By midnight, they were exhausted. Wrung out. But better prepared.

“One more thing,” Freddie said. “Talbot warned me that they might try to use our relationships against us. Suggest that we’re too close. That we’ve coordinated stories. That pack loyalty means we’ll lie for each other.”

“So?” Mickey said.

“So we need to be clear. We’re friends. We support each other. But we’re not lying. We’re not covering anything up. We’re just five people who independently witnessed and documented the same evidence.”

“But we’re not independent,” Maria said. “We coordinated everything. Made decisions together. That’s not a weakness. That’s a strength.”

“To us,” Gavin said. “But to a jury? They might see it as conspiracy. As collaboration that undermines individual testimony.”

“Then we own it,” Anthony said. “We don’t pretend we’re independent witnesses who happened to find the same evidence. We explain that we worked together because that’s how you investigate something this complex. That’s how you stay safe. That’s how you survive.”

They talked more. Strategized. Supported. The thing they did.

When Mickey left, she felt steadier. Not calm. But ready. Or as ready as you could be for something this hard.

She drove home. To the apartment she shared with three roommates. To the life she’d built despite her record. Despite her past. Despite everything that should have stopped her.

But she hadn’t stopped. Hadn’t quit. Had kept moving. Kept fighting. Kept refusing to accept that her mistakes defined her future.

And she wouldn’t stop now. Wouldn’t let the defense paint her as unreliable. Wouldn’t let them use her past to destroy her present credibility.

Because those boys in the photos needed someone to stand up in court and say: this happened. These men did this. Justice requires consequences.

And Mickey would stand up. Would testify. Would stay calm even when they tried to make her angry. Would prove that you could have a troubled past and still tell the truth about others’ crimes.

That night, she didn’t go to the gym. Didn’t punch the bag. Instead, she lay in bed and thought about the trial. About testimony. About sitting in that witness box and facing defense attorneys who would try to destroy her.

And she thought about Derek. About the note. About finishing what he started.

“I won’t let you down,” she said to the dark. “I’ll stay calm. I’ll tell the truth. I’ll make sure they pay for what they did. I promise.”

The dark didn’t answer. But Mickey felt something settle anyway. Some resolution. Some commitment.

She’d been fighting her whole life. This was just another fight. Harder. Higher stakes. But still just a fight.

And Mickey knew how to fight.

End Chapter Fifteen

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Marvin sat in federal court. Empty courtroom. Trial started tomorrow. He’d come to see the space. To understand the geometry. To know where Anthony would sit when he testified.

Witness box. Twelve feet from the defense table. Where five attorneys would stare at him. Where they’d try to break him. Discredit him. Make the jury doubt everything he said.

Marvin’s chest tightened.

He’d spent twenty-six years as an attorney. Had cross-examined hundreds of witnesses. Knew every trick. Every strategy. Every way to make credible people seem unreliable.

And now those tricks would be used against the five kids he’d promised to protect.

“Mr. Gottershank?” A voice behind him.

He turned. Jennifer Talbot. The federal prosecutor. Sharp suit. Sharper mind. She’d been good during prep. Patient. Thorough. Not pulling punches but not cruel either.

“Ms. Talbot.”

“Scouting the battlefield?”

“Something like that.”

She walked down the aisle. Sat next to him. Looked at the empty witness box.

“They’re ready,” she said. “Your kids. As ready as anyone can be for this.”

“They’re not my kids. I’m just Anthony’s guardian. The others—”

“You’re their attorney. Their advisor. Their protector. That makes them yours.” She paused. “And you’re terrified for them.”

“That obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s been doing this as long as I have.” Talbot leaned back. “The defense attorneys are good. Expensive. They’ve been preparing for months. They’re going to come hard.”

“I know.”

“But your kids have something the defense doesn’t expect. They have truth. And they have each other. Pack solidarity. That’s powerful.”

“It’s also vulnerable. If the defense breaks one of them—”

“They won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve watched them prep. I’ve seen how they support each other. How they correct each other when someone misspeaks. How they don’t let anyone face hostile questions alone. That’s not rehearsed. That’s real. And juries recognize real.”

Marvin wanted to believe that. Wanted to trust that truth and solidarity would be enough.

But he’d seen too many trials. Seen too many truthful people destroyed by skilled attorneys. Seen too many juries believe lies because they were packaged better than truth.

“The defense will focus on Anthony first,” Talbot said. “Try to make him seem feral. Uncivilized. Unreliable because of his unconventional upbringing. They’ll suggest his animal senses aren’t real. That he’s delusional or lying.”

“He’s neither.”

“I know. But they’ll try. Then they’ll move to Mickey. Use her record. Suggest she’s violent and vindictive. That she fabricated evidence as revenge against authority.”

“Her record is sealed.”

“They got it unsealed. Judge ruled it relevant to credibility. I’m sorry.”

Marvin felt anger rise. Mickey’s past was her own. Had nothing to do with whether she was telling the truth about Derek’s murder.

“Then Maria,” Talbot continued. “They’ll paint her as emotionally unstable. Suggest she’s too close to the others to be objective. That she invented the story about Jesse giving her the photos.”

“Jesse will testify. He’ll confirm it.”

“And they’ll attack him too. Suggest he and Maria coordinated. That they’re both lying. That Derek never sent those photos at all.”

“But the metadata—”

“Can be faked, they’ll argue. Everything can be faked if you try hard enough to discredit it.”

Marvin put his head in his hands. “So what do we do? How do we protect them from this?”

“We don’t. We can’t. They’re going to get attacked. Going to get hurt. That’s the nature of testimony. But we prepare them for it. Remind them of the truth. And trust that twelve people on that jury will see through the defense’s smoke.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then five predators go free. And your kids live with the knowledge that they tried and failed. That’s the risk. That’s what they signed up for.”

Talbot stood. “But Marvin? I don’t think we’re going to fail. I think we’re going to win. Because the evidence is overwhelming. Because the photos are real. Because Derek documented everything. And because five teenagers were brave enough to finish what he started. That matters. Juries respond to courage.”

After she left, Marvin sat alone in the empty courtroom. Thought about tomorrow. About Anthony sitting in that witness box. About defense attorneys trying to make him seem unreliable. Uncivilized. Wrong.

About failing to protect him from that.

His phone rang. Anthony.

“Where are you?” Anthony asked.

“Court. Looking at the room.”

“Can I come?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

Twenty minutes later, Anthony walked in. Looked around. Assessed the space the way he assessed everything. Spatially. Instinctively.

“Big,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Anthony sat next to him. “You’re worried.”

“Of course I’m worried. Tomorrow five attorneys try to destroy your credibility in front of twelve strangers who will decide whether to believe you.”

“They’ll believe me. I’m telling the truth.”

“Truth isn’t always enough.”

“It has to be. Because it’s all we have.”

Marvin looked at his ward. This strange boy who’d lived with bears. Who trusted his instincts absolutely. Who’d decided to investigate a murder and exposed a conspiracy and was now facing the consequences with remarkable calm.

“Are you scared?” Marvin asked.

“Yeah. But fear is useful. Tells you where the danger is. Doesn’t mean you don’t move toward it anyway.”

“That’s very bear-like thinking.”

“It’s the only thinking that makes sense.” Anthony looked at the witness box. “I’ll sit there tomorrow. They’ll ask me questions. Some nice, some hostile. I’ll answer honestly. Then it’s done. The jury decides. We move on.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’ll try to hurt you. To make you angry. To make you doubt yourself. To make the jury see you as unreliable.”

“Let them try.” Anthony’s voice was calm. Certain. “I know what I saw. What I found. What we did. Their opinion doesn’t change facts.”

“But it changes whether the jury believes those facts.”

“Then the jury’s wrong. But that doesn’t make me a liar.”

Marvin felt something loosen in his chest. Anthony’s certainty. His refusal to doubt himself. His understanding that truth existed independent of whether people believed it.

That’s what the bears had taught him. That’s what living wild had given him. A core sense of self that wasn’t negotiable. Wasn’t dependent on others’ approval.

“The others are more vulnerable,” Marvin said quietly. “Maria struggles with visibility. Mickey fights her anger. Gavin needs proof. Freddie carries everyone’s emotions. They might break under pressure.”

“They might. But pack will catch them. That’s what pack does.”

“You can’t protect them in that courtroom. Each of you testifies alone.”

“Alone in the box. Together in everything else.” Anthony met his eyes. “We’ll be okay. Maybe not perfect. Maybe not unscathed. But okay. Because we’re doing the right thing. And that matters more than comfort.”

They sat together in the empty courtroom. Guardian and ward. Attorney and witness. Two people trying to navigate a system neither fully trusted.

“I should have stopped you,” Marvin said. “When you first told me about Derek. I should have said no. Should have made you give the evidence to police and walk away.”

“Would that have worked?”

“No. Probably not.”

“Then why wish for it?”

“Because you’re my responsibility. Keeping you safe is my job. And tomorrow I put you in a room where people will try to hurt you and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Anthony was quiet for a moment. Then: “You’ve been keeping me safe since I came here. Teaching me how to be human. How to navigate this world. How to use the legal system instead of just fighting. But there are some things I have to do myself. Some dangers I have to face. Not because you failed to protect me. But because they’re mine to face.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“No. But it makes it right.”

Marvin drove Anthony home. Made dinner. Tried to act normal. Like tomorrow wasn’t the most important day of their lives.

After dinner, the pack arrived. All of them. Without being summoned. Just showing up because tomorrow was big and being together made it survivable.

They sat in Marvin’s living room. Talking. Laughing. Trying not to think about what came next.

Around ten, Maria asked: “What if we lose? What if the jury doesn’t believe us?”

The question they’d all been avoiding. The fear underneath everything.

“Then we lose,” Freddie said. “But we tried. That’s what matters.”

“Does it?” Maria pressed. “If those men go free. If they hurt more children. Does trying matter if we failed?”

“Yes,” Anthony said firmly. “Because we exposed them. Because survivors know they’re not alone now. Because even if the legal system fails, the truth is out. That changes things.”

“But justice—”

“Justice is bigger than one verdict,” Gavin said. “We’ve already achieved some justice. The arrests. The exposure. The accountability. A not-guilty verdict wouldn’t erase that.”

“It would feel like it erased everything,” Mickey muttered.

“Maybe. But feelings aren’t facts. And facts are: we documented everything. We came forward. We testified. Whatever happens after that isn’t on us.”

Marvin listened to them. These five kids. Talking themselves through fear. Supporting each other. Refusing to catastrophize but also not denying the stakes.

This was what made them dangerous to the defense. Not individual strength. But collective resilience. Pack solidarity that didn’t break under pressure.

Around midnight, they left. One by one. Back to their homes. Their families. Their last night before everything changed.

Anthony stayed. This was his home. Marvin was his family.

“Get some sleep,” Marvin said. “Tomorrow’s early. Court starts at nine.”

“Will you sleep?”

“Probably not.”

“Me neither.”

They sat up together. Not talking much. Just present. The way they’d learned to be over years of living together. Guardian and ward. Attorney and client. Father and son in everything but law.

Around three AM, Marvin said: “I’m proud of you. I know I don’t say it enough. But I’m proud of who you’ve become. How you’ve handled this. The courage you’ve shown.”

Anthony looked at him. “You taught me courage. By choosing person over procedure. By helping us even when it was dangerous. By showing me that adults can be trustworthy.”

“I didn’t teach you that. You knew it already. From the bears. From living wild. I just gave you a human context for ethics you already had.”

“Maybe. But you gave me words for it. Law to protect it. Ways to navigate human systems. That matters.”

They dozed eventually. Not in beds. Just in the living room. Close enough to wake each other if nightmares came. Present through the fear.

By dawn, Marvin was making coffee. Anthony was in the shower. The day had arrived. Ready or not.

At eight AM, the pack assembled. All of them in their best clothes. Trying to look credible. Reliable. Like the kind of people juries believed.

Marvin looked at them. Five teenagers who’d taken on an abuse ring. Who’d exposed powerful men. Who were about to face the hardest test of their lives.

“Remember,” he said. “Tell the truth. Stay calm. Trust the evidence. And know that whatever happens, you did the right thing. That matters. That will always matter.”

They nodded. Scared but determined. Ready but terrified. Human in their humanity.

They drove to court together. Pack solidarity. Visible unity.

Outside, reporters waited. Cameras. Questions. Noise.

Marvin shielded them. “No comment. Not until after testimony. Let them through.”

Inside the courthouse, everything was quiet. Formal. Heavy with the weight of law.

Talbot met them. “Anthony testifies first. Then Gavin. Then Mickey. Then Maria. Then Freddie. One per day. Gives you time to recover between testimony. Gives the jury time to process each story.”

“What about Derek’s friend? Jesse?” Maria asked.

“He testifies after you. Confirms the photos. Then we have the FBI agents. The forensic experts. The documentation. We’re building a comprehensive case. Your testimony is just the beginning.”

They sat in the gallery. Waiting. While the courtroom filled. While the defendants were brought in. Carver. Brennan. Walsh’s brother. Hartwick. Morrison. All in suits. All looking respectable. All trying to seem like victims of teenage lies.

The judge entered. Everyone stood. The trial began.

And Marvin sat there, unable to protect the kids he loved from what came next. Unable to stop the defense from attacking them. Unable to do anything except watch and hope and trust that truth and pack would be enough.

Please be enough, he thought. Please let them survive this.

Please.

End Chapter Sixteen

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The witness box was smaller than Anthony expected. Confined. No room to move. Just sit and answer questions while twelve strangers decided whether to believe you.

He put his hand on the Bible. Swore to tell the truth. Sat down.

Jennifer Talbot approached. Friendly. Warm. Making this easy before it got hard.

“Please state your name for the record.”

“Anthony Canis.”

“And how old are you, Anthony?”

“Nineteen.”

“Where do you live?”

“With my guardian, Marvin Gottershank. Have for three years.”

“And before that?”

“Mountains. I lived with bears until I was sixteen.”

A ripple through the courtroom. Some jury members looked skeptical. Others curious. The defense attorneys smirked. Already preparing their attack.

Talbot didn’t flinch. “Can you explain that for the jury?”

“I was abandoned as a child. Or lost. Don’t remember exactly. A bear found me. Raised me with her cubs. I lived with them until rangers found me. Brought me to human society. Marvin became my guardian.”

“And you learned to speak? To be human?”

“I learned language. Social rules. How to navigate human systems. But some parts of me stayed animal. My senses. My instincts. My ethics.”

“Your ethics?”

“Bears have simple ethics. Protect the vulnerable. Stop threats. Don’t require justification more complicated than that. Humans complicate things. But underneath, ethics should be simple.”

Talbot nodded. “Let’s talk about Derek Millhouse. How did you first encounter him?”

“He came to my workshop. Westside Motors. Said his bike needed work. It didn’t. He was scared.”

“How did you know he was scared?”

“I could smell it. Fear has a scent. Most people don’t notice. But I do. Bears taught me to read fear. It’s survival information.”

“And did Derek explain why he was scared?”

“No. Just thanked me. Left. Week later, police said he drowned. Accident.”

“But you didn’t believe that.”

“No. His bike told me different.”

Talbot pulled out photos. Evidence already admitted. “Can you explain what the bike told you?”

“When it came from impound, it smelled like recent fear. After-death fear. Someone else had been afraid near it. And there was damage. Panic damage. Someone grabbed the handlebars too hard. The clutch showed stress marks. Someone was terrified on that bike.”

“And what did you do with that information?”

“Found a note. Hidden in the storage compartment. Derek’s handwriting. Said if anything happened to him, check the school basement.”

“Did you check?”

“Not right away. First I talked to my pack. My friends. We decided together whether to investigate.”

“And you decided yes?”

“Yes. Because no one else was asking questions. Because Derek left that note. Because someone needed to care.”

Talbot walked him through everything. Finding the basement evidence. Maria receiving the photos. The decision to send them to Gavin’s uncle. The exposure. The arrests.

Simple. Clear. True.

Then it was the defense’s turn.

The attorney who stood was expensive. That was Anthony’s first thought. Suit probably cost more than Anthony made in a year. Hair perfect. Smile practiced. This was Robert Kensington. Lead defense attorney for all five defendants. Coordinating the defense strategy.

“Mr. Canis,” Kensington said. Voice smooth. “You claim you lived with bears?”

“Yes.”

“And you expect this jury to believe that?”

“I don’t expect anything. It’s documented. Rangers’ reports. Social services records. Medical examinations. It happened whether the jury believes it or not.”

“I see. And these bears—they taught you to smell fear?”

“They taught me to read scent. Fear is one scent.”

“Can you smell fear now? In this courtroom?”

Anthony looked at him. Read the trap. But answered honestly. “Yes.”

“Whose fear?”

“Most people’s. Trials are stressful. Everyone’s afraid of something. Witnesses afraid of testifying wrong. Defendants afraid of conviction. Even attorneys have fear, though you hide it better.”

“Are you afraid, Mr. Canis?”

“Yes.”

“Of what?”

“That the jury won’t believe the truth. That Derek’s death will mean nothing. That those boys in the photos won’t get justice.”

Kensington smiled. Not friendly. Predatory. “Or are you afraid that the jury will realize you’ve fabricated this entire story? That you’re not a reliable witness? That your alleged ‘animal senses’ are delusion or performance?”

“I’m not afraid of that. Because it’s not true.”

“Let’s talk about your relationship with Marvin Gottershank. He’s your guardian?”

“Yes.”

“He’s also an attorney. A defense attorney until three years ago.”

“He quit criminal defense to help me.”

“How convenient. A guardian who knows how to coach witnesses. How to craft testimony. How to make lies sound believable.”

“He didn’t coach me. He taught me to tell the truth. That’s all.”

“Did he help you write your testimony?”

“No. I’m telling you what happened.”

“Are you? Or are you telling me what a skilled attorney taught you to say?”

Anthony felt anger rise. Forced it down. “I don’t need coaching to tell the truth.”

“But you do need it to sound human, don’t you? You admit you’re more animal than human. That you think like a bear. That you operate on instinct. How can this jury trust someone who isn’t fully human to tell a human story?”

Talbot objected. “Argumentative. Badgering.”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Move on, Mr. Kensington.”

But the damage was done. The suggestion planted. Anthony saw it on some jury faces. Doubt. Question. The thought that maybe this feral boy wasn’t reliable.

Kensington continued. “You claim Derek’s bike showed ‘panic damage.’ Can you explain what that means to someone who isn’t part animal?”

“The handlebars were clutched too hard. The rubber showed stress marks. The clutch was grabbed in terror. Physical evidence of fear.”

“Or evidence of normal use? Evidence of anyone gripping handlebars tightly while riding?”

“No. The pattern was different. Panicked. Not normal.”

“But that’s just your interpretation. Your ‘animal sense.’ Not actual evidence.”

“It’s observation. Bears observe. Humans observe. The difference is I trust what I observe.”

“Even when that observation leads to accusing five respectable men of horrific crimes?”

“They’re not respectable. The photos show what they are.”

“We’ll get to the photos. But first—this pack you mention. These friends. You’re very close?”

“Yes.”

“Would you lie for them?”

“No.”

“Would they lie for you?”

“No. Pack doesn’t work that way. We support each other in truth. Not in lies.”

“But you coordinate. You make decisions together. You present a united front.”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it convenient that all five of you tell the same story? That there are no inconsistencies? That you’ve clearly rehearsed?”

“We tell the same story because it’s true. Truth doesn’t require rehearsal.”

“Or you tell the same story because you’ve coordinated lies. Decided together what to say. Made sure no one breaks from the narrative.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it?” Kensington pulled out documents. “These are phone records. Showing that you and your friends communicated constantly in the weeks before coming forward. Hundreds of texts. Dozens of calls. Group chats. You were clearly coordinating something.”

“We were investigating Derek’s death. We coordinated because we were trying to be safe. To gather evidence. To make sure we got it right.”

“Or to make sure your stories matched. To make sure no one accidentally told the truth that contradicted the lies.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened. “We weren’t lying.”

“So you say. But this jury has only your word. The word of a feral boy who admits he’s more animal than human. Who operates on instinct rather than reason. Who claims to smell things normal humans can’t. Why should they believe you?”

“Because I’m telling the truth.”

“Are you? Or are you telling a story? A narrative? Something crafted by five teenagers and a skilled attorney to destroy five innocent men?”

Talbot objected again. The judge sustained. But Kensington had done what he wanted. Planted doubt. Made Anthony seem unreliable. Animal. Other.

The cross-examination continued. Two more hours. Question after question designed to undermine. To confuse. To make Anthony contradict himself.

But he didn’t. He stayed consistent. Stayed calm. Told the truth the same way every time.

Finally, Kensington finished. “No further questions.”

Anthony left the witness box. Legs shaking. Body tired. He’d been under attack for hours. Had stayed standing. Had told the truth.

But he didn’t know if it was enough.

In the hallway, the pack surrounded him. Mickey hugged him fierce. Maria held his hand. Gavin nodded approval. Freddie smiled his support.

“You did good,” Marvin said quietly. “Better than good. You were credible. Consistent. The jury saw you handle hostile questions calmly. That matters.”

“He tried to make me seem like an animal.”

“I know. But you handled it. Stayed human while not denying what you are. That’s powerful.”

That night, they watched the news coverage. Every station running clips. “Feral witness testifies in abuse ring trial.” “Bear-boy takes stand.” “Unusual testimony raises questions.”

The coverage was mixed. Some reporters seemed impressed by Anthony’s calm under pressure. Others questioned whether someone with his background could be reliable.

“It doesn’t matter,” Freddie said. “What matters is the jury. And the jury heard you. Heard the truth. They’ll remember that when they see the photos. When they hear the other testimony.”

“Kensington’s good,” Gavin said. “He’s going to attack each of us. Try to make us all seem unreliable. We need to be ready.”

“We are ready,” Mickey said. “Anthony showed us how. Stay calm. Stay truthful. Don’t let them make you angry.”

“I wanted to fight him,” Anthony admitted. “Wanted to show him what animal really means. But I didn’t. Because that’s what he wanted. Proof that I’m dangerous. Unstable. Wrong.”

“And you didn’t give it to him,” Maria said. “That’s the victory. Not that you weren’t attacked. But that you survived the attack with integrity intact.”

They talked late into the night. Processing. Supporting. Preparing for tomorrow when Gavin would testify. When the defense would attack him too.

When Anthony finally went to bed, he thought about the witness box. The confined space. The questions. The attack.

He’d survived it. Barely. But survived.

Four more of them had to do the same. Four more days of testimony. Four more opportunities for the defense to break pack solidarity.

But they wouldn’t break. Because they were pack. Because they’d decided together. Because they trusted each other and the truth.

And that had to be enough.

It had to be.

End Chapter Seventeen

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Day Two: Gavin testified.

The defense tried to paint him as a hacker. Someone who could fabricate digital evidence. Someone whose technical skills made him dangerous.

“You’re a programmer, correct, Mr. Sullivan?”

“Yes.”

“And you have the skills to manipulate photographs? To alter metadata? To create convincing forgeries?”

“I have the skills. I didn’t use them.”

“But you could have. You could have taken innocent photos and altered them to look incriminating.”

“I could have. But I didn’t. The FBI verified the photos. Forensic analysts verified them. They’re real.”

“Or your forgeries were good enough to fool even experts.”

Gavin didn’t rise to the bait. Stayed logical. Presented facts. Explained the technical impossibility of forging everything. The metadata. The timestamps. The consistency across all forty-three photos.

The defense couldn’t break him. His logic was airtight. His evidence irrefutable.

But they planted doubt anyway. Made the jury wonder: could a smart teenager fool everyone?

Day Three: Mickey testified.

The defense went straight for her record. Made her juvenile charges seem worse than they were. Made her seem violent. Unstable. Someone with a grudge against authority.

“You’ve assaulted people before, haven’t you, Ms. Williams?”

“I was in a fight when I was fifteen. I defended myself.”

“Defended yourself by putting another girl in the hospital?”

“She attacked me first.”

“That’s what you claim. Just like you claim these men attacked children. Just like you claim Derek was murdered. You have a history of making accusations to justify violence.”

“That’s not—”

“Yes or no, Ms. Williams. Do you have a history of violence?”

Mickey’s jaw clenched. Anthony could see her fighting the anger. The urge to explode. To prove them right.

But she didn’t. “I have a history of defending myself. And defending others. That’s not the same as violence.”

“Isn’t it?”

She survived. Barely. Came out of the witness box shaking. Furious. But intact.

The pack surrounded her in the hallway. Reminded her she’d done well. Stayed calm. Told the truth. That was enough.

Day Four: Maria testified.

The defense tried to make her seem emotionally manipulated. Suggested she’d been coached by Anthony. That her emotional intelligence made her susceptible to influence.

“You care deeply about your friends, don’t you, Ms. Rodriguez?”

“Yes.”

“You’d do anything for them?”

“Anything legal. Anything right.”

“Would you lie for them?”

“No.”

“But you trust them absolutely. If Anthony told you something, you’d believe him.”

“If it was true, yes.”

“But how would you know it was true? You didn’t find the bike. You didn’t find the note. Anthony did. You trusted his interpretation. His animal senses. His instinct.”

“I trust Anthony because he’s trustworthy. Because he’s never lied. Because—”

“Because you’re emotionally attached. Because pack loyalty means not questioning. Because you’ve all agreed on a story and you’re sticking to it.”

Maria stayed steady. Explained that emotional intelligence meant reading people accurately. Meant knowing when someone was lying. Meant trusting but verifying.

She showed Jesse’s text messages. Showed the metadata. Showed that she hadn’t just blindly believed—she’d investigated.

But the defense had done their damage. Made her seem too trusting. Too emotional. Too invested to be objective.

Day Five: Freddie testified.

The defense tried to paint him as the coordinator. The one who’d organized the pack. Who’d coached everyone’s testimony. Who’d ensured they all told the same lies.

“You’re very social, aren’t you, Mr. Williams? Everyone’s friend.”

“I know a lot of people, yes.”

“And you’re good at managing groups. At making sure everyone’s on the same page.”

“I help people communicate. That’s different from managing them.”

“Is it? You coordinated your friends’ investigation. You organized meetings. You made sure everyone knew what to say. That sounds like management to me.”

“We coordinated because we were investigating something dangerous. Because we needed to stay safe. Because five people working together are more effective than five people working separately.”

“Or because five people telling coordinated lies are more believable than one person lying alone.”

Freddie stayed calm. Explained pack dynamics. Explained that coordination wasn’t manipulation. That working together wasn’t conspiracy.

But the defense had planted their seeds. Made the jury wonder: were these kids too organized? Too consistent? Too perfect?

Day Six through Ten: Other witnesses.

Jesse testified. Confirmed he’d received the photos from Derek. Confirmed the timeline. The defense tried to suggest he and Maria had coordinated. But his testimony matched Maria’s exactly. Not because they’d rehearsed. Because it was true.

FBI Agent Sarah Rivera testified. Explained the investigation. The verification of photos. The arrests. The evidence collected. Cold. Professional. Unimpeachable.

Forensic analysts testified. Confirmed the photos were real. Unaltered. Original. The metadata matched. The timestamps matched. Everything checked out.

Derek’s parents testified. Broke down on the stand. Explained their son. His fear. His courage. His attempt to expose evil. Their grief that no one had protected him.

The courtroom wept. Even some defense attorneys looked uncomfortable.

But discomfort wasn’t enough. The defense still argued reasonable doubt. Still suggested the photos could be explained away. The investigation flawed. The pack unreliable.

Day Eleven: Closing arguments.

Jennifer Talbot stood. Spoke directly to the jury.

“Five teenagers saw something wrong. They investigated. They documented. They came forward. At enormous personal cost. They’ve been threatened. Attacked. Their credibility questioned. Their lives exposed. Why would they do that if they were lying? What do they gain?

“The defense wants you to believe this is a conspiracy. That five kids coordinated elaborate lies. Fabricated evidence. Fooled FBI agents and forensic analysts and police investigators. All to destroy five innocent men.

“But that requires you to ignore reality. The photos are real. Derek’s documentation is real. The testimony is consistent because it’s true. Not because it’s rehearsed.

“These kids aren’t heroes. They’re just people who couldn’t look away. Who finished what Derek Millhouse started. Who made sure his death meant something.

“The defense wants you to doubt them. To question everything. But reasonable doubt isn’t unreasonable conspiracy. It’s not requiring perfection from imperfect people.

“These five defendants hurt children. Derek documented it. Five teenagers exposed it. Now you have to decide: do you believe the evidence? Or do you believe expensive attorneys’ smoke and mirrors?

“The answer should be easy. The evidence is overwhelming. The testimony is credible. Justice requires conviction.”

Kensington stood. Smooth. Confident. Expensive.

“The prosecution wants you to believe five teenagers are infallible. That their investigation was flawless. That their testimony is perfect.

“But look at who they are. A feral boy who claims to smell fear. A hacker with skills to forge evidence. A violent girl with a criminal record. An emotionally attached young woman. A social coordinator who organized their story.

“Look at what they’ve gained. Fame. Attention. The satisfaction of destroying powerful men. The thrill of being right.

“Look at what we don’t have. Physical evidence beyond photos that could be altered. No DNA. No witnesses to Derek’s actual death. No proof he was murdered rather than drowned accidentally.

“The prosecution has built a compelling story. But stories aren’t evidence. Emotion isn’t proof. Five kids coordinating testimony isn’t justice.

“My clients are innocent men whose lives have been destroyed by accusations. By teenagers with agendas. By a rush to judgment that ignored reasonable explanations.

“Derek Millhouse was a troubled boy. He took photos. Maybe he misunderstood what he saw. Maybe he imagined danger where none existed. Maybe he drowned accidentally because he was stressed and scared and not thinking clearly.

“And five teenagers found those photos after his death. And decided to interpret them in the worst possible way. And coordinated a story. And presented it as fact.

“But facts require proof. And proof requires more than teenage testimony and ambiguous photos.

“If you have reasonable doubt—and you should—then you must acquit. That’s the law. That’s justice.

“Don’t let emotion override reason. Don’t let sympathetic teenagers replace actual evidence. Don’t convict innocent men because five kids told a compelling story.

“Vote not guilty. Protect justice.”

The jury deliberated for three days.

Three days of waiting. Of terror. Of wondering if everything they’d done mattered.

The pack stayed together. In Marvin’s house. No one wanted to be alone. No one wanted to miss the call when the verdict came.

They didn’t talk much. Just existed. Watched mindless television. Tried to eat. Failed mostly.

On the third day, Marvin’s phone rang.

“Verdict’s in. Court reconvenes in one hour.”

They drove in silence. Each lost in their own thoughts. Their own fears. Their own hopes.

The courtroom filled. Press. Families. Supporters. Critics. Everyone waiting.

The jury filed in. Twelve faces. Unreadable.

The judge asked: “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor.”

“On the charge of conspiracy to commit sexual abuse of a minor, how do you find the defendants?”

The foreperson stood. Looked at the paper.

Anthony held his breath. Felt the pack hold theirs. Felt the entire room suspend.

“We find the defendants...”

End Chapter Eighteen

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Guilty.”

The word fell into silence. Then chaos.

“Guilty on all counts.”

The courtroom erupted. Cheers. Sobs. Shouting. The judge’s gavel pounding for order.

Anthony felt Maria grab his hand. Felt Mickey’s fierce grip on his shoulder. Felt the pack around him. Holding each other up. Holding each other together.

They’d won.

The defendants sat motionless. Faces blank. Lawyers already conferring. Planning appeals. But for now: guilty. All five of them. Guilty.

The judge restored order. “Sentencing will be scheduled for thirty days from now. Defendants remanded to custody pending sentencing. Court is adjourned.”

The gavel fell. Final.

Outside, reporters mobbed them. Questions. Cameras. Microphones thrust in their faces.

“How does it feel to win?”

“What do you want to say to Derek’s family?”

“Do you feel vindicated?”

“What’s next for the pack?”

Marvin shielded them. “Statement later. Let them through.”

They pushed through the crowd. Got to Marvin’s car. Drove away from the circus.

No one spoke. The weight of it settling. Victory. Relief. Exhaustion. Grief that Derek wasn’t here to see it.

At Marvin’s house, they collapsed. Just sat. Let the reality sink in.

“We did it,” Freddie said finally. “We actually did it.”

“Derek did it,” Maria corrected quietly. “We just finished it.”

“Yeah,” Anthony agreed. “We finished it.”

They sat in silence. Not celebrating. Not crying. Just existing in the space between what had been and what came next.

Marvin made food. Insisted they eat. They tried. Some succeeded. Some couldn’t.

The news played on every channel. “Guilty verdict in abuse ring trial.” “Five teenagers vindicated.” “Justice for Derek Millhouse.”

But it didn’t feel like vindication. It felt like survival. Like making it through something that had tried to destroy them. Barely. But making it.

Maria’s phone rang. Her mother. Sobbing with relief. Freddie’s parents arrived. Hugged their son. Told him they were proud and terrified and grateful. Mickey’s boss texted congratulations. Gavin’s uncle called, said justice had been served.

But justice felt heavier than Anthony expected. Not triumphant. Just necessary. Like stopping a predator wasn’t heroic. Just what you did when predators threatened the pack.

Around midnight, people started leaving. Back to their lives. Their homes. Their futures that were different now but still theirs.

Anthony stayed. Helped Marvin clean up. That comfortable silence.

“You okay?” Marvin asked.

“I don’t know. Should I be happy?”

“There’s no should. Feel what you feel.”

“I feel tired. And sad. And relieved. And empty. Is that normal?”

“After what you’ve been through? That’s remarkably normal.”

They sat together. Guardian and ward. Survivor and survivor.

“What happens now?” Anthony asked.

“Sentencing in thirty days. They’ll probably get decades. Federal charges, multiple victims, abuse of authority. The judge will throw the book at them.”

“And then?”

“And then you rebuild. Go back to school. Go back to work. Go back to being nineteen instead of being a symbol.”

“Can I? Can any of us go back?”

“No. Not to what you were before. But you can go forward. To what comes next. That’s all anyone can do.”

Anthony thought about that. Forward. Not back. Into a future shaped by this. By Derek. By the choice to act when everyone else looked away.

“Will it always hurt like this?” he asked. “Will I always feel the weight?”

“Probably. But the weight gets easier to carry. You get stronger. The pack helps. And eventually, the weight becomes part of you. Not crushing. Just present. A reminder that you did something hard and survived it.”

That night, Anthony dreamed of bears. Of the mountains. Of a time before human complications. Before Derek. Before trials and testimony and the weight of justice.

But even in the dream, he knew he couldn’t go back. Had been changed by the human world. By the pack. By the choice to finish what Derek started.

And that was okay. Change was okay. Growth was okay. Becoming someone different because you’d done something hard—that was how life worked.

He woke at dawn. Found Marvin already up. Coffee brewing. Normal morning. Except nothing was normal anymore.

“Derek’s parents want to meet you,” Marvin said. “All of you. Tomorrow, if you’re ready.”

“Are we ready?”

“I don’t know. But they want to thank you. To show you that Derek’s death mattered. That what you did mattered.”

The next day, they met at Derek’s house. His mother answered the door. Eyes red. Face tired. But something like peace there too.

“Come in. Please. All of you.”

Derek’s room was preserved. Exactly as he’d left it. Photos on the walls. Books on shelves. A life interrupted but honored.

His father spoke. Voice rough. “We wanted to thank you. For finishing what Derek started. For making sure his death wasn’t meaningless. For being the people we should have been.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Maria said gently.

“We should have. He was scared. Changed. Withdrawn. We noticed. But we didn’t push. Didn’t demand answers. Didn’t protect him.” He looked at them. “You were strangers. And you protected him better than we did. That’s our failure. Our shame.”

“It’s also the system’s failure,” Anthony said. “You trusted the school. The police. The adults who should have been watching. They failed. You didn’t fail. You just trusted the wrong people.”

Derek’s mother showed them his journal. The one he’d kept separate from the documentation. His private thoughts.

I’m scared but I can’t stop. Can’t unsee what I’ve seen. Can’t let them keep hurting kids. Even if it kills me. Even if no one believes me. Some things are worth dying for.

If I don’t make it, I hope someone finishes this. Someone braver than me. Someone who doesn’t give up.

I’m not brave. I’m just trying to be good. And good is hard when evil is powerful.

Anthony felt something break in his chest. Derek had known. Had understood the danger. Had acted anyway.

Just like them.

“He would have liked you,” Derek’s mother said. “All of you. He would have wanted to be pack.”

“He is pack,” Freddie said firmly. “He started this. We finished it. That makes him pack. Forever.”

They stayed for hours. Talking about Derek. Sharing stories. Honoring the boy who’d been brave when no one was watching. Who’d documented evil when everyone looked away. Who’d died trying to protect children he didn’t even know.

When they left, Derek’s parents hugged each of them. Fierce. Grateful. Grieving.

“Thank you,” his mother whispered. “Thank you for being his pack. For finishing his work. For making sure he didn’t die for nothing.”

That night, the pack met one last time before sentencing. At Maria’s apartment. Their original meeting place. Where they’d decided to act.

“We did it,” Gavin said. “Actually did it. Five predators convicted. Decades in prison. Other victims coming forward now. Getting help. Getting justice.”

“Because of Derek,” Maria said. “Because he was brave first.”

“And because we finished it,” Mickey added. “Because we didn’t let his death be meaningless.”

“What happens now?” Freddie asked. “To us? To the pack?”

Anthony thought about that. About what came next. About futures that were uncertain but theirs.

“We keep being pack,” he said. “We keep showing up. We keep refusing to look away. Not because we’re heroes. But because that’s what good people do. And we’re trying to be good.”

“Like Derek,” Maria said.

“Yeah. Like Derek.”

They sat together. Pack. Changed but intact. Scarred but strong. Different than they’d been before but still themselves.

Outside, the world kept turning. Life kept happening. But in Maria’s small apartment, five people who’d chosen each other held space for a sixth. For Derek Millhouse. Seventeen years old. Scared but brave. Dead but honored. Pack forever.

“To Derek,” Freddie raised his coffee cup.

“To Derek,” they echoed.

To the boy who’d started everything. Who’d documented evil. Who’d died trying to stop it.

To the pack member they’d never met but would carry forever.

To justice. Incomplete. Imperfect. But real.

End Chapter Nineteen

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ ◊ᵂᴴᴬᵀ⁻ᵀᴴᴱ⁻ᴮᴼᴰʸ⁻ᴷᴺᴼᵂˢ An Anthony Canis Novel

CHAPTER TWENTY

Six months later, Anthony stood at Derek’s grave.

The headstone was simple. Derek James Millhouse. Beloved son. Truth seeker. Gone too soon.

His parents had added a line at the bottom: “He saw. He acted. He mattered.”

Anthony put flowers on the grave. Cheap ones from the gas station. But Derek wouldn’t have cared about expensive. He’d have cared that someone remembered.

“We got the sentencing yesterday,” Anthony said to the stone. To the memory. “Carver got thirty years. Brennan got twenty-eight. Walsh’s brother got thirty-five because he had more victims. Hartwick got forty because he funded everything. Morrison got thirty-two.

“They’ll die in prison. Probably. Or close enough. The judge said they were a cancer that needed cutting out. Said what they did was unforgivable. Said the only mercy was making sure they never hurt anyone again.

“Your parents were there. They wept. But not sad weeping. Relief weeping. Justice weeping. The kind of tears that come when something heavy finally lifts.

“The pack was there too. All of us. Sitting together. Like always. They tried to split us up in the gallery but we said no. We stay together or we don’t come. So they let us.

“Maria’s doing better. Still struggles with crowds. Still turns her phone off sometimes. But she’s taking classes again. Studying psychology. Says she wants to help survivors. Says someone should be good at helping them recover.

“Mickey’s still working at the garage. Still punches the heavy bag when she’s angry. But less now. Less rage. More peace. Says the verdict gave her permission to stop fighting. To just exist.

“Gavin got accepted to MIT. Computer science. Says he wants to build systems that can’t be corrupted. Says if power can be centralized, it can be abused. So he’s learning to decentralize. To build better infrastructure.

“Freddie’s organizing. Community stuff. Youth groups. Teaching kids how to look out for each other. How to be pack. How to refuse to look away. Says if there are more packs, there’s less evil that goes unnoticed.

“And me? I’m still at Westside Motors. Still fixing bikes. Still living with Marvin. Still trying to be human while staying animal. It’s hard. Balance is hard. But I’m learning.

“The school had to shut down. Too much scandal. Too many lawsuits. All the teachers who knew and didn’t act—they lost their jobs. The principal resigned. The whole structure collapsed.

“And that’s the thing, Derek. What you saw—what we exposed—it was bigger than five predators. It was an entire system protecting them. Adults who knew. Who suspected. Who looked away because it was easier.

“The system’s still broken. Sentencing five men doesn’t fix that. But maybe it cracks it. Maybe other survivors see what happened and come forward. Maybe other schools pay attention. Maybe other adults realize looking away has consequences.

“Incomplete justice. That’s what Marvin calls it. Better than nothing. But not enough. Never enough.

“But we did what we could. And that has to matter.”

Anthony sat on the grass. Felt the earth beneath him. The way he used to in the mountains. Connected to ground. To reality. To the physical world that didn’t lie.

His phone buzzed. Pack group chat.

Maria: Meeting at my place tonight? Haven’t seen everyone in a week.

Mickey: I’m in.

Gavin: Flying back from campus visit tomorrow. Can do tomorrow night instead?

Freddie: Tomorrow works. My place. I’ll cook.

Anthony: See you then.

He stood. Brushed off his jeans. Looked at Derek’s grave one more time.

“The pack continues,” he said. “Because of you. Because you started something we had to finish. Because you saw evil and refused to look away. That’s your legacy. Not the death. The courage.

“Thank you for that. For being brave when no one was watching. For documenting everything. For making sure even if you died, the truth survived.

“You’re pack, Derek. Forever. We carry you with us. In everything we do. Every time we refuse to look away. Every time we choose hard right over easy wrong. You’re there.

“Rest easy. Justice happened. Those boys are safer. Your death meant something.

“That’s all any of us can ask for.”

Anthony left the cemetery. Got on his motorcycle. Rode through streets that looked the same but felt different. Because everything was different now. Post-trial. Post-exposure. Post-victory.

The town had changed. Some people treated the pack like heroes. Some like troublemakers. Some couldn’t decide. But everyone knew them. Everyone had opinions.

And the pack had learned to live with that. To be visible while staying authentic. To be known while protecting privacy. To be symbols while remaining human.

At Westside Motors, Carol looked up from a carburetor. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just visiting Derek.”

“Good. He deserves visiting.” She went back to work. Didn’t ask more. Carol understood silence. Understood that sometimes the important things didn’t need words.

Anthony worked on a Suzuki. Same model as Derek’s. Different bike. But the similarity was there. The weight. The balance. The way the engine sounded.

“This one’s good,” Anthony said to Carol. “Owner takes care of it.”

“Unlike Derek’s.”

“Derek’s bike had panic damage. This one has love damage. Different thing entirely.”

Carol smiled. “You’re getting philosophical in your old age.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Ancient.”

They worked in comfortable silence. The afternoon passed. The sun moved across the sky. The world turned.

Around five, Marvin texted: Dinner at seven. Bringing someone.

Anthony: Who?

Marvin: My ex-wife. Or not-ex. We’re trying again.

Anthony felt something warm in his chest. Marvin had been alone too long. Defined by the divorce. By the unsigned papers. By the failure of something that had mattered.

But maybe failure wasn’t permanent. Maybe you could try again. Pick up pieces. Rebuild.

At home, Marvin was nervous. Cleaning obsessively. Checking his appearance. Very human. Very unlike his usual calm.

“You look good,” Anthony said.

“I look old.”

“You look like someone trying. That’s good.”

The doorbell rang. Marvin answered. Sarah Gottershank—still Gottershank, the divorce never finalized—stood there. Older. Tired. But smiling.

“Hi,” she said. “This is weird.”

“Very weird,” Marvin agreed.

“Can I come in anyway?”

“Please.”

Dinner was awkward. Then less awkward. Then almost comfortable. Two people who’d loved each other once figuring out if they could love each other again.

Anthony left them alone after dessert. Went to his room. Let them have space. Let them figure out their future without an audience.

Later, Marvin knocked softly. “You okay with this? With her being here?”

“Yeah. You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you. Have you thought about what comes next? For you?”

“More motorcycles. More pack. More trying to figure out how to be human.”

“That’s not a plan. That’s a description of now.”

“Maybe now is enough. For a while. Until I figure out what comes after.”

“Fair.” Marvin sat on Anthony’s bed. “The trial changed you.”

“Changed all of us.”

“But you especially. You were figuring out humanity before. Learning the rules. Playing the game. But now you’ve seen behind the curtain. Seen how broken the system is. How adults fail. How institutions protect power instead of people. That knowledge changes everything.”

“Yeah. It does.”

“So what will you do with it?”

Anthony thought about that. About what Derek had done. About what the pack was doing. About Freddie teaching kids to be pack. About Maria learning to help survivors. About Mickey finding peace. About Gavin building better systems.

“I’ll keep refusing to look away,” he said finally. “Keep acting when others won’t. Keep being pack. Not because I’m heroic. But because I can’t not. Because once you see, you can’t unsee. And unseeing is the same as complicity.”

“That’s going to be exhausting.”

“Probably. But living with complicity would be more exhausting. Living with the knowledge that I looked away when I could have acted—that would destroy me.”

Marvin nodded. “Then keep refusing. Keep acting. Keep being pack. And I’ll keep providing legal cover. That’s what guardians do.”

“That’s what family does.”

“Yeah. That too.”

The next night, the pack met at Freddie’s house. His parents had made way too much food. Insisted everyone eat. Treated them like the family they’d become.

After dinner, they sat in Freddie’s room. Comfortable silence. The kind that came from shared trauma and shared victory and shared future.

“I’ve been thinking about Derek,” Maria said. “About what he would want us to do next.”

“What do you think?” Gavin asked.

“I think he’d want us to keep going. Keep refusing to look away. Keep acting when we see wrong. Not because it’s easy. But because it’s right.”

“So we do?” Mickey asked.

“We do. But smarter. With more resources. With Marvin’s legal expertise. With the reputation we’ve built. We become the pack that other packs can call. When they see something wrong. When they need help exposing it. We’re the backup.”

“A network,” Gavin said. “Decentralized coordination. Pack supporting pack.”

“Exactly.”

They talked about it. What that would look like. How to build it. How to protect people while empowering them. How to be supportive without being hierarchical.

Classic anarchist problem. Classic pack solution.

By midnight, they had a plan. Not complete. Not perfect. But a beginning.

“To Derek,” Freddie raised his glass. “Who started everything.”

“To Derek,” they echoed.

To the pack member they’d never met but carried forever.

To incomplete justice. Imperfect victory. Ongoing struggle.

To refusing to look away.

To being pack.

Two years later, Anthony got a text from an unknown number.

Hi. My name is Claire. I’m seventeen. I think my coach is hurting kids. I have evidence but I don’t know what to do with it. Someone told me to contact you. Can you help?

Anthony read the text. Felt the familiar weight settle. The responsibility. The knowledge that once you help one person, you create a precedent. A pattern. A path.

He texted the pack: Another one. Claire. Seventeen. Coach hurting kids. Has evidence.

The responses came immediately.

Maria: We help.

Mickey: Obviously.

Gavin: What does she need?

Freddie: Tell her she’s not alone. Tell her we’ve got her.

Anthony texted back: Yes. We help. Where are you? Let’s talk.

Because that’s what pack meant. Not just protecting each other. But expanding the circle. Helping the next person. Finishing what Derek started and starting what came next.

Incomplete justice. Ongoing struggle. But struggle that mattered.

Anthony Canis—feral boy, motorcycle mechanic, pack member—put down his phone and smiled.

The work continued. The pack continued. The refusing to look away continued.

And that was enough. For now. For always.

Derek would have approved.

END

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is coincidental. But the patterns it describes—institutional failure, adult complicity, children unprotected, and young people acting when adults won’t—these are real. Too real. Too common.

If you see something, say something. If you know something, act on it. If you can’t act alone, find your pack. Coordinate. Support. Refuse to look away.

That’s what Derek would want. That’s what every survivor deserves. That’s what justice requires.

Be pack. For each other. For those who can’t protect themselves. For the possibility of a world where children are actually safe.

Not because it’s easy. But because it’s right.

◊ᴹᴱᴹᴼᴿʸ⁻ᶜᴼᴹᴾᴸᴱᵀᴱ