"You just stood there and watched."
"Why don't you just leave." it wasn't a question. David didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The words hit harder for how flatly they landed, echoing through the near-empty shelter like a wrench dropped in a cathedral.
His knuckles were still raw from scrubbing—not just today's kennels, but his own skin in the shower afterward, trying to wash off their hands, their prayers, their sticky crosses.
The scratches on his wrist from where they'd tried to force the SoulWatch had scabbed over ugly and dark.
He'd bitten his nails down to the quick during last period, tasting blood and not caring.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt Doug's hand pressing down on his shoulder, smell the cafeteria's reheated pasta mixing with someone's vanilla body spray as they crowded in. Chastity's voice rising in that awful, rehearsed ecstasy. He shook his head hard, forcing his eyes open.
And Johnny—he'd seen it too. Stood there. Didn't move.
David didn't know which part cut deeper: the prayers, or his silence.
The cafeteria footage was already online.
Tagged.
Shared.
Liked.
He gripped the wire brush harder, welcoming how the metal handle bit into his palm.
Micah froze in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame like he hadn't decided whether to step in or retreat.
"I know," he said, barely audible. "I—I froze."
David turned back to the kennel floor, dragging the wire brush across concrete with sharp, deliberate strokes. Bleach stung the air. His hands were red and raw, but he welcomed the burn.
It made him feel cleaner than Micah's apology ever could.
"They surrounded me," he said, not looking up. His voice cracked on 'surrounded,' the word sticking in his throat like he was choking on it again. "Laughed. Called me things I won't even repeat. And you?" He had to stop, swallow hard.
"You adjusted your collar and watched like it was a fucking play."
Micah stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. His footsteps were tentative on the damp floor. "I wasn't proud of it," he said. "I've been thinking about it all day."
"Lucky you," David muttered. "I've been reliving it."
From her kennel, Shiloh let out a soft whine, ears perked but body still. David reached through the chain-link and brushed the warm fur behind her ears. She leaned in, steady and wordless, like always. David decided to let her out.
"I came to help," Micah said. "Not fix it. I know I can't. But I want to talk."
Shiloh ambled over to Micah with a relaxed gait, her tail swaying gently behind her. As she reached Micah, she nuzzled his hands affectionately before giving them a few soft licks, her warm tongue leaving a faint sheen on his skin. Her eyes sparkled with playful mischief, and her ears perked up.
David hesitated, feeling torn. Maybe it was the jeans—the ones that sat low on Micah's hips, dark-washed and worn soft in all the right places.
The ones that always made David's eyes drift downward before he could stop himself. Even now, furious and raw, his traitorous gaze caught on the way Micah shifted his weight, how the denim pulled taut across his thighs when he moved. David's stomach twisted with self-disgust. How could he still notice things like this? After Micah had just stood there, watching them pray over him like he was possessed? His body's reaction felt like another betrayal—wanting someone who'd let him drown. He forced his eyes back up to Micah's face, catching something that might have been knowing in his expression. David couldn't decide if it was intentional—if Micah had worn them on purpose, some kind of twisted apology. The possibility made him angrier. Either way, David relented.
"Then grab a bowl," David said. "Talk while you work."
Micah moved to the sink and began filling water dishes, movements stiff but sincere. David watched him for a moment—too well-dressed for this place, too clean—but he didn't stop him.
They worked in silence, broken only by the splash of water, the clink of metal, and the occasional shuffle of paws. The tension didn't ease, but it settled into something quieter.
Something waiting.
"I didn't just come here to apologize," Micah said, not looking up. David didn't answer.
He was rinsing the scrub brush now, working at a rhythm that kept his hands moving and his mouth shut.
Micah set down the water bowl he'd been filling, the metal ringing against concrete.
His fingers drummed once against his thigh—nervous energy looking for an outlet.
"There's something else." David's hands slowed on the brush.
Something in Micah's tone made the air shift between them. "I need to know what you've done with it. With the USB."
David's grip tightened on the brush, knuckles going white. He kept his back to Micah, watching the water swirl down the drain.
So this was why Micah was really here—not just guilt about the cafeteria, but checking up on his dangerous gift he'd handed off.
"I know you've been digging into it," Micah continued, voice lower now. "I can see it in how you look at people now. Like you know things." David finally turned, water dripping from his reddened hands. "Shouldn't I be?"
"That's not what I meant." Micah leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "I gave it to you for a reason. You deserved to know. But what's on it—if you push too fast, it'll all vanish. That's how these people work."
"That's what Abby said," David blurted with almost a chuckle—then caught himself. He'd said too much. Brought Abby into it.
David frowned. "You think I'm gonna blow it up tomorrow?"
"I think you might. Because you're furious. And because you care more than anyone else does."
David's jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
Micah glanced toward Shiloh's kennel. "They'll erase the evidence, discredit you, say the files are fake—or say you're unstable."
"You go to the wrong person, and they'll turn it around on you."
David's voice was low. "You're telling me to wait."
"I'm telling you not to go alone." Micah hesitated, then added, "I'm telling you not to end up in Pathlight."
David raised an eyebrow. "So I'm supposed to trust you?"
Micah's mouth twitched—half smile, half shield. "You already did once. When you took the USB."
David folded his arms, gaze narrowing. "What changed? You were part of all that. The cafeteria. Doug. The silence."
"I know, I know" Micah said. "And I'll keep saying I'm sorry until you believe it. But I'm not just doing this for you."
David paused, "You want me to wait. Trust you. Trust someone I've never met. And sit on what could blow the whole thing open."
"I want you to be strategic," Micah said. "I want you to win. Not just react."
David didn't respond right away, but Micah didn't stop.
"You remember The Wipe, right?"
David gave a dry laugh. "You mean the week everyone pretended to 'voluntarily' give up their phones?"
Micah nodded. "My dad helped draft some of the messaging. He called it 'soft decommissioning for the public good.' Said it like it was community recycling."
David's stomach turned. "And what, we just handed everything over? Our photos, messages, friend lists... memories?"
"Exactly," Micah said. "And what did they give us instead?"
David looked down and noticed that Micah wasn't wearing his SoulWatch.
"They gave us SoulWatches. Monitored interfaces. Biometric tracking. FaithCoin wallets hard-wired into devices we don't even control."
David frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Think about it. Before The Wipe, everyone backed up everything to the cloud. Photos, messages, browsing history, location data. Years of it." Micah's voice dropped lower. "The church offered to 'preserve' everyone's digital memories during the transition. My dad let slip once, when he was drunk—said the real genius wasn't getting people to give up their devices. It was getting them to hand over their data first."
"Jesus," David breathed.
"They fed it all to their AI. Every text you sent. Every photo you took. Every search you made." Micah's laugh was bitter. "That's how the SoulWatches work so well. They already knew us before they ever touched our wrists. The AI had our entire digital lives to study. To learn from. To predict with."
David felt sick. Every late-night text to Johnny. Every photo they'd taken. Every search for "is it normal to like boys"—all of it processed, analyzed, weaponized.
"The watches don't just monitor," Micah continued. "They complete patterns the AI already learned. They know what you're going to feel before you do."
Micah stepped forward, quieter now. "FaithCoin was sold as a clean alternative. A holy ledger. But it's tied to everything. School behavior tracking, church attendance, even which rehab programs you're eligible for."
David's face darkened. "Pathlight."
"Yeah," Micah said. "They say it's a mentorship program. But it's just structured compliance. You earn tokens by volunteering, praying, showing up to coded events. And if you step out of line..."
"You disappear," David finished, voice cold.
Micah nodded. "They say you get reassigned. But no one ever hears from you again."
David didn't respond right away. But something in his posture shifted—shoulders no longer pulled back, arms unfolding.
"It all goes back to FaithCoin," he said.
Micah nodded, once.
Shiloh made a slow circle, tail still wagging gently. She approached David first, nose twitching as she sniffed around his feet with curiosity. Satisfied, she turned to Micah, giving his shoes a thorough investigation before looking up at him with bright eyes.
Micah paused.
"David, I know you still love him," he said, simply.
David's throat tightened. The words weren't thrown or teased—they were placed carefully, like something fragile.
"I've seen it," Micah went on. "How careful you are not to say his name. How you still look for him in a room he's not in."
David looked away, jaw clenched.
Micah's voice dropped. "I get it. I—" He hesitated, swallowed. "I love somebody too."
David's eyes flicked toward him, startled.
"Since when do you admit to feelings?" David said more as a statement than a question.
Micah continued, "There is somebody I don't want erased."
David didn't respond right away. He crouched beside Shiloh instead, fingers curling into the thick fur at her neck. She pressed into his hand without hesitation, a steady weight in the shifting ground beneath him.
"This girl's the only one who hasn't changed," he murmured.
Micah didn't answer. He leaned against the wall again, giving David space.
"I used to think love was supposed to make you stronger," David said finally. "But lately it just feels like it leaves you more exposed."
Micah's voice was soft. "Doesn't mean it's not real."
David glanced up, catching the faint sheen of vulnerability in Micah's face. It surprised him—not just the softness, but how much of himself Micah seemed willing to show now, here.
"So who is it?" David asked. "The person you're doing this for. What's her name?"
Micah's eyes flicked to the side. "Someone I waited too long to fight for."
The words hung there, honest and raw.
David exhaled slowly. "I'm not saying I trust you. Completely."
Micah nodded. "I wouldn't, either."
"But I'm tired of doing this alone," David added. "And I think you are too."
Micah managed a small, crooked smile. "I am."
David stood, brushing fur from his hands. He glanced toward the back room where the USB sat in his backpack, its silence now louder than ever.
"They won't stop," David said. "Even if we wait, they'll keep pulling people in. Changing them. Hiding whatever they're doing."
Micah stepped forward, just enough to meet him eye to eye.
His voice was calm now. Steady. "We're not alone in this. Whatever you decide next—just know."
He paused, gaze sharp but unreadable.
"We have help."