Jayden, a boy born in the late ’90s, grows up in chaos — both parents trapped in addiction, poverty, and neglect. Taken into foster care after a police raid, he’s separated from his younger sister Layla, a loss that leaves a scar he carries everywhere.

From there, Jayden is tossed through the foster system, group homes, and institutions, learning the unspoken rules of survival: don’t cry, don’t trust, don’t get attached. He builds walls around himself, and his reputation as an “angry, unmanageable” kid follows him from school to school.

At twelve, fighting and defiance put him on the fast track to juvenile detention. Inside, he meets Miguel, an older boy who becomes his first real friend. Miguel teaches him that not every battle is worth fighting, and that survival sometimes means keeping your peace. That friendship plants a seed in Jayden, one that stays with him long after release.

Later, in a youth institution, Jayden meets Malik, a boy with a calm, steady presence who pushes him to see beyond anger. Malik gives him a sketchbook, helping Jayden rediscover art as a way to process his pain. These two friendships become anchors in a life that feels like it’s always being ripped apart.

On the outside, Jayden struggles with freedom — curfews, probation, teachers who don’t believe in him, and peers who see him as nothing but “the foster kid.” But he also meets Tasha, a girl who shares his love for creativity and becomes a fragile, on-and-off connection throughout his adolescence. She sees through his anger to the quiet boy underneath, but Jayden’s fear of abandonment pushes her away just when he needs her most.

Now fourteen, Jayden finds himself caught between two versions of himself: the fighter the system keeps shaping him into, and the boy searching for something — or someone — to believe in. Every fight, every sketch, every late-night thought pulls him closer to a breaking point, where he’ll have to decide if he’ll keep letting the system define him, or if he’ll learn to write his own story.

Not officially, not on paper, but in whispers.


A few kids who had never spoken to Jayden before lingered by his desk in art class, curious, asking questions. "You really drew that? Looks crazy real."


For once, the attention wasn't about his file or his fists. It was about something he created.


But attention cut both ways. Marcus snorted when he saw it. "What's that supposed to be, Scrap? You on fire 'cause you can't keep your temper?" His laugh was sharp, loud enough for the whole room to hear.


Jayden clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to answer. But the fire in his chest smoldered hotter.


At the group home, Terrence caught wind of it too. One night in the common room, he leaned over Jayden's shoulder, trying to peek at the sketchbook.


"Word is you're some kind of Picasso now," Terrence sneered. "What you hiding in there? More sad-boy flames?"


Jayden shoved the book under his arm, standing so fast the chair screeched against the floor.


Terrence grinned. "What, you gonna draw me too? Make me look ugly?"


The other boys laughed. It was the kind of laughter that begged for blood. Jayden felt his fists curl, the storm rising. It would have been so easy. Too easy.


Instead, he stormed out of the room, the laughter trailing behind him like chains.


The next day, Mrs. Givens pulled him aside after math.


"I heard about your drawing," she said flatly. "You need to focus on schoolwork, not wasting time."


Jayden glared at the floor. He wanted to scream that it wasn't a waste, that it was the only thing keeping him from exploding. But he stayed silent.


Her words looped in his head all day. Not wasting time.


To her, that fire on paper meant nothing.


By the end of the week, the pressure was unbearable. Between Marcus's taunts, Terrence's poking, and the staff's clipped warnings, Jayden felt like a ticking clock.


In the cafeteria, Marcus shoved past him, knocking the tray from his hands. Food splattered across the floor, laughter ringing in his ears.


Jayden's body moved before his mind did. His fist shot forward, grabbing Marcus by the collar and slamming him against the wall. The roar in his ears drowned out everything.


"Say one more thing," he growled, his voice shaking.


Teachers rushed in, pulling him back, shouting. Marcus smirked through it all, satisfied.


Back in his room that night, Jayden stared at his hands.


He opened his sketchbook to the burning figure and added new lines — darker, harsher, turning the flames into chains wrapping around the shadow's body.


Chapter 37 - The spiral begins