Jayden woke with bruises blooming purple across his ribs, his lip split, and a headache that throbbed like a drum. He hadn't even been given time to recover before the summons came: Director's office. Now.
The walk down the hall was silent except for the squeak of the guard's boots. Jayden's wrists ached in cuffs, but the real weight was in his chest. He already knew what was waiting.
The director sat stiff behind a metal desk, the overhead light making shadows sharp on his face.
"Three fights in two weeks," the man said coldly. "You think we're running a playground here, Carter? You're out of chances."
Jayden clenched his fists behind the cuffs. "I didn't start it. They jumped me."
"You're always the victim, aren't you?" the director sneered. "That's what the file says too. Excuses, aggression, instability." He leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "We don't care who starts it anymore. All we see is you in the middle of it."
The words landed heavier than fists. Jayden wanted to scream, to slam his fists into the desk, to burn the truth into the man's face. But the cuffs dug into his wrists, and he knew rage would only seal his fate.
The director signed a paper, sliding it across the desk to the guard. "Next fight, he's gone. Max security."
---
The Weight Inside the Block
Back in the block, the eyes on Jayden were different now. Not just respect — but calculation.
Some kids saw strength. Others saw blood in the water.
Spider leaned against the wall, his smile thin, his lip still swollen. He whispered just loud enough for Jayden to hear: "Almost had you. Next time, no almost."
Rico smirked from the corner, one eye purpled but still burning with hate. "Max security's waiting for you, Scrap. Just a matter of time."
Jayden's fists clenched. His ribs screamed when he breathed too deep, but the fire burned hotter than the pain.
---
Dre's Truth
That night, Jayden sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the wall. Dre's voice came low through the bars.
"You understand now?"
Jayden's jaw tightened. "That no matter what I do, they're gonna see me as the problem?"
"Exactly," Dre said. "That's the game. You're already guilty in their eyes. Every fight, every setup, it don't matter. They'll blame you. Always."
Jayden swallowed hard. "So what the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Outthink them," Dre answered. "Stop playing their game. Stop playing Spider's game. Rico's. Knox's. Even the staff's. You find your own. You fight on your terms — not theirs."
The words dug deep, heavy as stone. Jayden knew Dre was right. But knowing didn't make it easier.
---
The Fracture
The next day in the cafeteria, Knox's crew made a point of sitting close, their eyes drilling into Jayden's back. He could feel the tension, the way everyone was waiting to see what he'd do.
But instead of reacting, he kept his head down, ate slow, steady, just like Dre taught him.
Spider passed behind him, whispering: "Soon."
Rico muttered: "Dead man walking."
Jayden didn't rise. But his hands trembled on the tray.
---
The Sketch in Silence
That night, when the block finally quieted, Jayden pulled out his hidden scrap of pencil and paper. His body ached, but the fire inside demanded release.
He drew the director at his desk, faceless, his hands made of chains. He drew Spider's grin twisting into a rat's snout, Rico's fists like knives.
And in the middle, he drew himself — a shadow figure, flames leaking out from cracks in his chest. Flames that no cage, no chain, no enemy could smother.
Underneath, in jagged letters, he wrote:
They see a problem. I'll show them a war.