The Clock Starts Ticking
They gave him a number: twenty-one days.
That's how long until his transfer to max security would be finalized.
Jayden stared at the paper with the official stamp, the words blurring as the fire inside him twisted into something heavier — fear, anger, and desperation all tangled together.
Three weeks.
Three weeks to either hold it together or lose everything.
The walls felt closer than ever, pressing in on him, whispering the same message the director's eyes had said: We already own you.
---
Every Day, a War
The countdown made every day heavier.
In the yard, Rico circled him with his eyes, never striking, just waiting. Spider grinned from the corners, his whispers slithering through the block: "He's finished. Max will eat him alive."
Even Knox's crew seemed to enjoy watching, their smirks saying, You should've picked us. Now you're dead alone.
Jayden moved like a live wire, every muscle coiled. He wanted to swing, to burn it all down, but Dre's voice kept cutting through the fire: Patience. Survive the clock.
But patience was harder when the clock ticked louder every day.
---
The Staff's Eyes
The guards didn't make it easier. They barked at him louder, watched him closer, waiting for him to crack.
"Hands where I can see them, Carter."
"Don't test me, Carter."
"Three weeks, Carter. You won't last."
Even some of the staff seemed eager to see him fail, their sneers as sharp as the inmates' taunts. The system was hungry, and it wanted to swallow him whole.
---
The Anchor
Every night, Dre's voice was there, steady as stone through the wall.
"Three weeks don't mean nothing. Days don't define you. You define them."
Jayden would lay on his cot, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, whispering to himself: I'm not done. I'm not done. I'm not done.
But some nights, the fire flickered low, replaced by the fear of what max would do to him. He'd seen kids come back broken — eyes empty, voices gone.
He wasn't sure he'd survive that.
---
The Spark of Defiance
On the tenth day, Spider tried again. He slid up during line-up, slipping a piece of contraband candy into Jayden's pocket with that slick grin.
This time, Jayden didn't panic. He pulled it out, held it high so the guards and everyone else could see, and then crushed it in his fist, letting the wrapper fall to the floor.
"Not today," he spat, staring Spider down.
The block erupted in whispers. For the first time, Spider's grin faltered.
Dre's low chuckle reached him later that night. "That's how you win, Jay. On your terms."
---
The Fire Sharpens
But the countdown didn't stop. Each day chipped away at him. His body carried bruises, his mind carried echoes of the hole, and his fire grew sharper, more dangerous.
He wasn't just fighting Spider, Rico, or the system anymore. He was fighting the part of himself that wanted to explode, to give them the excuse they were waiting for.
Every night, he drew in secret, lines pressed deep into scraps of paper. Flames, cages, wolves, rats. And always, in the center, a shadow figure with fire leaking through the cracks.
Underneath one sketch, he scrawled:
The fire is mine. And I'll choose when it burns.