The word out clung to Jayden's mind like smoke. Once spoken, he couldn't cage it again.
He saw it everywhere—in the cracks of the cinderblock walls, in the faint square of sky beyond the razor wire, in the way some kids' eyes went glassy with dreams they'd never admit.
But wanting out and making it real were two different fires.
The morning after his whispered vow, Jayden walked into the cafeteria, shoulders square, head high. Every bump, every muttered insult scraped his nerves raw, but he held steady. Control. That was the new weapon.
Dre noticed. Over breakfast he leaned across his tray.
"You said something last night," Dre murmured.
Jayden froze. Had he spoken too loud?
"You said out." Dre's voice was low, barely a breath. "You serious?"
Jayden nodded once. Dre studied him with an expression somewhere between pride and fear.
"Then listen close. You can't punch your way there. You need patience. Strategy. This place is designed to swallow kids like us. You want out? You gotta starve the system, not feed it."
Before Jayden could answer, a commotion broke near the serving line. Rico was shouting, shoving another boy against the counter. Spider lingered nearby, smirk sharp as a blade. The guards stormed in, barking orders.
All eyes flicked toward Jayden, waiting for him to jump. For once, he didn't. He stood, tray in hand, jaw tight, and walked out of the blast zone.
Spider's laughter followed him. "Running already, fire-boy?"
But something shifted in the crowd. Not weakness—restraint. Some kids nodded, like they saw it. Like they understood.
That night, Jayden opened his sketchbook. He drew bars bending, not from fists but from heat applied slow and steady, until the metal warped. Underneath he wrote: Burn smart.
He tapped the wall twice, their code for Dre.
"I'm ready to learn," Jayden whispered.
The reply came back, steady as stone:
"Then the real fight begins."