The block was buzzing like a live wire. Rumors alone hadn't broken Jayden, and that burned Spider more than anything.
Kids were confused now—half still believing the "snitch" whispers, half watching Jayden's silence like it was strength. That uncertainty was poison to Spider, and poison was his game.
So he stopped whispering. And he struck.
---
The Setup in the Yard
It happened during yard call. The sun was sharp overhead, bouncing off the razor wire. Jayden was walking the track slow, steady, the way Dre told him—control, patience, every step a choice.
Then he felt it: a shove, harder than usual. He spun just in time to catch Rico's grin before a fist cracked across his jaw. The yard roared, kids forming the circle fast.
Jayden staggered back, blood on his lip, the fire rising like a scream.
Rico came again, fists heavy, wild. Behind him Spider egged it on, shouting, "That's the fire-boy! Show 'em what happens when you cross the block!"
---
The Choice
The fire was everywhere now, clawing at Jayden's ribs, demanding he break Rico apart. He saw flashes: fists pounding flesh, blood spilling hot, guards storming in, max waiting on the other side.
But Dre's voice cut through the storm like steel: Control isn't weakness. It's survival.
Jayden ducked the next punch instead of taking it. He sidestepped, planted, and drove a single shot into Rico's gut—measured, precise. Rico doubled over, gasping.
The circle howled, guards surging in with batons raised. But Jayden didn't swing again. He stepped back, hands raised, eyes locked on Spider.
"I'm still here," he said, voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
---
The Fallout
The guards dragged him out rough, but not the way they had before. This time, they hadn't caught him brawling like an animal. They'd seen restraint, control. They'd seen Spider stirring it.
Back in the block, the whispers were different.
"He dropped Rico but didn't lose it."
"Fire-boy's changing."
"Spider couldn't make him break."
Spider's grin was gone. His eyes were black with hate.
---
In the Dark
That night, Dre's tap came steady through the wall. "That's it, Scrap. That's how you fight. Not with fists. With control. Now he knows he can't script you anymore."
Jayden opened his sketchbook with shaking hands. He drew himself in the yard, a circle of faces watching, Rico on his knees, Spider snarling in the background. Underneath he wrote: Still mine.
The fire inside burned steady, not wild. He hadn't won the war, not yet. But for the first time, Spider wasn't just chasing him. Spider was afraid.
And fear was fuel.