Spider had lost the yard. That much was clear. Rico's body still ached from Jayden's clean shot, and whispers of Jayden's restraint carried louder than the "snitch" talk now. Spider hated it.
So he did what he always did when fists failed—he poisoned the system itself.
---
A Guard's Smile
It started subtle. A guard who normally ignored him suddenly smirked as Jayden walked past. Another patted him down rougher than usual, fingers digging into his ribs, lingering too long.
Then came the searches. Three in a single day. His bunk stripped. His sketchbook flipped through, pages crumpled, drawings laughed at.
"You an artist now, Carter?" one guard sneered, dangling a page of fire sketches like a trophy.
Jayden's teeth ground together, but he said nothing. The fire clawed inside his chest, begging to break loose.
Through the wall, Dre's voice later confirmed it. "Spider's got his hooks in one of them. Maybe more. You think he survives in here this long without help? He feeds them, they feed him."
Jayden clenched his fists until his knuckles popped. So now it wasn't just Spider. It was the system itself against him.
---
The Trap Tightens
Two nights later, the guards pulled him from bed. No explanation. Just cuffs and a shove down the hall. They tossed him in the laundry room—dim, stinking of bleach—and left him there.
He knew it before the door even clicked shut. A setup.
Spider stepped from the shadows, Rico beside him, two more behind. The guards' footsteps faded down the hall. They weren't coming back anytime soon.
"See?" Spider said softly, smile wide. "Told you fire dies without air. And right now, Carter, there's no one to breathe for you."
Rico cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Max won't need you. We'll finish it right here."
---
The Fire's Cage
Jayden's chest exploded with heat. Every nerve screamed to fight, to tear them apart. Four-on-one. No witnesses. No cameras. Just the block's unwritten law.
But Dre's voice drilled into his skull: Don't let him choose the ground. Make your own.
Jayden backed against the washers, fists tight but not swinging. "You can't win clean, Spider. You always need shadows. You always need strings."
Spider's grin faltered for just a flicker, then returned sharper. "Talk won't save you."
Rico lunged. Jayden ducked, pivoted, shoved him into the steel machines with a crash that echoed through the room. But he didn't follow through. He stepped back, breathing hard, fists raised but controlled.
"Not tonight," Jayden said.
---
Interrupted
The door burst open. A different guard this time, one Spider clearly hadn't bought. His eyes widened at the scene—four against one, Jayden bloodied but still standing.
"Break it up!" the guard roared, swinging his baton. Spider slipped back into the shadows, face cold with rage. Rico cursed under his breath, clutching his ribs.
The guard dragged Jayden out rough but didn't say the words he'd expected. No talk of max. No accusations. Just a hard shove back into his cell.
---
The Aftermath
Jayden sat on his cot, chest heaving, blood on his lip, the fire boiling but not spilled. His sketchbook lay open, waiting.
He drew Spider as a puppet master, strings tangled around guards and inmates alike. Then he drew scissors, glowing red-hot, cutting through each line.
Underneath, he wrote: I won't fight where he tells me. I'll cut the strings.
Through the wall, Dre tapped once. Not their usual code, just one single thud. The kind of sound that meant: Now you see the real game.
Jayden closed his eyes, fire steady. Spider had escalated. The war was no longer whispers or fists—it was systemic.
And Jayden knew this was only the beginning.