The laundry room setup still lingered in Jayden's ribs, a dull ache every time he bent or twisted, but the pain wasn't what haunted him. It was the silence afterward. The way Spider had melted back into the block, grinning like a man who'd proven the world belonged to him.
And the whispers. They didn't fade. They multiplied.
"Carter's next."
"He's finished."
"Max'll eat him alive."
Jayden carried those words like chains. He told himself he didn't care, that rumors were smoke. But smoke suffocated if you breathed it long enough.
---
The Cafeteria Test
Two mornings later, he felt it again—the shove. Not from Rico this time, but from a younger kid, barely thirteen, pressed into service. The oatmeal on his tray splattered across the floor, watery gray spreading across the concrete like spilled guts.
Laughter roared. Spider leaned back against the far table, arms crossed, smile sharp. Rico slapped the kid on the back, laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.
Jayden's fists clenched so tight the skin split across his knuckles. Every muscle screamed to snap, to grab the boy by the collar and throw him across the table, to leap the distance and put Rico's grin in the dirt. The fire inside was hungry, rattling the bars of its cage.
But he remembered Dre's gravel voice through the wall: Patience buys you time. Starve him. Starve the system.
Jayden bent down, picked up the tray, dumped it in the trash. His shoulders shook, not from weakness but from the effort of holding the fire back. He walked past Rico without a glance, past Spider's smirk, past the laughter that followed like stones thrown at his back.
And when he sat down at a different table, head steady, hands bloody from his own nails, the laughter didn't sound quite as sure. A few kids even looked away, uncomfortable.
That was the thing about fire—people wanted to see it burn, but when it didn't, when it refused to play the part, they didn't know what to do.
---
Dre's Counsel
That night, Dre's voice slipped through the wall, low and certain.
"You're starving him, Scrap. He wanted a show. You gave him nothing. That's how you win."
Jayden lay on his back, eyes on the cracks in the ceiling. "Feels like I'm losing. Feels like I'm choking myself every second."
"That's the point," Dre said. "Every time you hold back, you choke him too. Hungry wolves bite wildest. And Spider's starving."
Jayden thought about that long into the night. He opened his sketchbook, drew a wolf with ribs showing, teeth gnashing at the air. Then he drew bars in front of its face, the meat just out of reach. Underneath he scrawled: Let him starve.
---
Shadows in the Block
The next day, Spider shifted tactics. Instead of open shoves, it was whispers again, the kind meant to corrode from the inside. Kids avoided Jayden in the rec yard, cutting wide circles around him like he carried disease.
"Carter's a snitch."
"He's soft. Can't even swing anymore."
"Spider runs him."
It cut deeper than fists. Being hated was one thing—being invisible was worse.
That night, Jayden tapped the wall once. "What if they all turn?"
Dre's answer came back quick. "Then you stand taller. You keep burning steady until they see which light lasts longer—Spider's smoke or your fire."
Jayden closed his eyes, chest heavy. He wanted to believe him.
---
A Glimmer
The following morning in line-up, he noticed something small. One of Spider's runners, the same skinny kid who'd shoved him in the cafeteria, couldn't meet his eyes. The boy's shoulders hunched, guilt pressing him down.
It wasn't much. Just a flicker. But Jayden saw it. Even in the weight of shadows, not everyone believed. Not everyone wanted to.
And maybe that was enough.