The yard was the block's stage. Fists had settled more disputes there than any office or guard ever could. Concrete cracked under sneakers, sun bouncing off the razor wire above, the smell of sweat and tension thick as smoke.
Jayden kept his pace slow, steady. Dre's lessons circled his head with every step: Listen first. Talk last. Make them show their hand.
He could feel eyes on him. Not just Spider's, not just Rico's, but everyone's. Some waiting for him to snap, some waiting for him to stand.
---
The Circle Forms
It started with a word. Rico's voice, sharp and loud.
"Snitch!"
Jayden didn't flinch, but the fire in his chest flared.
"Fire-boy thinks he's king," Rico shouted, strutting into his path. "But a king bleeds like anyone else."
The crowd circled fast, hungry for blood. Spider slipped into the edge of the ring, arms folded, grin carved wide across his face. He wasn't just watching—he was conducting.
Jayden breathed slow. His fists curled, unclenched. His ribs ached from restraint.
"Not today," he muttered, voice low but clear.
The block howled with laughter, jeers flying. Rico's grin split wide. "Not today? Then when?"
And before Jayden could move, Rico lunged.
---
Fire on the Edge
The first punch clipped Jayden's jaw, snapping his head sideways. His vision blurred, the world spinning with noise. The fire howled, begging to burn.
Jayden staggered, planted his feet, breathed. He heard Dre's voice like gravel in his skull: Patience. Starve him.
Rico swung again, wild, sloppy. This time Jayden stepped aside. The fist sliced air, and Rico stumbled forward. The crowd laughed—not at Jayden, but at him.
Spider's grin flickered.
Rico roared and charged again. Jayden pivoted, driving one clean, measured shot into his gut. Rico doubled over, gagging.
The circle erupted—half cheering, half booing. Jayden stepped back, hands raised, no follow-up. No frenzy. Just control.
---
Breaking the Script
"Every time you come at me, I'm still standing," Jayden shouted over the noise, chest heaving. "Every time you whisper, I'm still here. You want me gone? You'll have to do better."
Silence spread through the circle. The kids weren't used to speeches, weren't used to restraint dressed as defiance. For a moment, even the guards hesitated at the edge, unsure if they were breaking up a riot or a revelation.
Spider's eyes burned, his smirk razor-thin now. Rico wheezed on his knees, and the block saw it all: Jayden hadn't lost control. He hadn't erupted. He'd chosen every move.
That was scarier than fire. That was power.
---
The Guards Move
The spell broke with the guards' bark. "Break it up!" Batons raised, boots pounding. The circle scattered, kids slipping back into their roles.
Jayden didn't resist as rough hands shoved him against the fence. He knew the script—they'd write it however they wanted. But in the eyes that flicked toward him, he saw something Spider couldn't erase. Respect.
Not fear of his fists, but fear of his fire under control.
---
The Sketch
That night, back in his cell, Jayden's ribs ached, his lip swollen. He opened the sketchbook, pencil trembling but steady. He drew the yard: the circle of boys, Rico on his knees, Spider in the shadows. And himself—not raging, not wild, but standing tall, flame steady at his back.
Underneath he wrote: Control breaks the script.
Through the wall, Dre's voice tapped once, twice. Their code for approval. Then the gravel voice, low but proud: "You're not just surviving, Scrap. You're rewriting the rules."
Jayden stared at the drawing, fire steady inside him. Spider had lost the yard today. But he knew it wouldn't end here.
A cornered enemy was always the most dangerous.