The yard showdown rattled the block in ways Spider hadn't expected. Jayden hadn't just survived—he'd controlled it, chosen every move, and walked away stronger. Kids who once whispered "snitch" now whispered "different."
And Spider hated it. Hated the cracks forming in his web. So he did what he always did when control slipped—he tightened the strings, hard.
---
The Search
It was the third bunk search that week. Guards tore through Jayden's mattress, flipped his thin pillow, shook out his jumpsuit. Usually they found nothing. This time, one pulled out a crumpled pack of smokes from under the mattress.
The room went still. Even the guard hesitated a second, then sneered. "Contraband. Big surprise."
Jayden's jaw locked. The fire surged, hot and screaming. But the truth landed heavier than the rage—Spider had finally bought someone higher up. The smokes weren't just a plant. They were permission.
The guard shoved him forward. "Director wants you. Now."
---
The Director's Office
The office smelled like bleach and bitter coffee. Same humming light, same thick file with his name across the cover. The director didn't even look at the smokes on the desk. His eyes were on Jayden.
"You're running out of second chances, Carter," he said, voice flat. "Do you think I don't know your game? The fights, the mouth, the excuses. You don't belong here. You belong in max."
Jayden's teeth ground. "They weren't mine."
"Always denial," the director snapped. He leaned closer, his face sharp with contempt. "I don't care if they were yours or not. Do you understand me? I. Don't. Care. What matters is the story. And right now, the story is that you can't stop breaking rules."
Jayden's hands shook against the cuffs, nails biting into his palms. The fire pressed, demanding to spill. He wanted to scream, to flip the desk, to let it all burn.
Instead, he forced his words out slow. "Check the cameras. Ask who had access. You'll see."
The director stared at him, pen tapping the desk. "Even if I did, it wouldn't change the file. You're already marked. One more slip, and I'll personally drive you to max."
The words slammed into Jayden harder than any punch. Already marked. No matter what he did, the system had carved him into its story.
---
The Block's Reaction
When he was shoved back into the block, whispers erupted. "Carter caught with smokes." "Carter's done." "Max for sure."
Spider leaned against the wall, arms folded, grin poisonous. Rico chuckled, eyes locked on Jayden like he was already buried.
But not everyone laughed. Some looked uneasy, like the setup was too neat, too obvious. Some kids glanced at Jayden with something else in their eyes—not belief, not yet, but doubt. Doubt in Spider.
---
Dre's Counsel
That night, Jayden pressed his forehead against the cool wall, breathing ragged. Through the concrete, Dre's voice came steady.
"You feel it, Scrap? They're trying to bury you in stories. Rumors, contraband, setups. But listen—the cracks are showing. Some of them are starting to see through it. That's why Spider's pressing harder. He's bleeding."
Jayden's fists unclenched. His chest still burned, but it wasn't wild. It was steady.
"He thinks he's got me trapped," Jayden whispered.
"No," Dre said. "He's showing you he's afraid. That's your weapon. Don't break. Make him."
---
The Sketch
Jayden picked up his pencil, pressing hard against the paper until the tip snapped. He drew Spider as a snake this time, coiled around the block, fangs dripping poison. Then he drew himself—not fire this time, but a boot above the snake, pressing down, pinning it.
Underneath, he scrawled: When it strikes, I'll be ready.
And as the lights flickered out, Spider's laugh echoed down the hall, thin and sharp. It wasn't triumph this time. It was desperation hiding in the dark.