The block was buzzing after the yard. Jayden had walked back in bloodied but not broken, and that image stuck. Some of the younger kids whispered about the way he'd disarmed Rico without losing control, how he'd stood tall instead of burning out.
But Spider wasn't finished. He knew the yard had slipped away from him. So he moved his game where Jayden couldn't swing back—into the system itself.
---
The Guard's Word
Two days later, Jayden was yanked out of his bunk mid-shift. No explanation, just rough hands and cuffs. The same guard who'd smirked at him during searches dragged him down the hall, muttering under his breath: "You think you're clever, Carter. Let's see how clever you are when this sticks."
The director's office smelled the same as always—paper, coffee, bleach. Jayden sat cuffed, heart pounding, as the guard laid out the report.
"Carter attacked Rico with a weapon in the yard. Multiple witnesses saw him holding the blade."
Jayden's chest exploded with heat. "That's a lie. Everyone saw Rico lunge at me. The shiv was in his hand!"
The director's eyes were cold. "And yet, my guard says otherwise." He tapped the file like it was scripture. "You understand what this looks like, Carter? First a shiv under your bunk, then smokes, and now this? You're a walking red flag."
Jayden's nails cut crescents into his palms. They're rewriting the story. Erasing the truth right in front of me.
---
Dre's Warning
Back in the block, Dre's voice came low through the wall.
"They're trying to bury you, Scrap. Spider's got a guard. Probably more than one. Doesn't matter what you do out there—they'll twist it."
Jayden lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling cracks that looked like cages. "Then what's the point? If they own the story, if they can make me guilty no matter what, what's the point of fighting it?"
Dre's answer was quiet, but sharp as glass. "Because the block sees you. The kids see what really happened. Spider can own the paper, but you own the eyes. Don't forget that."
---
The Toll
The paranoia dug into Jayden like knives. Every pat-down felt heavier. Every whisper felt sharper. Every guard glance felt like a trap waiting to snap shut.
He couldn't sleep. He sketched until his fingers cramped, page after page of cages, flames, knives. Spider as a shadow behind bars, Rico as a wolf with broken teeth. And always himself—sometimes raging, sometimes caged, sometimes steady.
The fire inside never left. It pressed against his ribs, hot and relentless. Sometimes he wondered if Dre was wrong, if holding it in was just another kind of death.
But then he'd remember Rico on his knees in the yard, Spider's smile cracking for the first time. Control had power. Control wasn't weakness.
Still, the cost was heavy. Every second of silence was a war.
---
The Whisper
One night, as the block quieted and footsteps faded down the hall, a whisper slid under Jayden's door. He froze, blood running cold.
"Next time, Carter," the voice hissed. Low, sharp, unmistakable. Spider.
The sound slithered into the dark like a blade pressed against his throat.
Jayden's chest burned, but he forced himself to breathe. He opened the sketchbook and wrote one line under the drawing of Spider's shadow:
If he wants me to burn, I'll make sure I'm the one holding the match.