The block felt wrong without Dre. The wall that had always carried his voice—rough, steady, unshakable—was dead quiet now. No taps. No whispered counsel in the dark. Just silence pressing in like another kind of cage.
Jayden lay awake, eyes on the ceiling, sketchbook unopened at his side. The fire in his chest burned hotter without Dre's gravel voice to ground it. Every creak of boots outside the cell made his fists clench. Every laugh down the hall felt like a taunt.
Spider was taller now, his grin sharper. Rico strutted, whispering "snitch" louder again, testing the air. And the block shifted with them, caught between doubt and fear. Without Dre, the scales leaned Spider's way.
---
The Director's Word
Three days passed before Jayden heard anything. A guard barked his name and yanked him down the corridor. His heart hammered, praying for Dre's voice, Dre's face—anything.
Instead, the director sat behind his desk, Dre's file open. His tone was cold. "Your friend Carter? He'll be in isolation awhile. Dangerous man. Hidden a weapon in his bunk. You should choose better company."
Jayden's nails bit into his palms. "It was planted. You know that."
The director leaned back, smirk thin. "I know what the file says. That's all that matters."
Jayden wanted to leap across the desk, wanted to scream until the walls cracked. But he remembered Dre's last words: Don't give them the satisfaction. So he sat, fire boiling steady, and said nothing.
The director's smirk faded just a fraction. Silence could be louder than rage.
---
The Block's Eyes
Back in the block, the weight of Dre's absence pressed heavier each day. Jayden walked the halls alone, ate alone, even in rec felt the distance. Spider fed on it, tossing smirks and whispers.
"Guess your mentor wasn't so wise after all."
"Carter without Dre? Dead man walking."
Some kids laughed, but not all. A few looked uncertain. They'd seen how neat the setup had been, how fast the guards had moved. Some had started to notice a pattern.
Jayden caught those glances. Held them. Said nothing. Every second of silence was a war, but he fought it, burning steady.
---
The Dream
That night, sleep finally dragged him under, but it wasn't rest. In his dream, Dre sat across from him at their usual cafeteria table, head bowed, hands cuffed.
"You gonna break now?" Dre asked, voice rough.
Jayden shook his head. "Not yet."
"Good," Dre said. His face cracked into a grin. "Because I ain't broken either."
Jayden woke with sweat soaking his shirt, chest burning. The wall stayed silent. But for the first time, he believed Dre was still fighting, wherever they'd buried him.
---
The Sketch
He opened his sketchbook, hand trembling but steadying with each stroke. He drew two cells side by side, one with a torch burning steady, the other empty—but with smoke curling under the door.
Underneath he wrote: Even silence carries fire.
And as he closed the book, Spider's laughter carried down the hall again. But this time it didn't cut as deep. Because Jayden knew Dre hadn't broken.
And if Dre could hold steady in silence, so could he.