The cafeteria riot changed everything. Spider's grin hadn't returned since. The block had seen too much—how he'd lit the spark, how he'd tried to frame Jayden as the fire. Some still clung to Spider out of fear, but others started watching Jayden differently, more careful, more curious.
For Spider, doubt was worse than hate. Doubt spread like rot. And he couldn't afford it.
So he decided to erase it. Erase Jayden.
---
The Setup
It began quiet. No whispers, no smirks. Spider's silence was heavier than any taunt. Rico stayed close at his side, but even his swagger was muted, like he knew what was coming.
Jayden felt it pressing down. Every meal. Every walk in the yard. Every night when the lights cut out and the silence hummed in his ears.
Something was coming.
Dre was still gone. The wall hadn't spoken in days. Jayden was his own anchor now, and the weight of it pressed heavier than the chains around his wrists.
---
The Move
It happened during work detail in the laundry. Jayden folded sheets, the monotony dull but safe—until the door clicked shut and the air changed.
Four boys walked in. Not Spider, not Rico, but his shadows. Bigger, older, faces cold.
One of them held a blade—a real one this time, jagged metal filed sharp. Smuggled, bought, or gifted by a guard. Jayden's stomach dropped. This wasn't a scare. This wasn't a shove. This was an erasure.
"You don't walk out of here, Carter," one said flatly.
The fire exploded inside him, begging to burn. He was outnumbered, outarmed, cut off. The perfect trap.
And Spider didn't even need to be here. His fingerprints were all over it anyway.
---
The Fire Breaks the Cage
The first boy lunged, blade flashing. Jayden dodged, barely, fabric tearing as the knife grazed his sleeve. He grabbed a basket, swung it hard, the clang echoing.
The others closed in. Fists flew. Jayden ducked one, slammed his elbow into another's chest, staggered him back. His blood roared, fire spilling into his veins.
He could feel himself slipping, fists landing harder, faster, fire pushing past restraint. The cage he'd built for weeks was cracking.
But in the middle of it—Dre's voice came back to him, as sharp as steel even in silence: Don't give them the ending they want.
Jayden grit his teeth, breath heaving. He fought, but he fought smart. No wild swings. No frenzy. Just clean, controlled shots. Drop one. Disable another. Kick the blade away.
When the guards finally burst in, Jayden was bleeding, lip split, ribs aching—but still standing. Two boys groaned on the floor. The other two scrambled back, fear in their eyes.
---
The Aftermath
Dragged back to his cell, cuffs biting deep, Jayden braced for the director's wrath. Another mark. Another step toward max.
But the report came back twisted. Not against him. Not entirely. Too many saw the blade. Too many saw Spider's fingerprints.
The block buzzed different that night. Some still whispered "trouble." But others whispered louder: "Spider's losing his grip."
---
The Sketch
Jayden's hands shook as he drew, ribs aching. He sketched four shadows falling, strings cut, blade on the ground. Above them, he drew himself—not a raging flame, not a broken cage, but a torch still burning, upright and steady.
Underneath, he scrawled: He can send shadows. I'll burn the web.