The laundry fight should've been Spider's triumph. Four boys against one, a blade in the mix, no cameras. It should've ended with Jayden bleeding out or shipped straight to max. That was the script Spider had written.
But it didn't go that way. And now the block was buzzing with the wrong kind of whispers.
---
The Shift in Voices
Jayden felt it the next morning. Eyes still followed him, but not with the same suspicion. Some were sharp, measuring. Others were wide, uncertain. And some—just a few—held respect.
"He dropped them clean."
"Didn't even lose it."
"Spider's slipping."
Spider tried to laugh it off, strutting through the block with Rico at his shoulder. But his grin was stretched thin now, his jokes louder, more forced. The kids who once echoed his laughter didn't all join in this time. Some kept quiet. Silence was louder than cheers.
---
Rico's Rage
Rico, though, didn't hide his fury. In the cafeteria, he slammed his tray down next to Jayden's, meat slop splattering across the table. "You think this is over, fire-boy? You think one little fight makes you king?"
Jayden didn't flinch. He ate his bread slow, steady. "Not a king. Just not afraid."
The block hushed. Rico's fists trembled. His eyes darted to Spider, waiting for a nod. But Spider didn't give one. Not yet. His silence said more than words: the web was cracking, and he knew it.
---
Dre's Echo
That night, Jayden lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling, waiting for silence. But for the first time in weeks, a faint tap came through the wall. One. Then two. Their old signal.
Jayden's chest clenched. He pressed his knuckles to the concrete. "You there?"
Dre's voice came faint but rough. "Still breathing, Scrap. Heard what you did in laundry. You didn't break. That's how you win."
Jayden's throat tightened. "They're coming harder. They won't stop."
"They don't have to," Dre rasped. "They just have to fail enough times. Each failure cuts Spider's strings. Keep cutting. Don't stop."
---
Spider's Fracture
The next day, Spider called a meeting in the yard. His voice carried, but not like before. "Carter's a liar. He's staff's pet. He plays you like he plays them."
But the words didn't land the same. A boy in the back muttered, "Then why'd he drop four of yours?" Another added, "Why's it always him standing at the end?"
Spider's eyes flashed. He snarled, "You saying you believe him over me?"
Silence answered louder than anything. The crowd shifted uneasily, doubt cracking his web.
For the first time, Spider looked less like a king and more like a man cornered.
---
The Sketch
Back in his cell, Jayden sketched the web again. But this time, threads snapped, torn, dangling. The spider at the center was smaller now, legs broken, still clinging but weaker.
Above it, he drew himself not as a flame, not as a torch, but as a pair of scissors glowing hot.
Underneath he wrote: Each cut weakens the web.
---
The block wasn't his yet. Spider still had power. Rico still had fists. The guards still wrote the stories in files. But for the first time, the whispers didn't belong to Spider.
And that was a crack he couldn't repair.