Spider had always thrived in whispers. In shadows. In strings pulled where no one could see. But now the whispers were slipping, the strings snapping. The block was starting to see him for what he was.
And Spider couldn't survive that. Not in a place where fear was currency.
So he decided to gamble it all. No more shadows. No more setups. One last play, bloody and loud, designed to bury Jayden in front of everyone.
---
The Warning
It started with Dre's voice through the wall. His whisper was low, urgent.
"He's making a move, Scrap. Bigger than before. I heard the guard again—he's letting something through tonight. Ain't smokes. Ain't candy. Something worse."
Jayden's chest burned. "When?"
"Soon," Dre said. "Spider can feel it. He's slipping. He needs a show. You need to be ready, but careful. He don't care if he burns the whole block, as long as you burn too."
Jayden lay awake after, fists clenched, fire steady but loud inside him. Spider was cornered, and cornered men didn't care about rules.
---
The Yard
The next day in the yard, the air was different. Thicker. Guards paced the fence distracted, eyes narrowed like they knew something but didn't care to stop it. Jayden felt the trap tightening with every step.
Spider stood near the center, Rico beside him, a crowd forming naturally around them like gravity. His grin was back, wide and ugly.
"Today's the day, fire-boy," Spider called, voice sharp enough to slice the air. "All your silence, all your drawings, all your little speeches—let's see if they save you when you bleed."
Rico pulled something from under his jumpsuit. Not plastic this time. Not a toothbrush filed down. A jagged piece of real steel, gleaming under the sun.
The crowd gasped. Guards shifted—but didn't move. Bought silence. Spider's strings ran deep.
---
The Clash
Rico lunged, steel flashing. Jayden dodged, heart slamming, fire exploding. The crowd roared, pressing in, hungry.
Rico slashed again, the blade slicing Jayden's sleeve, hot pain streaking his arm. Jayden staggered, fists up. He could feel himself slipping, the fire pushing to erupt, to smash Rico down and never let him get back up.
But Dre's voice cut through the storm again: Don't give him the ending he wants.
Jayden breathed deep, vision narrowing. Rico swung wild—rage, not precision. Jayden sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, slammed it against his knee. The blade clattered to the dirt.
Gasps rippled.
Rico swung with his free fist, but Jayden ducked, drove his shoulder into his gut, and sent him sprawling. Jayden stood tall, chest heaving, blood dripping from his arm but fire steady.
Spider's grin cracked.
---
The Guards' Move
The guards finally surged in, too late, batons cracking against boys' ribs, scattering the circle. One grabbed Jayden, shoving him hard against the fence, blood smearing the wire.
"Always you, Carter," the guard spat.
But this time, the whispers were different. Loud, defiant.
"Rico had the blade!"
"Spider gave it to him!"
"We saw it!"
The block had seen everything. And no amount of Spider's strings could erase that.
---
The Sketch
Back in his cell, arm bandaged sloppy, Jayden opened his sketchbook with shaking hands. He drew Spider's shadow looming with a broken web, Rico on the ground, blade shattered at his feet. Above it, he drew himself—not fire wild and consuming, but a torch steady and upright, lighting the whole block.
Underneath, he wrote: The fire doesn't burn out. It burns through.
---
Spider had made his final play. And for the first time, the block didn't laugh with him.
They looked at Jayden.