The block had always watched Jayden, but never like this. Before, the eyes had been suspicious, mocking, waiting for him to snap. Now they were different. Quiet, steady, waiting for something else—waiting for him to move.
That weight pressed on his shoulders heavier than chains.
---
Spider's Fracture
Spider felt it too. His grin had shrunk into something tight and brittle. He still prowled the halls, still threw his arm around boys like they were trophies, but Jayden could see it in the details.
The boys didn't laugh as loud. Rico didn't strut as hard. And Spider's own shadows—his runners, his muscle—looked at him with sidelong glances, wondering if the web was worth clinging to anymore.
It drove Spider mad.
In the yard, he snapped at one of his own boys, shoving him hard for not moving quick enough. "You deaf? When I tell you to move, you move!"
The boy muttered something under his breath. The block heard it, even if Spider pretended not to. That mutter was louder than any shout. It was the sound of loyalty cracking.
---
Rico's Silence
Rico was different too. His pride had been battered in the dirt too many times. His limp was back, his fists clenched, but his eyes carried something new: doubt.
He sat at Spider's side, but quieter now, his laughter late, his voice muted. The block noticed. Jayden noticed. Even Spider noticed.
And nothing rots a king faster than a second-in-command who stops believing.
---
The Block's Expectation
Jayden felt the shift most in the cafeteria. Boys who once avoided his table now hovered near it. Not close enough to sit, not yet, but close enough to show where their eyes were turning.
He chewed his bread slow, steady, fire burning in his chest, aware of every glance. They weren't whispers anymore. They were questions. What would Carter do? Would Carter step up?
It wasn't the kind of power he wanted. But it was the kind that pressed down on him whether he wanted it or not.
---
Dre's Warning
That night, Dre's voice came through the wall, gravel but sharp. "You feel it, Scrap? They're looking at you different now."
Jayden tapped once. "Yeah. Feels heavy."
"That's 'cause it is," Dre said. "Leadership ain't about fists. Ain't about who can scream the loudest. It's about who holds steady when the ground shakes. That's you now. You didn't ask for it, but it's yours."
Jayden swallowed hard. He'd spent so long fighting not to break, fighting to survive Spider's strings. Now the block wanted more. And he didn't know if he had it to give.
---
Spider's Outburst
The next day, Spider finally cracked. In lineup, one of his shadows stepped half a beat too slow. Spider spun, fists flying, slamming the boy into the wall. The crack of bone echoed. Blood spilled fast, too fast.
The block froze. Even the guards hesitated.
"Anyone else think they can slack off?" Spider roared, face twisted with rage.
But no one answered. No cheers. No laughter. Just silence.
And in that silence, Spider's power died a little more.
---
The Sketch
That night, Jayden opened his book. He drew Spider as a shadow with broken legs, striking his own shadows, the web collapsing around him. Above it, he drew a flame—not wild, not chaotic, but steady, upright, casting light over all.
Underneath he wrote: Fire stands. Shadows eat themselves.
---
For the first time, Jayden realized Spider wasn't his biggest enemy anymore. Spider was already unraveling.
The real fight was what came next—what the block would demand from him.