Layla had learned how to move without being seen.
Not invisible — nothing that romantic. Just quiet enough to slip between attention and apathy.
In St. Briar, that space was survival. The girls who drew too much notice vanished into isolation or transfer. The ones who vanished rarely came back.
So Layla made invisibility into armor. But lately, armor wasn't enough.
---
The Pattern Break
They'd doubled security after the lock incident. New guards. New routines. But even new routines had cracks.
Every third night, between rounds, there was a five-minute lull. The sound of boots faded, radios clicked off for handover. The world went still.
That was when Layla moved.
At first, she used the time to map blind corners. Then she started testing them — brushing against the boundaries of surveillance like a pickpocket testing fabric for weight.
She memorized which cameras glitched and when. The art room's corner lens still blinked out for fifteen seconds every hour. The boiler room's hallway had no feed at all.
She didn't tell Reese everything. Not yet.
---
The Unexpected Ally
The ally came from nowhere.
Nia worked kitchen duty — small, wiry, with sharp eyes that missed nothing. She wasn't friendly. She wasn't cruel. She just was.
One afternoon, while scrubbing trays, Nia leaned close and whispered, "You've been counting doors."
Layla froze. "What?"
Nia didn't look up. "Left hand taps. One, two, three. I've seen you do it."
Layla forced her voice even. "You watch everyone like that?"
"Just the ones planning to leave."
For a moment, the world narrowed to the sound of soap on metal.
Layla finally said, "You going to tell someone?"
Nia smirked, eyes flicking up. "If I wanted to, you wouldn't still be breathing."
They didn't speak again that shift. But when Layla slipped back to her bunk that night, she found a folded note hidden under her blanket.
Boiler hall. 2 a.m. No lights.
---
The Meeting
The hall was pitch dark except for the orange glow from a maintenance bulb near the end. The walls smelled like rust and wet dust.
Nia was already there, crouched near a broken vent. "Quiet," she whispered. "Sound travels."
Layla knelt beside her. "Why me?"
"Because you're not afraid of the walls. Most girls here still think they're alive. You don't."
Layla tilted her head. "And what about you?"
"I've been here too long to pretend."
From her sleeve, Nia pulled a tiny metal key. Not a full one — just the head, filed thin and curved. "Found it during clean-up. Doesn't match any of the current locks. Must be old."
Layla stared at it. "You think it still works?"
"Only one way to find out."
---
The Trial
They moved fast, soundless. The old utility closet two floors down had a corroded padlock that hadn't been changed since before Layla arrived.
The key fit. Barely.
Nia turned it once, slow. It clicked like a bone cracking. The door creaked open to reveal a narrow space full of forgotten cleaning supplies, yellowed boxes, and an old fuse box with a tag that read Maintenance Access — South Gate.
Layla's pulse pounded in her ears.
"This connects to the outer corridor," Nia whispered. "One that leads toward the east wall."
Layla looked at her. "You've known this?"
"Didn't have a reason to use it. Until now."
They didn't go farther that night. They didn't have to. They'd found the path.
---
The Doubt
Back in the dorm, Layla couldn't sleep. The ceiling above her seemed lower, pressing down like it wanted to smother the thought before it could turn into action.
She thought of Jayden again — the boy who'd refused to stay caged, who'd chosen risk over decay.
Could she really follow that same path?
Freedom looked different when you were close enough to touch it. It wasn't a dream anymore. It was a cliff.
She could jump — or she could rot.
She stared at the ceiling until her eyes blurred. Then she whispered, "I'm not dying here."
---
The Warning
The next morning, Ms. Dyer pulled her aside after breakfast.
"I've been getting reports," the counselor said. "You've been out of your dorm after lights out."
Layla kept her voice flat. "That's not true."
Dyer sighed. "Layla… whatever you're doing, stop. They're looking for excuses to move you. You understand?"
Layla met her gaze. "If they move me, will I still be free?"
Dyer hesitated. "This is as free as you're going to get."
Layla smiled, small and sharp. "Then that's the problem."
---
The Spark in the Mirror
That night, she stood in front of the mirror again. Same flickering light. Same hum of electricity. But her reflection wasn't the same girl who'd been interrogated two weeks ago.
Her eyes had purpose now — not rage, not fear, but something colder. Direction.
She took out the screwdriver head, the lighter, and the paper scraps she'd been collecting. Laid them out in a line on the sink like tools of faith.
The first pieces of her plan.
Somewhere beyond those walls, Jayden was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones — the same rhythm of storm and silence.
She smiled at her reflection. "Let's build a bridge."