The van stopped with a hiss that made Layla flinch awake. For a second, she didn't know where she was — just the stale air, the rain tapping against the glass, and the hum of the engine dying.
Then the door opened.
"Let's go," the driver said, not looking at her.
Layla stepped out into gray light. The new facility loomed tall and windowless, like a warehouse pretending to be a school. A faded sign read: St. Briar Residential Youth Center — but the name was a lie. There was nothing saintly about it.
---
The Intake
Inside, the air smelled of metal and disinfectant. Not bleach, but colder. The kind of clean that came from scrubbing away people.
The woman at the desk didn't look up as she spoke. "Name?"
"Layla Carter."
"Age?"
"Sixteen."
The woman typed slowly, nails clacking against the keys. "Been through three placements already. Last one terminated for contraband possession." Her tone was flat, rehearsed. "You'll be on Level Two for now. Curfews are strict. Fights mean isolation. You'll be searched daily."
Layla nodded once. She'd stopped expecting warmth a long time ago.
---
The Dorm
They led her down a long hall lined with flickering lights. The dorm was cramped — bunks stacked two high, metal frames creaking. The girls inside were older, sharper around the edges. Their eyes followed her like wolves tracking a stray.
One girl with braided hair and a scar on her lip leaned back on her bunk. "New blood," she said. "Looks soft."
Layla dropped her bag by an empty bed. "Try me."
A few chuckles rippled through the room. It wasn't laughter. It was acknowledgment.
---
The First Night
Layla lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. Every breath carried the weight of someone else's history — girls who'd fought, cried, screamed, disappeared.
The girl with the scar — they called her Reese — snored softly on the top bunk. Across the room, another girl hummed under her breath, low and eerie.
Layla's hands trembled under the blanket. She thought about Marcy's wild grin, about the bag under her mattress, about the way betrayal burned colder than anger.
She pressed her palm to her chest. The fire was still there, small but alive.
---
The New Rules
The next morning, she learned fast. You didn't talk unless you had to. You didn't eat slow, or someone might take your tray. You didn't cry — ever.
Reese was queen of the dorm. The staff respected her because she didn't cause chaos—she controlled it. She ran the girls like Spider had run Jayden's block, though Layla didn't know that name yet.
Reese watched her through breakfast, unreadable. "You keep quiet," she said finally. "I like that. Don't make me regret it."
Layla didn't answer. But inside, her chest burned. The fire she'd inherited from Jayden didn't like cages.
---
The Sketch
That night, she opened her notebook under the blanket. She drew St. Briar — all gray walls and thin windows. She drew herself small, a flicker of orange in a world of cold blue.
Underneath she wrote: Fire learns the shape of its cage.
---
For the first time, she didn't dream of running.
She dreamed of surviving — and finding a way to turn survival into power.