St. Briar taught lessons fast. By the third day, Layla knew the schedule like scripture—wake-up siren at six, lineup by six-thirty, chores till breakfast. Every minute accounted for, every word recorded. Freedom wasn't a concept here; it was contraband.
She'd thought the streets were cruel, but St. Briar was methodical. Cruelty here came with clipboards.
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Reese's Watch
Reese ruled the dorm without shouting. She didn't have to. One glare from her was enough to freeze a room. The staff called her "a stabilizing influence." The girls called her "boss."
Layla watched her for days, studying the small things—how Reese never argued with staff but always got what she wanted, how she broke up fights with a single word, how even the guards nodded when she walked by.
It reminded Layla of Spider, though she didn't know that name. Same authority. Same quiet fear in the air. But Reese was different. There was no show in her power. Just precision.
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The First Test
It came at lunch. A girl named Mia bumped Layla's tray, spilling milk across her sleeve. The cafeteria went silent. Reese watched from her table, eyes unreadable.
Layla stood there, dripping, heat crawling up her neck. The fire inside whispered to strike, to remind them she wasn't weak.
But she didn't.
She wiped the sleeve, set the tray back down, and stared at Mia until she looked away. No shouting. No fists. Just a look that said everything.
Reese smirked. "Smart girl," she murmured.
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Lessons in Power
Later that night, Reese caught her in the hallway. "You kept your cool. Most don't last a week without swinging. That's why I picked you for kitchen detail tomorrow."
Layla frowned. "That's a reward?"
Reese's smirk grew. "It's a step. Power here ain't about noise. It's about control. Keep that, and this place will start to bend for you."
The words stuck in Layla's head long after Reese walked away. Control. She'd heard that before, somewhere deep in her bones, like an echo from another life.
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The Sketch
In her bunk that night, Layla opened her notebook. She drew Reese standing tall in a room full of cages, holding a key in one hand and fire in the other.
On the next page, she drew herself—not holding fire, but shaping it.
Underneath, she wrote: Control is how fire breathes.
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St. Briar wasn't breaking her. It was teaching her.
And Layla was a fast learner.