St. Briar taught Layla more about power in a week than the streets had in months. Here, strength didn't live in your fists — it lived in your silence. In how long you could hold someone's stare. In whether you flinched when the guards barked or the alarms screamed.
She was learning. Fast.
But control always came at a cost.
---
The Challenge
It started in the laundry room. The air was hot and sour with detergent and sweat. Layla folded sheets beside Reese, trying to stay invisible. That was the key in St. Briar — don't stand out until you're ready to.
But someone always wanted to test you.
Mia — the same girl from the cafeteria — walked in with two others, smirking. She'd been waiting for the right moment. "Heard you think you're Reese's new favorite," she said.
Layla kept folding, slow and steady. "You heard wrong."
"Oh, I heard right," Mia snapped. "She's got you running errands, eating at her table — what, you her pet now?"
Laughter from the others. Small, mean.
Reese looked up from her folding, her voice calm. "You done talking, Mia?"
Mia hesitated, weighing her chances. "Just saying—she ain't earned—"
She didn't finish. Reese's hand shot out, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. Mia gasped, body bending under the pressure.
"You think earning's about talking?" Reese said quietly. "Then you'll be here a long time."
When she let go, Mia stumbled back, red-faced, rubbing her wrist. She glared at Layla, eyes full of venom, but she didn't move.
For now.
---
The Warning
That night, Reese sat on the lower bunk, rolling a cigarette made of tea leaves. She didn't smoke it; she just liked the ritual.
"You made an enemy today," she said.
Layla leaned against the wall. "You made it for me."
Reese smirked. "You handled it fine. Didn't bite, didn't flinch. That's why I stepped in. But you need to know—girls like Mia don't forget. They'll come for you quiet."
"I'm not scared," Layla said.
"Good," Reese replied. "Be ready anyway."
---
The Fight
The next day proved her right.
It happened during work rotation in the yard. Mia's crew moved fast, flanking Layla by the dumpsters while the guards' backs were turned. The first punch came from the left — sloppy, but enough to stagger her.
The fire inside flared instantly. Layla's heart raced, fists rising, instincts screaming hit back, hit back.
But Reese's words echoed in her mind — Control is how fire breathes.
Layla didn't swing. She ducked, sidestepped, shoved one girl into the other, letting their momentum work against them. Her knuckles itched, but she kept them closed.
"Fight back, coward!" Mia shouted.
Layla met her eyes, breathing hard. "No."
That single word threw Mia off balance. Rage twisted her face. She lunged again — just as a guard turned the corner.
Mia froze. The guard's eyes narrowed. "What's going on here?"
Layla straightened, blood running from her lip but eyes steady. "Laundry duty got loud."
The guard looked between them, unconvinced, but didn't press. "Clean it up. Both of you."
When he walked away, Reese's voice floated from across the yard. "That's how you win, Carter."
---
The Lesson
That night, Layla sat on her bunk, ribs aching but calm. Reese sat nearby, watching her like she was studying a puzzle.
"You could've crushed her," Reese said.
"I know."
"Why didn't you?"
Layla thought about it. "Because I'm tired of burning everything I touch."
Reese nodded slowly, a rare flicker of respect in her eyes. "Then you're smarter than I was at your age."
---
The Sketch
Layla opened her notebook after lights out. She drew the yard — the moment frozen in time — Mia's fist mid-swing, her own hands open, not clenched.
Above it, she drew a small flame between them, balanced, steady.
Underneath, she wrote: Fire doesn't always fight. Sometimes it waits.
---
She fell asleep to the hum of the vents, bruises throbbing but chest lighter than it had been in months. She wasn't the same girl who'd followed Marcy into the streets.
She was learning to own her fire — and maybe, one day, to lead with it.