The air in St. Briar felt different now.
Thicker.
Like every breath had to fight its way through suspicion before it reached your lungs.
Since the night of the escape, the building had turned into a cage within a cage. Guards patrolled every hallway. Cameras that had been broken for years suddenly blinked red again. Every door took twice as long to open. Every girl was accounted for every hour on the hour.
The storm had passed outside. Inside, it was just beginning.
---
The Interrogation
Layla had been called into "administrative review" three times in two days. Each time, the questions changed shape but not direction.
"Did you know any of the escapees?"
"No."
"Ever corresponded with someone at St. Bridge?"
"No."
"Any reason your file was found cross-referenced with theirs?"
That one she didn't answer fast enough. The officer had noticed.
They never said Jayden's name, but they didn't have to. She saw it on the folders they tried to hide under their arms. She saw it in the way they looked at her — half suspicion, half curiosity, like they were trying to match the face in front of them to some ghost in a report.
"Whoever's out there won't get far," one of them had told her, voice flat and rehearsed. "People like that never do."
Layla had smiled, small and dangerous. "Maybe people like that just don't stop trying."
That was the last thing she said before they sent her back to the dorm.
---
The Whisper Network
St. Briar had its own kind of language — coded glances, folded notes, whispers passed between girls like contraband. By the second night, the rumors were everywhere.
"They say he took two with him."
"They say he was one of theirs once."
"They say he's coming back for someone."
Reese smirked when she heard the last one. "Sounds romantic. Or suicidal. Hard to tell with men like that."
Layla didn't respond. She was sitting on her bunk, staring at her hands, still smelling faintly of metal from the cuffs they'd used during questioning.
Reese leaned in. "You know, if the walls are this scared, it's because someone actually hurt them. Maybe that's worth believing in."
Layla looked up. "You ever wonder what freedom smells like?"
Reese blinked. "Gasoline and bad decisions."
Layla smiled. "Close enough."
---
The Note
That night, someone slipped a folded scrap of paper under her pillow. No name. No handwriting she recognized. Just five words:
"He made it out alive."
Her heart stopped for half a beat. Then it started racing again, so fast it hurt.
She read it three times before she believed it.
She didn't sleep after that. She lay in the dark listening to the rain start again, fingers tracing the letters until they smudged.
Somewhere out there, Jayden was breathing the same air. Maybe bleeding, maybe running, but alive.
That was enough to turn her pulse into a war drum.
---
The Counselor
In the morning, Ms. Dyer called her into the office again. This time, the woman looked tired — like even she didn't believe the system's promises anymore.
"Layla," she said softly, "I know this has been hard. The investigation will pass. You just need to cooperate."
Layla stared at her through the glass reflection. "Cooperate means what? Sit quiet while they decide what I am?"
Dyer hesitated. "It means survive. And if you're smart, that's enough."
Layla's lips curved into something between a smile and a scar. "It's never been enough."
For the first time, Dyer didn't argue. She just looked at her, like she understood exactly what that meant.
---
The Spark
Back in the dorm, Layla sat on the floor, notebook in her lap. The walls around her hummed with tension — girls whispering, guards pacing, the building itself groaning under its own watchfulness.
She opened to a blank page.
The pencil trembled in her hand at first, then steadied. She drew a bridge — not like the one she'd drawn before, but cracked, smoking, still standing through fire. On one side stood a figure in a hoodie. On the other, a girl in rain.
Between them, a single word written in heavy graphite: Soon.
When she was done, she tore the page out and folded it into the back of her notebook with the photocopy of Jayden's name.
The papers rustled together — his and hers — like flint and steel.
---
The Plan
She started watching the routines the same way Jayden once had — the way doors clicked, the rhythm of rounds, the sound of keys scraping locks.
She didn't know how yet, but she knew why.
The system was tightening because it was afraid. Afraid of one boy's fire spreading. Afraid of what might happen if the caged started remembering they could burn.
Layla smiled as the lights went out.
If Jayden had made it this far, then maybe it was her turn.
She whispered into the dark, "You broke your chains. I'll break mine."
Somewhere, thunder rolled again — or maybe it was just the walls starting to crack.