Blood in the Water

Jasper's body ached from the relentless training, but he refused to show weakness. Days had passed since Mark took him under his wing, and though he was stronger, he was still far from surviving Blackridge unscathed.

He sat in the mess hall, pushing the grayish lump of food around his tray. Around him, the low hum of conversation mixed with the occasional burst of laughter or the clatter of a dropped utensil. But under the surface, there was tension. Always.

"You're making waves, new blood."

Jasper looked up to see Pante nox, a lean, tattooed inmate with sharp eyes, sitting across from him. Pante was part of the prison's underground economy—drugs, smuggled goods, favors for favors. He was dangerous in a different way than Mark.

Jasper didn't respond.

Pante smirked. "You think training with Steele makes you untouchable? The sharks are circling, kid. You're either useful, or you're prey."

Jasper held his gaze. "I'm neither."

Pante chuckled, but there was something cold in his eyes. "Everyone in here is one or the other. You'll learn that soon enough."

Before Jasper could respond, a commotion broke out. A tray crashed to the floor. Shouting.

He turned and saw Ragor, one of Ben Zemmer's lackeys, shoving another inmate aside. Then his gaze locked onto Jasper. A slow grin spread across Ragor's scarred face.

"Well, well. Looks like fresh meat got himself a mentor," Ragor said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Think that makes you safe?"

Jasper tensed. He'd seen the look in Ragor's eyes before—the same look predators had before they tore into their prey.

Ragor stepped closer. "You don't belong here, Cross. But don't worry, we'll make sure you—"

Jasper moved before he could finish. Mark's lessons kicked in—strike first, strike hard. He drove his tray into Ragor's stomach, making the bigger man stumble back. The mess hall exploded into chaos.

Ragor recovered fast, lunging at Jasper. But Jasper had spent days training, pushing his limits. He dodged, then countered with a punch to Ragor's ribs. The older inmate grunted but didn't go down. Instead, he grinned.

"You've got fight in you," Ragor said, licking a trickle of blood from his lip. "Good. That makes this fun."

More inmates were gathering now, watching, some shouting bets. The guards didn't move—not yet. This was entertainment.

Jasper knew he was in trouble. Ragor was bigger, more experienced. But Mark's voice echoed in his mind.

Use your environment. Fight smart. No rules in survival.

Jasper grabbed a metal fork from a nearby tray and feinted left. Ragor followed—just as Jasper slammed the tray into his face. The crack of metal against bone silenced the crowd for a split second. Ragor staggered back, blood dripping from his forehead.

Then the guards finally moved in.

"Break it up!"

Jasper felt rough hands grab him, forcing him down. Ragor was laughing as he wiped the blood from his face.

"This ain't over, Cross," he spat.

As the guards dragged Jasper away, he caught a glimpse of Mark watching from across the hall. The old man nodded.

Jasper had just made his mark.