Breaking the Chains

Jasper watched Pante walk away, his smirk lingering in the air like the scent of blood after a fight. The bastard thought he had him.

He was wrong.

Jasper had spent his whole life playing by the rules, trusting in fairness, believing in justice. Look where that got him.

Framed. Locked up. Betrayed.

But if Pante thought he'd roll over and become his pawn? He'd have to kill him first.

Jasper found Mark near the weight racks in the yard, spotting a man on the bench press. He didn't waste time.

"I need to get stronger. Faster."

Mark didn't even look at him. "You're already training."

Jasper shook his head. "Not enough. I don't want to survive, Mark. I want to be untouchable."

Now the older man looked at him. Studied him. Then gave a slow nod.

"Alright. You want to be more than a fighter?" Mark stepped forward, looming over Jasper. "Then you train like it."

The next two weeks were hell.

Mark tore him apart. More than weight training, more than endurance. He taught him how to fight smart—how to read people, how to use their own strength against them, how to make pain an advantage.

"How do you beat a bigger man?" Mark asked one day, throwing a punch that Jasper barely dodged.

Jasper didn't hesitate. "Take his balance."

Mark attacked again. Jasper sidestepped, hooked Mark's knee, and drove an elbow into his ribs.

The big man grunted, stepping back. Then he grinned.

"Now you're learning."

Pante noticed.

Jasper's refusal to play along. His focus on power, not politics. The fact that he wasn't looking for protection—he was becoming his own weapon.

That didn't sit well with the man who controlled the board.

One evening, as Jasper left the yard, two inmates flanked him. Not Ragor's men. Pante's.

A message.

Jasper met Pante's gaze from across the yard.

Pante just smiled.

Checkmate? No. Just the next move.

Jasper exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

Let them come.

He wasn't playing their game.

He was making his own.