The next morning, Frank awoke to the faint hum of the town. It was quiet, deceptively so, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the alley encounter from the night before had changed something.
He walked through the streets, retracing the path where the hooded figures had cornered him. Every shadow seemed sharper, every corner more suspicious. But Frank wasn't afraid. Not anymore. Fear had become a tool—a signal, a guide, not a cage.
As he passed the marketplace, he noticed a boy crouched behind a stall, scribbling notes frantically. When Frank approached, the boy froze.
"You're Spenser," he said, voice low.
Frank raised an eyebrow. "Who wants to know?"
"My name's Leo," the boy said quickly. "I… I saw what you did last night. You didn't run. You didn't scream. You… stood. I want to learn."
Frank hesitated. Training someone meant responsibility. He had only just begun to understand courage for himself. But he remembered the man in the coat: courage spreads, quietly, to those who watch it closely.