The morning after the ambush, the town felt quieter than usual. People moved about their routines, but Frank could sense an undercurrent of tension. He knew the hooded figures weren't finished, and the watcher on the rooftops was still calculating.
"Leo," Frank said, "we need to know who we're dealing with. Waiting for them to strike without understanding their plan will get someone hurt."
Leo nodded. "Where do we start?"
Frank led him to the alley where he had first faced the hooded figures. He crouched, scanning the ground. There were footprints—slightly different than the sloppy steps of the first attackers, heavier and more deliberate. He noticed faint scuff marks on the corner wall, suggesting someone had climbed down from a higher point.
"See this?" Frank pointed. "They didn't just attack. They studied the environment, learning how to move through it silently. Whoever this is, they're trained—careful, methodical."
Leo crouched beside him, tracing the marks with his fingers. "So it's not just some random thug?"
"Definitely not," Frank said. "And the footprints lead toward the northern edge of town, near the old watchtower. If we're going to learn anything, that's where we start."
They made their way carefully, avoiding main streets and keeping to the shadows. The northern edge of town was abandoned, crumbling from years of neglect. The watchtower loomed over them, its windows dark and silent.
Frank's eyes scanned every crevice. "Watchers often leave signs, subtle ones. Footprints, disturbed debris, even broken branches. We need to find something they didn't mean to leave."
Hours passed. Just when it seemed the trail had gone cold, Frank spotted a small, torn piece of black fabric caught on a nail outside the tower. The same shade as the cloaks from the ambushes.
"This is it," Frank murmured. "A clue."
Leo's eyes widened. "We're close then?"
"Yes," Frank said, his jaw tightening. "But being close doesn't mean it's safe. Whoever owns that cloak knows the town—and knows us. We have to be smarter than they are."
He turned, looking back at the sleeping town. Somewhere above, the figure from the rooftops watched still. And now, Frank realized: they were no longer just observers. They were waiting for him to make a move.
"There he stands… but will he be ready?"