The morning after the fire, the streets smelled of ash and wet smoke. The town was quiet again, but quieter than usual—like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something worse to come.
Frank walked carefully, his shoes leaving wet imprints on the soot-covered pavement. The girl he had saved was safe now, tucked inside her mother's arms, but the image of the fire—and the figure who had stood watching it—refused to leave his mind.
Then he saw the blood.
It was on the road ahead, streaked across the cobblestones in dark, glistening lines. Frank froze. The blood was fresh, and it led toward the alley where he had run the first time someone had called him Spenser.
His stomach tightened. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, but another part—the part that had lifted the fallen beam the night before—urged him forward.
He followed the trail.
It led to a man lying face down, his clothes torn, skin pale. Frank didn't know him. Didn't need to. The sight made his chest ache, the same way he felt when he saw the girl trapped in the fire.
"Who… did this?" Frank whispered to himself.
A shadow moved at the edge of his vision. He spun, heart hammering. The streets were empty, but he sensed someone there. Someone waiting. Watching.
The man stirred. Frank froze, then realized it was only the survivor trying to lift himself up. Blood smeared his face, hands shaking.
"Help me," the man groaned.
Frank hesitated. His mother had always said, choose carefully who you trust, but never ignore someone in need.
He stepped forward and helped the man to his feet.
The man looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. "They… they're coming back. You… you have to be ready."
Frank's throat went dry. "Who's coming back?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he pointed down the empty street, where smoke curled from the burned bakery and the shadows of the town seemed deeper than before.
Frank felt it then—the weight of the night, the fire, the blood on the road. The town wasn't just quiet. It was waiting. Waiting for something—or someone—to arrive.
And Frank knew, deep inside, that whatever came next would test him in ways the fire never had.
For the first time, the name Spenser felt heavier than just a nickname. It felt like a warning.
A promise.
And the road ahead was soaked in blood.