Frank arrived at the abandoned square the next morning, the streets still damp from overnight rain. The town seemed smaller in daylight, quieter in its decay, and yet every crack in the cobblestones whispered secrets he had never noticed before.
The man in the coat was already there, leaning against a broken fountain. "You're late," he said without looking up.
Frank swallowed. "I… I got here as fast as I could."
The man straightened, eyes glinting beneath the brim of his hat. "Fast is not enough. You need to move without being noticed, to hear without being told, and to see without being seen."
He handed Frank a small, worn stick. "Follow me. No questions."
They moved through the alleys in silence. Frank realized he could hear the faintest drip of water, the soft scurry of rats, even the whisper of wind against broken shutters. Every sound that once seemed ordinary now carried meaning.
"Silence," the man said, stopping in the shadow of a narrow passage. "It is not the absence of noise. It is awareness. You cannot fight fear if you do not first understand it."
Frank nodded, gripping the stick. He felt the weight of it, more than its physical heft—a symbol of readiness, of purpose.
The man demonstrated simple movements: how to crouch low, step lightly, blend with shadows, and read the smallest signs of danger. "Your body must be quiet before your mind can be loud," he said.
Hours passed like minutes. Frank's legs ached, his lungs burned, but he felt something growing inside him—a focus he had never known. The world had not changed. He had.
At the end of the day, the man stopped and faced him. "Remember this, Spenser: courage is meaningless if you cannot control yourself. Strength is wasted if it cannot be measured. You may stand, but first you must know how to stand quietly."
Frank nodded, exhausted but exhilarated. For the first time, standing still did not feel like weakness.
There, in the shadowed square, amidst ruins and silence, Frank began to understand what it meant to become Spenser—the boy who would stand when others could not.
And the town, for the first time in a long time, seemed to hold its breath—not in fear, but in anticipation.