Mark hurried down the winding village path, the gravel crunching under his shoes.
The sun was barely peeking through the mist, casting a soft haze over Solmere.
His chest was tight, and not from the jog—he knew what was waiting for him.
Mr. Frank.
The man's messages had grown more relentless with every passing minute.
Missed calls, then texts, then more missed calls. Mark didn't want this confrontation—not yet, maybe not ever—but it was here.
The cool morning air scraped at his face as he walked briskly, the village almost silent at this hour.
In the distance, the guest house sat like a quiet, hidden haven, a place Mark never thought he'd return to so soon.
It felt like a different lifetime — before the chaos, before Billy's village, before everything had been thrown off course.
He could still see Leo's smile, frozen in the photos from so long ago, next to Mr. Frank's crooked grin, frozen in time.
