Silas loaded his wagon before dawn.
The crates were already packed. He had filled them yesterday, sealed the lids, painted the marks. First grade vegetables. His farm's stamp. Inspector Corbin's name.
He lifted the first crate onto the wagon bed. Then the second. Then the third.
The load balanced perfectly. No shifting. No guessing. The wagon settled level on its wheels.
Silas stepped back and stared at it.
Something felt wrong.
He checked the harness. Fine. He checked the wheels. Fine. He checked the crates again. Still fine.
His wife appeared at the door, wrapped in a blanket.
"What's wrong?"
Silas shook his head slowly.
"Feels like I forgot something."
She looked at the wagon. The crates. The harness.
"You didn't forget anything. You've been doing this for twenty years."
He nodded slowly. Climbed onto the bench. Picked up the reins.
"That's what worries me."
---
The road to the hub was quiet.
