Morning at the Silver River Hub.
Arthur stood at the command pavilion window. His hands were empty. No slate. No plans. No reports that needed his signature.
Below, the freight yard moved like a machine that had forgotten it was a machine.
Wagons rolled into their assigned lanes. Workers moved crates without shouting. The information board cycled through updates. A convoy departed exactly on time.
No one looked for him. No one ran up with a problem.
He stood there for ten minutes. Then twenty.
The slate stayed on his desk.
---
Zack walked through the yard with his hands in his pockets.
That was new. Usually he carried a clipboard, a manifest, or a half-eaten breakfast. Now his hands were empty.
He stopped near the eastern gate. A worker was stacking crates. Not rushing. Not struggling. Just stacking.
Zack watched for a full minute.
The worker noticed him. "You alright, commander?"
Zack squinted. "Yeah. Fine."
"You look confused."
