The main square buzzes with life. I have to stand on my tiptoes to see past the crowd gathered around the huge Millbrook cart. The afternoon sun makes me squint, and the air feels thick with the smell of fresh bread mixing with dust and horse sweat.

"Look at all those grain sacks!" Claire tugs at my sleeve. "Way more than last year!"

She's right - they're stacked so high they almost look like a mountain. I shield my eyes with my hand to get a better view. Her grandfather, Sven, stands in the middle of all the commotion. His white hair shines in the sun, and he's watching everything with that serious look he always has during trades.

"See?" Claire whispers to me, poking my side. "Grandpa's always there, making sure everything's perfect."

I nod, watching as Sven's voice booms across the square: "Gondo! Careful with those sacks - they're as precious as gold!"

Gondo, the village blacksmith, looks like a giant next to everyone else. Under the bright sun, the gray strands in Gondo's beard stand out more than usual against the darker hair, making our village blacksmith look older somehow. I can't help but smile as I watch him work - despite his massive size, his hands move with surprising gentleness, handling each grain sack as carefully as Mom handles her favorite teacups.

"Wow!" Claire bounces next to me, making me wobble. "Look how many sacks there are! Your mom can make tons of apple cakes for the harvest festival!"

"Maybe!" The thought of Mom's apple cakes makes my mouth water. "They're the best in the village."

A young merchant with bright red hair and freckles walks up to Sven. I lean forward to hear better - he keeps wringing his hands like I do when I have to recite in front of the class.

"Mr. Sven," he says, his voice shaky, "um... everyone in Millbrook talks about your mead. I was wondering if... maybe... next year we could..."

Sven looks at him with that half-smile he gets sometimes, the one that makes his stern face softer. "Ah, our mead's made a name for itself, has it? Let's get this grain sorted first, boy. Plenty of time for drinks later."

Everyone laughs, and I giggle too when the young merchant turns as red as his hair. The young merchant's eyes dart to the forest edge, his smile faltering for just a second. It's so quick I almost think I imagined it, but then I notice the other traders doing the same thing - quick, nervous glances at the trees when they think no one's watching.

Claire and I edge closer to the center of the square. When Sven spots us, his serious face breaks into a warm smile. "Well, look who's here! My little explorers! Come to see how trade works?"

"Yes!" Claire practically shouts, jumping up and down. "It looks super important!"

Sven laughs, reaching out to mess up her hair. "That it is, little one. That it is."

"Come here," he waves us closer. "Let me show you how all this works."

For what feels like forever (but Claire says was only half an hour), Sven shows us everything about trading. He explains how they weigh the grain on those huge scale plates, how they check the sacks for bugs (gross!), and even lets us peek at the trading records - though the numbers make my head spin.

"See these numbers?" He points at the book. "Each one means our village will be safe. No one goes hungry this winter."

I lean in close to look at the pages, fascinated by all the neat rows of writing. Claire keeps fidgeting beside me, and I catch her sneaking glances at some kids playing on the other side of the square.

The merchants' hands shake slightly as they stack the grain sacks, their movements jerky and rushed compared to their usual careful precision. They keep glancing at the sun's position, as if worried about losing daylight though it's barely past noon. One drops a sack, earning a sharp look from Sven, but instead of the usual careful recovery, he almost throws it onto the pile in his haste.

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Something feels wrong about their behavior, making my stomach twist uncomfortably. These aren't the same confident traders who usually share jokes and stories during unloading. Today they move like they're trying to escape something, their laughter too loud and hollow when Sven mentions the mead. Even the horses seem restless, stamping their hooves and tossing their heads at every rustle from the forest.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress - when did my hands get so clammy? The heat's not the only thing making me uncomfortable anymore. Sven looks pleased as he surveys all the grain sacks lined up in neat piles in the corner of the community storehouse.

"That's that," he announces, his voice rough from giving directions all morning. He turns to all the tired workers. "Excellent job, everyone."

The red-haired merchant steps forward again, walking more confidently now. His freckled face is pink from the sun. "Mr. Sven," he says in a stronger voice, "I want to thank you on behalf of Millbrook. This grain... it means a lot to us."

Sven puts his big hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is how we survive, son. By helping each other." His smile makes him look younger. "Just like our fathers did, and their fathers before them."

"Speaking of traditions..." Gondo's deep voice booms as he walks over with a small, shiny barrel tucked under his arm. "We can't let you leave without a taste of our mead, can we?"

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at how the young merchant's eyes light up. "Really? The famous Aldenvik mead?"

Ursa moves through the crowd with her characteristic quiet grace, her traditional clothes dusted with dried herbs from her morning gathering. As our village's healer, she always seems to know exactly when to appear. The herb pouches at her belt give off that familiar sharp scent that fills her workshop where she tends to the sick and injured. "Take these too," she says, handing it to the lead merchant. "They'll keep you alert on your journey home."

I watch as the whole village seems to gather to say goodbye to the merchants. It's kind of like a ceremony - everyone exchanging smiles and handshakes and making promises about next time. Mom says it's been this way since forever.

"We'll be back soon!" the young merchant calls from the moving cart. "With more news from Millbrook!"

I squint against the sun, watching the cart get smaller and smaller. The young merchant with the red hair keeps turning around, staring at the forest's edge. I've seen that same look on Mrs. Hedda's cat right before just today, when it knows something's coming but can't tell what. Like he's searching for something in the shadows between the trees. Something he hoped not to find.

The wheels kick up little clouds of golden dust that remind me of the way Mom's flour looks in the sunlight when she's baking. Everyone starts heading back to their usual business, looking happy about how everything turned out, but I can't shake that uneasy feeling. Whatever the merchant was watching for in those trees, I don't think it's finished with us yet.

Sven turns to look at us - I'm surprised Claire and I are still here. We actually stayed for the whole thing! His tired face breaks into that warm smile he saves just for us. "So, what did you think of all this boring grown-up business?"

"It was amazing!" The words burst out of me before I can stop them. I feel my cheeks get hot - I didn't mean to sound so excited about grain trading, of all things. "I didn't know there was so much to think about. The records, and all the checking, and everything..."

Claire tries to hide a huge yawn, but fails. "Yeah, Grandpa, very... um... educational," she mumbles, sneaking looks at the kids playing nearby.

Sven laughs - it's deep and warm, like when Dad reads us stories by the fire. "Alright, alright! I get the message. You've put up with enough of our trading business. Why don't you go play with your friends?"

"Really?" Claire's whole face lights up like it's her birthday.

"Of course." Sven reaches out to ruffle her hair again. "Go have fun."

I start to follow Claire, but something makes me look back. For just a second, something seems... different. The way the shadows fall across the square, maybe? Or how the wind feels suddenly cooler? But before I can figure it out, Claire grabs my hand.

"Come on!" she says, pulling me along. "Let's see what the others are doing!"

I shake off the strange feeling and run after her, leaving the grown-ups and their trading business behind. The afternoon sun feels warm on my back again, and I can hear kids laughing ahead of us. Everything's normal. Everything's fine.

But as we get closer to our friends, I glance back one more time. Just for a moment, I think I see Sven standing very still, staring at something none of us can see, a chill runs down my spine. Then Claire calls my name again, and I turn away, ready to forget about trades and whispers and strange feelings.

That's when we see Finn standing under the old elm tree, and somehow I know this day is about to get much worse.