"Thinking about it," Miller said, his eyes wandering to the heavy bags stacked on pallets in the dim light of the warehouse. "Just wondering what the limit is. Like, if a man wanted to buy it all."

The bell above the door chimed, a lonely sound in the cavernous silence of Miller’s Farm Supply. Elias didn’t look up from his ledger. He knew the gait; it was young Miller, likely looking for a specialized lubricant or a part for the thresher that had been coughing gray smoke since Tuesday.

"How much of the 34-0-0 you got left in the shed, El?" the boy asked, leaning against the counter.

The boy shifted his weight. "Seems like a lot of fuss for fertilizer."

Elias closed the ledger with a soft thud . The air in the store suddenly felt heavy with the scent of iron and dry earth.

"Tell your dad to buy what he needs for the season and not a bag more," Elias said, returning to his stool. "Safety isn't just about the blast; it's about the eyes watching the pile. Now, you want that thresher belt or not?"

He turned back to the boy, his expression unreadable. "Technically, there’s no ceiling on how much a legitimate farmer can buy if they have the acreage to justify it. But if a man without a tractor asks for a truckload, the 'limit' is usually zero, followed by a very uncomfortable phone call."