Silence didn't bother Raylan the way it bothered some people. Too many years on the other side of an interrogation table, too many years sitting waiting for Boyd or Dewey to just get to the point of whatever stupid scheme they were starting to try and run past him. Too many nights on a porch with a similar looking hat and some moonshine.

"I think it's been hard baked into this town so long that it was as normal to them as a happenstance that the Editor of the local paper put into his goodbye note on the last edition and, quote, said 'It was a great honor to be chosen'." The passing lift of his eyebrows suggested just how unimpressed he was with that.

"I think they were like us, yes," he continue, voice and tone gentler when talking about the families themselves as he shuffled through another stack, scanning pages as he turned them over. Nothing to see here, just a man working. "The morning whatever happened happened, they started their day like everyone else. Breakfast, kids arguing over where a shoe is, leaving for work. Aside from all this insanity..."

He had no proof of anything beyond the way they'd found the place, untouched by the outside passage of time, and everything that was lacking was so odd, he was sure he was missing something. How had they, collectively, not figured out what happened on day 0?