Cars hiss through puddles behind you. Somewhere across the street, a bus lets out a grumble and pulls away. For a moment, the whole city seems to hold its breath with you.
Then the basket moves.
Not much. Just enough.
You look around, expecting to see a mother crouched behind a tree, a nanny fumbling for a dropped phone, somebody rushing back with panic already on their face. But the park is empty except for two crows fighting over a french fry under a bench and an umbrella rolling upside down across the wet grass like it gave up on life five minutes ago.
You step closer.
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