The small sound behind the supply door opened a name tag.
The service hall peeled away. Ty stood before a cracked plastic badge hanging from a chain on the wall. The front had been scrubbed until the printed name blurred into gray. Someone had tried hard to erase whatever it used to say, then stopped when the plastic began to cloud.
The back was worse.
Two letters had been scratched into it with a paperclip.
B.H.
The cuts were uneven. One line had gone too deep and split the plastic near the clip hole.
JJ leaned close, then stopped herself before her breath could fog the memory. "That is a handle, not a name, and I hate that it already knows how to stand in the room."
Heissman nodded without taking his eyes off the badge. "It was built to be used before it was built to be understood."
Zunoder's reflection appeared in the cracked surface, the old face stretched across the broken letters. "Shortened handling mark, workplace shorthand, easier to call across a hall."
