The punch clock clicked before Ty touched it.
His fingers curled back.
The numbers sat in narrow white tabs, each one set into a metal slot. Beneath them, the clock's mouth waited for paper. A red box stood below it with warning slips stuffed through the lid until the top few had bent upward, old edges mixed with clean copies, all of it smelling like copier heat.
The door beside the clock clicked open.
The hallway pushed Ty toward it. His sleeve pulled tight at the shoulder, as if the old cloth remembered being caught there.
He kept his hand open. It was a stupid little discipline, but the memory watched for fear the way staff watched for excuses.
Heissman spoke before anyone asked. "Correction systems love return records. A person who returns after punishment is either stubborn, trapped, needed, or trained to walk back before hunger finishes the lesson."
Zunoder stood by the red box. "Well trained belongs in that list, and I appreciate you leaving the door open."
