The badge came out face down.
Ty noticed that before the scratches, before the role, before the old grease caught around the clip. The Name Office could print dead names and old permission lines without shame, but it set the badge on the drawer as if the damaged side deserved privacy.
JJ leaned over it.
"That better be damage, not manners from the drawer."
Omina used the hilt to turn the badge.
The face had been scraped with a blade or a key. The plastic clouded where the name should have been. One corner still held kitchen grease, dark in the ridges around the clip.
The visible role read Night orderly. Mercy General. Overnight support.
Ty stared at the grease longer than the scratched name. Grease meant hands. Someone had worn the badge near trays, carts, laundry bins, doors, bodies. Someone had clocked in, found the wrong hour waiting, and touched the old file before it became old.
