Chapter 15: The Signature
At 0655 the house floor ran its lights up from the baseboards, violet into white, and the intake bank smelled of cold chrome and the citrus neutralizer the maintenance crew pushed through the vents at every shift change.
Hazel came down the service stair in house issue instead of her polymers, a plain grey tunic with the manager's pip stitched small at the collar. She had kept the data-link cuff on. Old habit, or a small piece of insurance, she hadn't decided which.
Priya was at the far end of the desk, feeding intake slates into the hopper one at a time, a med bay cup steaming next to her elbow. She didn't look up until Hazel's shadow crossed the counter.
"You're early," Priya said.