The lamp over the counter hummed, and Salas stood with his hands behind his back, waiting to be told what came next.

The bypass roster hung in a plastic sleeve in the wall binder.

I pulled it down.

The page was dated the first of August, and the bottom four lines had been retyped on a fresh sheet laid over the old one.

I could see the corner of the older page underneath, yellow at the edge.

I copied the ledger line, the time, and the color onto my own pad, tore off the sheet, and put it in my breast pocket.

At 1030 I walked the administrative hallway with the log page in a folder and my buckle squared to the middle of my belt.