The rain has taken the name.
Iris is covering her father’s morning shift for the first time. At the loading gate, a driver pushes a green crate across the wet table and runs back into the rain.
The ink has washed off the orange tag. Only three things remain: a chipped corner, a loop of red twine, and the time on Iris’s watch.
“Bay Six before the kettles start,” her father says over the phone. Then the signal drops.