The Stocktaker

Mara Quill scratched a small cross beneath the label of a stewed-beef tin while her mother argued with Tern at the issue counter. The scratch sat low enough to escape a casual look, though Mara could find it again by running her thumbnail along the seam. She returned the tin to the shelf and took the powdered milk Tern had set out for Block C. He watched her hands while explaining to her mother that the weekly allowance would not cover a second packet. Nobody entered the supply room beyond the yellow line painted inside its door, and nobody touched an item until Tern passed it over the counter. Mara had broken both rules in less than ten seconds. Her mother apologized for asking and led her into the corridor, where eighty-year-old ventilation fans shook the ceiling grates. The room bothered Mara because it was too small. Its walls measured eleven feet across and eight feet from the counter to the back, with a ceiling low enough that Tern stooped beneath the light fittings. Shelves…