He reached for the reset button on the wall. It was labeled with a small, familiar icon: three semicolons arranged in a triangle.

Callers from three cities. Same story: their logos were whispering. Not words. Kerning. Letters spreading apart, then snapping closed. A lowercase 'i' losing its dot. A registered mark ® drifting off the canvas like a helium balloon.

"Please hold," he said, transferring her to Level 2. But Level 2 was empty. Everyone had gone home. The office hummed with fluorescent lights and the smell of burnt coffee.