Marks Head Bobbers Serina -

It wasn't an official title. It was the cruel nickname the floor managers used on their headsets. “We’ve got a slow patch on cheeses. Send a head bobber.” Serina knew this because once, Gareth from Bakery had left his earpiece on the counter. She heard her own description: “Reliable. Good for a nod. Makes the customer feel listened to without actually having to solve anything.”

“No,” he said, leaning closer. His breath smelled of rain and rust. “You’re a head bobber. And I need you to nod for me one last time. To confirm that Starling’s Gloom existed. That my memory isn’t a lie.” marks head bobbers serina

Serina’s chin dipped. “Mm-hmm.”

She was a head bobber.

It was absurd. It was a corporate food hall. But his grey eyes held a desperate, fragile truth. He wasn't asking about a sandwich. He was asking her to validate a ghost. It wasn't an official title