Badge of Honor

Mia worked under the flicker of her desk lamp, hands steady but heart unquiet. The volunteer badge she was crafting lay between sheets of wax paper, its edges freshly trimmed, laminate still warm from the iron she'd repurposed. She had copied the emblem precisely, letter by letter, matching font and scale from the reference pamphlet. Each pass of the pen felt like she was crossing an invisible line.

Still, she pressed on.

Across the room, her notes were stacked in neat lines, a record of volunteer schedules, patrol routes, and badge designs she had memorized over the past three nights. Her forgery wasn't just for show—it had to hold up under scrutiny. The idea had arrived with a pang of guilt and left her with a thudding certainty: Sarah needed a badge.

Not just a piece of laminated paper. A marker of recognition. Of purpose.

She sealed the laminate edges and held the badge up to the light. The logo shimmered faintly against the plastic, bold and assertive. The name underneath was real. Sarah. No last name. No past.

Only potential.

The next morning, Sarah stood in the doorway, tugging gently at her jacket zipper. Mia handed her the badge in a small envelope, heart skipping as Sarah peeled it open. There was a pause—a breathless flicker of silence—as Sarah lifted the badge and turned it over.

"Is this… for me?" she asked.

Mia smiled softly, nodding. "You earned it."

Sarah's fingers trembled slightly as she pinned the badge to her jacket. It sat just over her heart, reflecting a shard of morning light through the window. Her posture straightened instinctively.

"I look… official," she said, surprised.

"You are," Mia replied. "They just haven't caught up yet."

They walked to the community center side by side, the badge glinting with each step. Volunteers were already gathered near the chalkboard schedule, chatting and sipping coffee from styrofoam cups. A clipboard passed between them, checkmarks aligning beside names.

Sarah fell into line naturally, nodding at another girl she recognized from the workshop. Her confidence had a quiet rhythm to it now—steady, if still new.

But Mia's eyes kept moving.

She spotted him near the refreshments table. Mid-forties, clean uniform, laminated lanyard. The official. His eyes scanned the crowd methodically, landing on jackets, badges, name tags. He checked a list against faces. A slow process. Thorough.

Her breath caught.

Sarah stepped closer to the sign-in sheet, lifting the pen with ease. Mia tensed as the official turned.

He walked slowly, clipboard in hand.

Every step felt like a beat of a drum in Mia's ears. Her gaze darted between Sarah's back and the badge she had made. The seal. The date code. The placement. Had she missed something?

Sarah handed off the pen and turned, coming face to face with the official.

He glanced down.

His eyes paused on the badge.

Then they moved on.

Mia didn't breathe until his shoulders passed. Her heart thundered behind her ribs, relief unraveling like a taut thread cut loose.

But the relief was short-lived.

The official doubled back.

He approached Sarah directly, gesturing toward her badge. She looked up, startled but calm. He said something she couldn't hear. Sarah responded with a nod.

Mia stepped closer to the edge of the hallway, hidden but ready.

The man reached for his clipboard again.

She couldn't hear the conversation. But Sarah stood her ground, hand resting lightly over her badge. She wasn't flinching. She wasn't folding.

Mia realized she didn't need to intervene.

Not yet.

The man wrote something down and walked away.

Sarah turned back toward the group, a small smile blooming.

Mia exhaled. The badge held.

But even after the official had left, Mia remained on edge. She studied every glance Sarah received, every subtle shift in body language from the other volunteers. Trust could be fickle. Exposure, lethal.

Yet Sarah moved among them with growing ease. She helped rearrange the supply crates without prompting. She volunteered to hand out reflective vests. When someone laughed at a corny joke about walkie-talkie etiquette, she laughed too.

The badge didn't grant her belonging.

But it gave her permission to stand tall.

After the briefing, the volunteers broke into pairs. Sarah was partnered with Carmen—a sharp-eyed girl who had already completed two patrols. Mia had seen her name before. Reliable. Watchful. A good match.

As they reviewed their route—Elm to Birch, then down to the service road—Sarah's finger traced the map with quiet focus. Carmen nodded approvingly. "You learn fast," she said.

Sarah smiled. "I try."

The patrol group moved out in staggered waves. Mia, unseen, tracked from across the street. Her breath fogged against the collar of her coat as she followed just out of range.

The badge glinted under the streetlamp.

And for a moment, Mia didn't see the forgery.

She saw the symbol.

She saw Sarah.

And she knew:

This was only the beginning.

Sarah's footsteps echoed quietly along the sidewalk, her flashlight beam cutting through the early dusk. Beside her, Carmen moved in sync—watchful, but casual. Every so often, they'd pause at intersections, checking their map or logging notes in the patrol app. Their silhouettes flickered against storefront windows and shuttered laundromats.

Mia trailed three storefronts behind. Her coat blended into the night, steps measured, invisible.

She watched as Sarah paused at a corner and pointed to a flickering streetlight. Carmen nodded, made a quick note. They were alert, coordinated.

It was working.

And still, Mia's hands remained in her pockets, one wrapped around her backup badge—a blank one. A just-in-case. She told herself she wouldn't need it. That Sarah wouldn't either.

But she still carried it.

As they neared the end of their circuit, the quiet deepened. Street sounds dimmed. Even the occasional car seemed to pass at a distance. Carmen said something about the last checkpoint.

Sarah hesitated.

She glanced over her shoulder—not directly at Mia, but toward the dark spaces where presence might dwell. Then she looked forward again, straightening.

They reached the community center gate together. Checked off the route. Logged their time. Returned their radios.

Mia stopped before the threshold, watching from the opposite sidewalk. The badge on Sarah's jacket still gleamed, even under flickering fluorescent lights.

Sarah lingered at the exit, her posture tall, breath calm.

Then she smiled and looked up into the night.

Mia smiled too, finally turning away.