The first Idris Mael Apprenticeship Fund recipients were announced on a Thursday morning.
Three of them. Northern corridor communities. Ages seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-three.
Tobias put the announcement on The Records' community board with no fanfare and then came to find me in bay four, because Tobias had developed the specific quality of knowing when something deserved to be witnessed by the right person.
I read the three names. Their communities. Their apprenticeship placements.
The seventeen-year-old was going into agricultural logistics — the same field Idris had been entering when he died.
I held the document for a long time.
"They don't know whose name they're carrying," Tobias said. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me with the patient atten
