The token's number belonged to another worker. When Neri checked the surviving roster, she thought her father had carried a friend's token as a memorial. He never explained why it hung on a chain beneath his shirt.
A later roster assigned the same number to him after equipment was reorganized. The earlier owner had retired, not died. The token's meaning could not be read from one year's list alone.
In a letter to Neri's mother, her father described receiving it on his first permanent shift. He wore it afterward as a reminder of finally being able to promise a steady income. The attachment was personal, but its origin was an ordinary reassignment.
Neri kept copies of both rosters with the letter. She stopped describing the token as belonging to an unknown dead colleague. It belonged to her father's life, and its reused number was part of that history. The object had not changed shape when its significance changed hands; the records were what allowed her to see the difference.