Priority: Low

There's a type of competence that doesn't announce itself. It shows up before you call, fixes what you haven't named yet, and signs off with a single letter. Daniel has been on the third floor for nine years. You've probably seen him twice. You've definitely benefited from him a hundred times without knowing it.

「Priority: Low」 is his song — or the one he would never write, which is why someone had to write it for him. It moves the way he does: quietly, with intention, no wasted motion. The piano doesn't fill the room; it marks time. The guitar barely enters. What holds the song together is the voice, which delivers performance-review language and Slack emoji and 11:47 PM ticket closures with the exact same even register — because to Daniel, they are all the same. This is the job. He does the job.

The chorus is where something shifts. Not dramatically. More like a crack in a wall you weren't looking at. He knows which cable holds the whole network together. He knows which switch would bring down the building's second floor if it failed at 9 AM on a Tuesday. He has never told anyone. He didn't think they were asking.

The bridge is the part that will stay with you: a ticket filed with no submitter name, no category, just the question "Has anyone checked on Daniel lately" — sitting in the queue for six days before he found it and closed it himself. Resolved. Duplicate. He didn't tell anyone that either.

This one's for every person in an office who knows where the bodies are buried, technically speaking, and has decided that silence is the most efficient form of communication. Put it on at your desk. You'll recognize the voice.