I intercepted him before he reached bed seven, my heart hammering. “Mr. Sterling, please keep your voice down. The infants are resting.”

“Explain to me why there’s an unvetted civilian who’s been sitting in that chair for nine and a half hours,” Sterling demanded, pointing a polished finger.

“The volunteer limit is two hours. We have liability protocols, infection-control mandates, and severe risk factors around patient handling. Look at him, Sarah. He’s sweating, he’s exhausted, and I was told he has a visible nerve tremor. This is an unacceptable risk to hospital property and patient safety.”

“She is not property,” I hissed, my composure cracking. “She’s a critically ill infant with severe NAS. No medication stabilized her today. That man’s physiological contact is the only thing keeping her out of a hypertensive crisis.”

Dr. Evans, the attending, looked torn, adjusting his glasses. “Sarah, technically Sterling’s right. The fatigue factor alone makes dropping the infant a statistical probability. We need to transition her back to the incubator. Now.”

They bypassed me. Sterling walked up to Sarge, who watched them come with the flat, dead-eyed stare of a man who’d seen worse monsters than hospital administrators.