“She is my patient right now,” he whispered, his voice shaking with a ferocious, protective rage. “And I do not abandon my post. Do not try to move her again until I say she’s ready. Do you understand me?”

Sterling opened his mouth, but Evans grabbed his arm and shook his head. The doctor looked at Sarge with a new, profound respect. “Let him stay, Sterling. Just… let him stay.”

Sterling turned on his heel and stormed out.

I slumped against the counter, my heart pounding. When I looked back at Sarge, he was trembling again, head tipped against the wall, spent.

As he shifted his weight, something slipped from the collar of his shirt and swung on a rusted beaded chain, catching the light — a single tarnished silver dog tag.

It didn’t carry his name, rank, or blood type. It carried one word, deep-etched into the metal, catching the light like a secret finally exposed.