“Give her back! You’re trying to steal her!” she sobbed, thrashing.

The guards rushed in, grabbing her arms, dragging her back. She fought them like a wildcat, screaming, her eyes fixed on Sarge.

“Look at me,” Sarge said. Not a yell — a deep, resonant command that cut through the hysteria like a foghorn.

Tessa stopped for a fraction of a second, breathing hard, staring up at him.

He stepped forward, ignoring the guards, keeping his body between her and the baby, and looked down at the young, broken mother. He didn’t look at her with the judgment I’d felt in my own heart. He looked at her with devastating empathy.

“Nobody is taking your daughter, Tessa,” he said quietly, holding her frantic gaze. “She’s been fighting a war all night. A war she inherited. I just sat with her in the trenches so she wouldn’t have to fight it alone.”