I stepped between him and the incubator, my protective instincts flaring. “Mr. Ransom, she’s highly unstable today. Her sensory threshold is overloaded. She’s in severe withdrawal.”

I looked down at his trembling, scarred hands, and I couldn’t stop myself. For a second, professional courtesy vanished into sheer terror.

Is it safe for this man — hands shaking, haunted by ghosts — to hold a two-pound, glass-fragile infant?

Sarge saw where my eyes landed. He looked down at his own hands and exhaled a slow, measured breath. He didn’t look offended. He looked resigned.

“Ma’am,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I know what a nervous system looks like when it’s tearing itself apart. Let me try.”

Against every instinct screaming in my head, I stepped aside.