“Where’s my baby? They told me you were taking her away from me — where is she, where’s my daughter—”

Her eyes swept the room, skated over the empty bed seven, and locked onto the corner.

Onto the enormous scarred man in tactical gear holding her child.

“What the hell is he doing with my baby?!”

She came across the floor fast, unpredictable, running on nothing but raw adrenaline and panic, and her hand went into her pocket and closed around something — keys, I thought, or maybe something worse, there was no way to know — and I stepped toward her shouting for security, but she went past me like I wasn’t there, straight for the chair.

Sarge did not panic.