Sirens In The Distance, Breaths Up Close
The station snapped awake the way quiet places do when emergency steps inside, phones ringing, chairs scraping, radios crackling, while Nolan lifted the baby from the bag and cradled him against his uniform, using his own warmth because it was the only warmth available in that instant.
The girl clutched Nolan’s sleeve with surprising strength, her fingers digging into the fabric like she was afraid he might vanish, too.
“I tried,” she said, words tumbling out with her tears. “I used all the towels. I rubbed his hands like they do on TV, and I tried to give him water with my fingers, just a little, but he got so quiet, and then he just… he just stopped.”
Nolan swallowed, because he needed to stay steady, because he could not let a child carry even one more ounce of blame.
“You did the right thing bringing him here,” he told her. “You did exactly the right thing.”
