He walked up to the high desk. He had to stand on his tiptoes just to be seen over the edge.

“Help,” he rasped. His voice was a dry croak, as if he hadn’t spoken—or hadn’t dared to speak—in a long time. “She stopped crying. Ellie always cries. And then she didn’t.”

Sarah was around the desk in a heartbeat. “Let me see her, sweetheart.”

“Don’t take her!” Caleb jerked back, his body shielding the girl. The movement was primal, the reaction of a creature that had learned that taking meant hurting.

“I won’t take her away, I promise,” Sarah said, her hands hovering, palms up. “But I need to see her face. Is she breathing?”

That was the question that broke him. Caleb looked down at the bundle in his arms, his lower lip trembling. “I don’t know.”

Dr. Patel, the attending physician, emerged from Trauma Bay 2. She took in the scene instantly: the barefoot boy, the unconscious sibling, the aura of violence that clung to them like cigarette smoke. She didn’t run; she moved with a fluid, hypnotic calmness designed to de-escalate panic.