My boots made no sound on the sterile linoleum floor.

Clara lay still, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath the pink blanket.

I reached down with both hands.

My fingers, calloused from years of military service and heavy weapons, felt clumsy against her soft skin.

I found the adhesive edge of the primary sensor pad on her chest.

Slowly, peel by peel, I pulled the warm plastic away from her skin.

She stirred, letting out a soft, whimpering sigh, but she did not open her eyes.

I pulled the second sensor from her left foot.

The monitors beside the crib went completely dark, their screens displaying a flat gray grid.

I slipped my arms beneath her tiny body, supporting her head exactly the way I had done with the boys five years ago.

She was incredibly light.

She smelled of sweet baby soap and the cold, metallic air of the laboratory.

I pulled the thick wool blanket around her, tucking the edges beneath her feet to keep out the chill of the room.

“I have her,” I whispered into my mic.