The baby cried louder for a moment, its tiny fists curling weakly. Samuel instinctively adjusted his grip, pressing it closer, trying to share what little warmth he had.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, almost surprised by its own calm. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to the baby or to himself.

His partner finished the call and stepped closer, face pale. “They’re sending paramedics. They’re coming now.”

Samuel nodded without looking up.

For a few minutes, the world narrowed to just him and the child. The truck idled beside them, the street still quiet, as if the city itself didn’t yet know what had happened.

The baby’s cries shifted—less sharp now, more exhausted than frightened. Samuel gently adjusted the towel, trying to reduce the exposure to cold air. He used his body like a barrier, leaning slightly to block the wind.

“Hey,” he murmured again, almost absent-mindedly. “You’re alright. You’re not alone right now. Just breathe. That’s it.”

He wasn’t trained for this. He had no medical knowledge beyond basic first aid. But something deeper than training guided him—something instinctive, human, older than any profession.

His partner, still shaken, lifted his phone and started recording without really thinking. Later, he wouldn’t even remember why. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was disbelief that something like this could be real.

Samuel didn’t notice.

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