It was 3:07 in the morning when the alarm went off. Not the kind you ignore. Not the kind you snooze. The Safe Haven alarm is different—it cuts through everything, sharp and immediate. Every firefighter in the station knows what it means before they’re even fully awake. I was already moving before anyone said a word. The Safe Haven box was built into the wall, a quiet system designed for desperate moments. A place where someone could leave a newborn safely, anonymously, without fear. The small indicator light glowed green, the internal heater humming softly. I reached for the latch...
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