Beside it, a discarded medical bracelet lay in a pool of water.

My stomach dropped.

“She had two,” Marcus whispered.

I stared at the screen, the cold rain running down my face, freezing me to the bone.

“Maren,” Rowan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet register.

I looked up from the screen to the baby cradled in Rowan’s arms.

The tiny girl blinked up at us, her small fingers still tangled in his wet collar.

“Rowan,” I whispered, my heart stopping. “Who is this?”

“Rowan,” I whispered, my heart stopping. “Who is this?”

Rowan did not answer right away.

He pulled back the wet fleece blanket from the baby’s face.

The child had wide, dark eyes that looked up at us without blinking.

She had a tiny, straight nose and a dusting of dark hair.

“This is Clara,” Rowan said.

His voice was flat, but I could hear the hard edge of certainty in it.

“Then what is in that second bassinet?” I asked.

“A decoy,” Marcus said, his eyes still fixed on the screen of his phone. “Or a trap.”