The girl nodded once. Her voice came out thin and careful, as if she were afraid it might break. “My brother’s in here,” she said, holding out the bag.
Nolan took it, already uneasy. The bag was warm. Too warm. He set it on the counter and opened it slowly. Inside were stained towels, wrapped tight around something small. When he pulled them back, his breath caught. A newborn lay inside, skin dry and drawn, lips cracked, chest barely rising. The baby made a faint sound that might have been a breath or might have been nothing at all.
“Call an ambulance,” Nolan said, his voice suddenly sharp as the room snapped awake around him.
The girl watched everything without moving. Only when Nolan turned back to her did she sway slightly, as if her body were finally remembering how tired it was.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Maisie,” she said. “Maisie Kincaid.”
