I examined him quickly, my fingers running over the pink, vernix-coated skin, checking reflexes, counting fingers. Perfect. Absolutely perfect—except for a port-wine stain that stretched from his left temple to the corner of his eye, vivid and jagged, as if someone had spilled ink on that brand-new skin.

The mother, Melissa Thornton, lifted her head from the gurney, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her eyes, usually the color of frozen lakes, scanned the room until they found the two babies.