“Babies have scratches,” I argued, trying to rationalize the insanity. “He probably scratched himself in the womb.”

“No,” Daniel said sharply. “I saw that baby two months ago. At the Pierce County morgue.”

My stomach flipped over. “That’s impossible. You’re tired. You’ve been working too much.”

“I was there to assist with the security review of their intake systems,” he continued, ignoring me. “They brought in an unidentified newborn male. Abandoned in a dumpster behind a warehouse. The infant didn’t survive exposure. I saw the body, Emily. I saw the face. I saw the scar.”

He looked back at the closed door of Room 304.

“That baby inside isn’t Noah. It’s a ghost. Or…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Or someone has taken a baby that looks exactly like the dead one. Identical. Which means…”

“Which means there are two of them,” I finished, the horror finally sinking in.

“I think someone switched babies,” he whispered. “Or worse. Someone is moving babies through the system. And if I’m right, your sister is holding evidence, not a son.”

I stared at the heavy wooden door. Inside, my sister was cooing at a child she thought was hers. Outside, the sirens began to wail in the distance, getting louder with every second.