Headache? I questioned him, then suddenly found myself struggling for air. We’d been in the line too long, and I clawed for a way out. There was a pop and a push, and I stumbled, taking a huge gasp of air as I found myself in reality, the screaming of the line replaced by the crying of a handful of angry babies.

Sure enough, my head was throbbing, and I looked down at the little boy in my arms, my hope crushed when I found him silent and pale. He was so perfect, but no longer really here. I looked up, feeling nauseated as I tried to take in more air than I possibly could. We were in Trent’s office, and I stumbled out of the line, staggering to fall into one of the chairs before the desk.

From behind his desk, Trent watched me as he dodged the cotton ball of antiseptic Quen was trying to dab on a scrape across Trent’s forehead. An office girl I didn’t recognize went from baby to baby, assessing and giving instructions to a few people, clearly office personnel, drafted into nursemaid duty. One by one, the babies were being taken out.

“Thank you, Bis,” I said when he hopped to perch on the back of the chair behind me. “Your dad will be so proud of you.”

So thin a line between alive and not. How could I have just left Etude there?

The wood creaked as Bis shifted his grip. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning the baby still in my arms, and I closed my eyes, feeling the tears begin to slip down.

It was Quen who came forward, kneeling beside me as he took in the little boy’s silence and pallor. “Rachel . . .”

I blinked fast, eyes opening at his light touch on my arm. “He threw him to the ground,” I said, the room suddenly silent as the last of the babies were taken out and the door shut. “I tried to get there, but I was too far away, and . . .” I couldn’t say the rest, my head pounding as I held someone else’s child and grieved, rocking back and forth.

Quen’s touch on my shoulder was light, almost not there. “Give him to me.”

“Why!” I raged suddenly, and his expression shifted to one of pity.

“Let me take him,” he said, reaching carefully to make sure his head wouldn’t loll. “Give him to me. Please, Rachel.”

Crying, I let Quen take him. Moving painfully, he got to his feet and carefully passed the baby to another secretary. Someone handed me a box of tissues, and I snatched it, feeling like a wimp. I should be stronger. I didn’t know that little boy, but he had been important, and now he was gone—someone’s child who had been lost, found, and lost again.