I didn't sleep.
The ceiling was white. The room was dark. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. The body on the table. The small, curled shape on the ultrasound screen.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Siver floated near the window, watching the street. "You're thinking about it again."
"It's not an 'it.' It's a child."
"A child that never took a breath." He turned to look at me. "You're getting attached."
I sat up. Swung my legs over the edge of the bed. "Someone has to."
Apple. Coffee. No sandwich today.
Ayra knocked at eight.
She looked tired too. Dark circles. Hair pulled back. But her eyes were sharp.
"You sleep?"
"Not really."
"Same." She handed me a travel mug. Coffee. Black. No sugar. "I looked up the clinic. Upscale. Private. No public records of complaints."
I took a sip. "We go in as what?"
She hesitated. Just long enough. "A couple. Looking for surrogacy options. Discreet."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're comfortable with that?"
"No." She opened the door. "But it's the only way they'll talk to us."
Siver appeared beside me. "Couple. Pretend. This should be interesting."
I ignored him and followed her out.
The clinic was in the upper district.
Glass and steel. Clean lines. Expensive cars in the parking lot. Nothing like the rundown neighborhood where Lina had lived. Nothing like the bridge where she died.
Ayra parked across the street. We sat for a moment, watching.
People went in and out. Women, mostly. Young. Some alone. Some with men in suits. Everyone looked nervous.
"Ready?" Ayra asked.
"No."
She got out anyway. I followed.
The reception area was quiet.
Soft music. Magazines on a glass table. A woman behind the desk smiled too brightly. Her teeth were perfect. Her eyes were not.
"Welcome to New Hope. How can we help you?"
Ayra stepped forward. Her voice was calm. Friendly. "We're interested in your surrogacy services. We were recommended by a friend."
The receptionist's smile faltered. Just a flicker. Then it was back.
"I see. Do you have an appointment?"
"We were hoping to just get information."
A pause. The receptionist looked at her computer screen. Typed something. Then: "Let me check if Dr. Marsh has a moment."
She disappeared through a door behind her desk.
I scanned the room.
Two other women sat in the corner. Both young. Both alone. Neither looked pregnant.
One stared at her hands. The other stared at the door. Both looked scared.
"Those women aren't here for surrogacy," I whispered.
Ayra kept her eyes forward. "What do you mean?"
"They're here for something else. Look at their faces."
She glanced. Just for a second. Then looked away.
Siver floated closer to the woman with her hands. He leaned in. Then drifted back to me. "She's got a bruise on her arm. Same spot as Lina."
My jaw tightened.
The door opened. A man walked out.
Fifties. White coat. Silver hair. A smile that was warm and cold at the same time.
"Mr. and Mrs...?"
"Anders," Ayra said quickly. She stepped closer to me. "We're newlyweds. Thinking about starting a family."
Dr. Marsh nodded. His eyes moved between us, measuring. "New Hope specializes in helping couples like you. We offer complete discretion. Our donors and surrogates are carefully vetted."
"We'd like to see the facility," I said.
His smile didn't waver. "Of course. A brief tour."
The hallways were clean.
White walls. White floors. Fluorescent lights that hummed. Every door had a number. Some had keypads. Some didn't.
Dr. Marsh walked ahead, talking about success rates and confidentiality and the importance of trust. His voice was smooth. Too smooth.
I watched the doors.
Exam rooms. A lab with glass walls. Everything looked legitimate. Everything looked clean.
Then we reached the end of a long corridor.
A door with no window. A keypad. And a smell.
Cold air seeped from under the door. The kind of cold that comes from somewhere deep. Somewhere underground.
"What's in there?" I asked.
Dr. Marsh's smile tightened. "Supply closet. Nothing interesting."
Ayra glanced at me. I nodded slightly.
We turned to leave.
And then I felt it.
A drop in temperature. Sharp. Sudden. Like someone had opened a window into winter.
A whisper. Not words. A cry. A baby's cry. Muffled. Distant. Coming from behind the locked door.
Siver appeared beside me. His face was pale. "There's something in there. Not the baby from the bridge. Something else."
I stopped walking.
Dr. Marsh looked back. "Mr. Anders? Everything alright?"
"Fine." My voice was steady. "Just cold."
Ayra stepped closer to me. Her hand found my arm. "We should go. I'm not feeling well."
Dr. Marsh nodded. His eyes stayed on me for a moment too long. "Of course. Take our card. Call when you're ready to discuss further."
We walked out.
The car was quiet.
Ayra drove. I stared out the window. The clinic grew smaller in the side mirror.
"What did you feel?" she asked.
"A spirit. Behind that door. Not Lina's baby. A different one."
"How many are there?"
"I don't know."
Siver appeared in the back seat. His voice was low. "One. Maybe more. The cold was thick. Like the Veil was cracked there."
Ayra gripped the wheel. Her knuckles were white. "That clinic isn't just a clinic. It's something else."
"We need to find out who owns it. And what's behind that door."
The bureau was quiet when we got back.
Ayra pulled up records. I made coffee. We worked in silence.
The clinic was owned by a shell company. The shell company traced to another shell company. Three layers deep, a name appeared.
Marcus Webb.
I read the file. "Businessman. Real estate developer. No connection to the three families."
Ayra frowned. "Then who is he?"
"Rich. Private. No public scandals." I scrolled through the photos. "Charity galas. Political donations. The kind of man who knows how to stay out of the news."
"No criminal record," she said.
"Then he's careful."
She looked at me. "Or he pays people to be careful for him."
I leaned back. "We watch the clinic tonight. See who goes in after hours."
She nodded. "I'll bring coffee."
"You're learning."
She almost smiled. "Someone has to keep you awake."
Siver floated between us. "You two are getting good at this."
I ignored him.
My apartment felt smaller that night.
I sat on the edge of the bed. The business card was on the nightstand. New Hope Fertility Clinic. Discretion Guaranteed.
I thought about the women in the waiting room. The bruise on the girl's arm. The cold air under the locked door. The baby's cry.
Then I thought about Lina's baby. Still inside her. Still silent. Still waiting.
Siver appeared by the window. "You're not just solving a murder this time."
I looked at him.
"You're playing midwife to a ghost."
I picked up the card. Turned it over. Blank.
"Someone has to."
I put the card down. Lay back.
Tomorrow, we watch the clinic. Tomorrow, we find the truth.
But tonight, I listened to the silence.
And somewhere in the dark, behind a locked door, a baby cried.