Kelvin didn't go back to the station. Aoi was still blowing up his phone. 47 missed calls. Chief would be next. He didn't care.
He sat on Hana's steps, staring at the kimono cloth. Faded blue and white. Yume Aihara's wrapper from 15 years ago. Forensics confirmed it. Same weave. Same dye lot. Same blood type: O-negative. Yume's type.
"Where is the baby now?" Ren asked.
Hana hugged her knees. "Mama took her to the clinic. Doctor said she's perfect. No water in lungs. No hypothermia. Like she was never in the river."
"That's impossible."
"Mama said the same thing." Hana's voice dropped. "She also said the baby doesn't cry. Not once. Not when she's hungry. Not when she's wet. She just… watches."
Kelvin stood up. "I need to see her."
The Omi Village clinic was one room with a leaky roof. The doctor, Mrs. Nkechi, was 60 and had seen three generations born. She didn't look surprised to see kelvin.
"She's here," Mrs. Nkechi said. She pointed to a crib made from a plantain crate.
Kelvin walked over. The baby lay on her back. Awake. She wasn't two months old. She was exactly two months old. Same weight Yume's report listed. Same birthmark on her left ankle. A tiny crescent moon.
The baby turned her head. Looked right at kely. Her eyes were black. Not newborn blue. Not brown. Black like the Omi River at midnight.
"She knows you," Hana whispered from the doorway.
"She doesn't know anyone," Mrs. Nkechi snapped. "She's an infant."
"Then why did she stop crying when you walked in, Detective?" Hana asked.
Kelvin didn't have an answer. He reached into the crib. The baby grabbed his finger. Her grip was strong. Too strong.
And cold. Ice cold.
That night, something scratched at Hana's window.