Through the time-hover mist, Molly and Rocky poked their heads over the cabinet and watched as the world reeled forward. People walked swiftly in and out of the nursery, their movements quick and jiggly as though they were in a film that had been fast-forwarded. Nurses and mothers flashed into the room and out again, pushing cots on wheels, holding babies. Molly saw her twin brother’s cot wheeled out and whizzed back in with her own. It was like rush hour. A nurse zoomed around the room, dabbing at the babies, adjusting their blankets, and changing diapers. And then, just after a flash of lightning, a doctor with his hair gelled into a stiff quiff entered. He studied the babies in the cots as though they were interesting specimens and stopped to look at Molly’s brother and then the baby next to him. He tugged at the blankets of both of the babies to look at the bands around their wrists. And finally, with the movement of a heron catching a fish, he plucked the baby boy from his cot and, astonishingly, vanished into thin air.