“The gel is going to feel a little cold at first,” Paula said, lifting a plastic squeeze bottle out of a warm water bath beside the desk.

She squeezed a thick line of clear gel onto Grace’s lower stomach.

Grace pulled her sweatshirt up two inches, her thumbs still hooked tight inside her frayed cuffs.

Paula slid the smooth plastic probe across Grace’s skin in slow, overlapping circles.

A dark gray image filled the black screen, flickering with faint white lines that pulsed every time Grace breathed.

For three long minutes, the only sounds in the room were the steady hum of the scanner’s cooling fan and the soft crinkle of paper under Grace’s shoulders.