The Coma Doll

First day at Serenity Hills—the fanciest care center in Rivera City.

The Head Nurse—Ms. Deinert—didn't waste time.

"Vivian, Ms. Stein's high-priority. Rich family. Just do the basics. Don't snoop, stay quiet in her room, and don't touch the music box. She loved it before the coma."

I nodded like a good little rookie.

Then I saw Sienna Stein for the first time. Laid out in bed, pale and still—yet she looked like she belonged on a red carpet.

The first month was a snoozefest.

Same routine: clean her, stretch her limbs, deal with waste, swap out her IV. She never moved. Never made a sound.

I got used to the silence. Forgot all about Ms. Deinert's initial warning.

Then came that day.

I rolled the treatment cart in, ready to switch her IV. Grabbed the bag—and froze.

Something felt off.

The label said it clear as day: Glucose.

My stomach dropped.

Why the hell was it glucose?

I knew I hadn't messed up—I grabbed the special IV nutrition from the pharmacy every single day. No slip-ups. Not once.

Did they switch it without telling me?

I bolted to the nurse's station. No Ms. Deinert. Just a couple nurses, too busy to care.

Straight to the storage room.

I yanked open the fridge. Sienna's box of IV nutrition? Still full. Completely untouched.

My stomach twisted. I checked the glucose shelf.

Nearly thirty bottles gone.

Then it hit me.

I'd been giving Sienna glucose for an entire month.

Cold sweat drenched my back.

She was in a coma. No food. No real nutrition. Just glucose?

How the hell was she still alive?

"Vivian, you look pale." Ms. Deinert's voice cut in behind me.

I flinched, spun around. "I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."

She stared like she didn't buy it.

"Finish the IV change. Then take the rest of the day off."

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry as sand.

Ms. Deinert stepped in, patted my shoulder, voice low. "Vivian Beck, remember what I said. Knowing too much? Not always a good thing. Do your job. Let the rest go."

She walked off like it was nothing.

But my chest was tight, and that dread? It wouldn't let go.

Sienna surviving on glucose. That warning.

Serenity Hills. Her room.

Something here was seriously, terrifyingly wrong.