Chapter 1 - The Cold Spoon
The fluorescent light hummed above Room 412, casting a sterile white glare over the linoleum tiles. In the center of the bed sat Toby. He was barely four years old, though his gaunt frame and paper-thin hospital gown made him seem even smaller. Around his tiny wrist, the plastic identification bracelet hung loosely. His blonde hair was matted with sweat, and glistening streaks of fresh tears traced down his flushed cheeks toward his trembling chin.
Kneeling beside the adjustable metal rail was Nurse Clara Vance. She held a ceramic bowl filled with lukewarm vegetable broth in one hand and a silver spoon poised carefully in the other. Her warm brown eyes held practiced sympathy, the professional kind refined by ten years working pediatric oncology and long-term care wards.
""Take just a little sip, sweetheart,"" Clara whispered, bringing the spoon forward. ""You need your strength today.""
Toby shrank back against the stiff hospital pillows, pressing his small hands into the pastel fleece blanket draped over his knees. His lower lip quivered violently.
""No,"" he whimpered, shaking his head. ""I don’t want it.""
""Why not, sweetheart?"" Clara asked, lowering the spoon slightly, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. Usually, Toby drank the broth. It was bland, but it was warm.
Toby’s small chest hitched as he drew in a ragged breath. His eyes, swollen and rimmed with red, darted away from her. ""Everyone watches my videos..."" he snuffled, his voice breaking into a faint, raspy squeak. ""...but nobody likes or follows me.""
Clara’s hand froze mid-air. For a split second, the air in the sterile room felt unbearably thick. Behind Toby, the telemetry monitor gave a rhythmic, rhythmic beep, tracking a pulse that was far too fast for a resting child. Clara looked into his wide, desperate hazel eyes, expecting confusion, but saw instead a terrifying, adult-like desperation.
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""What videos, Toby?"" she asked gently, setting the bowl onto the roll-away table.
Before Toby could answer, the door handle clicked downward with a sharp snap. A woman stepped inside, holding a heavy gimbal rig with an iPhone mounted to the top, its red recording indicator blinking steadily in the dark corner of the room.
