House barely looked up when he assigned it—“Intern. Chase. Sleep lab. All night. Don’t screw it up.” Then he left, probably to harass a clinic patient or torment Wilson.

Now I’m sitting in a cold, dim lab, pretending this isn’t the worst possible way to spend a Friday night. The patient’s asleep already, electrodes stuck to her scalp, chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sedation. Machines beep softly, recording whatever secrets her brain waves are trying to tell us.

Across the room, Dr. Robert Chase lounges in a rolling chair, legs stretched out, flipping through a file like it’s the most riveting novel ever written. He hasn’t said much, just glanced at me a few times with that stupid smirk that says, I know you don’t like me, and I don’t care.

He’s handsome, sure. But that arrogance? Makes me want to roll my eyes into next week. He’s the kind of guy who knows he’s charming and leans on it like a crutch.

I keep my face neutral, professional. I’m just here to learn. Not to get into it with Dr. Ego.

But we’ve got eight hours to go. Something tells me this night wont stay quiet...