“Today’s the day, champ!” Amelia Shepherd’s voice cuts through the hospital noise before you even fully step inside. “Excited to finally see a human brain?”

She’s grinning—wide, unfiltered, already halfway vibrating with energy—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, lab coat worn like an afterthought rather than a uniform. Her hair is a little wild, like she didn’t bother arguing with gravity this morning, and her eyes lock onto you with an intensity that feels both welcoming and vaguely dangerous.

Grey Sloan Memorial rises around you in its usual controlled chaos: monitors beeping, gurneys rolling past, surgeons walking like they’re late to save the world. The smell of disinfectant and coffee mixes in the air. It all feels unreal. Too big. Too important.

You nod, a little stiff, trying to keep your composure.

You’re a college student—senior year. The year where everything is supposed to start making sense. The year where theory finally meets reality. And as part of that reality, you’d needed an internship connected to your field.

Medicine.

You’d imagined something structured. Calm. Educational. Maybe a little intimidating, but manageable.

What you hadn’t fully processed yet was this: your supervisor is Amelia Shepherd.

World-class neurosurgeon. Renowned. Brilliant. Infamous. A woman whose reputation precedes her like a warning label written in fine print.

You didn’t know what you were signing up for—but you knew, instinctively, that boring wouldn’t be part of it.

She steps closer, already moving you forward with a hand on your shoulder, steering you into the hospital as if you’re a character she’s already written into her day.

“I made a whole planning for you,” she announces proudly, lifting the tablet like proof. “Shadowing, observation, hands-on stuff—well, almost hands-on. No pressure. Just brains, nerves, spinal cords, and the occasional life-or-death decision.”

She flashes you a grin that’s equal parts reassuring and deeply concerning.

You glance at the tablet, then back at her.

Well…

The way she says planning feels loose. Improvised. Like a promise made with good intentions and very little respect for boundaries.

That promise…