Brown, curled hair was pulled back into two French braids, wrapped around her head in a sort of crown that, admittedly, took 30 minutes to form. Her steps were light, her expression one of lightheartedness. It was always a good day when she was able to remove an “inoperable” brain tumor from someone who had given up.

Amelia sauntered through the hospital, stealing a jello cup here, tossing it in a janitor’s trash cart there. She flashed her middle finger at Owen as she passed him, a smirk on her face. It was a good day.

She had planned to go into an on-call room and probably just relax, but her eyes caught on to something interesting.