The rain was biblical.
Seattle skies wept like it knew what was coming. Not just the merger. Not just the chaos of new interns flooding into the hospital like a surgical tidal wave. But change—the kind that turned lives on their heads.
Nia Seraphine Adisa stood at the front entrance of Seattle Grace Hospital, a black umbrella held firmly in one hand, her other hand wrapped around the strap of her leather satchel. The storm soaked the edges of her coat, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were locked on the words above the door: Seattle Grace Hospital. Soon to be Seattle Grace Mercy West.
"This is it," she whispered to herself. Her voice was calm, but her heart was racing.
She had studied the floor plans last night. Memorized them. The hallways, the trauma bays, the locations of every stairwell and elevator bank. She had visualized it like she did everything else. But standing here now, with the hospital looming like a modern-day Colosseum, she felt that rush of adrenaline—the promise of medicine, miracles, and war.
A blur of umbrellas and scrubs moved past her. She caught a glimpse of Cristina Yang barking orders, and Meredith Grey walking alongside Alex Karev. They didn't notice her. Yet.
Nia walked in with purpose. Every step deliberate. But her mind wasn't calm—it was active. Alive. Images flickered like a film reel behind her eyes: open hearts, tumors like shadows, bleeds pooling beneath skin. It was how her brain worked. She didn't just remember—she saw. Every lecture, every scan, every surgery she'd ever read about was stored in her mind like an operating room library.
The lobby buzzed with movement. And then came the announcement that silenced everything:
"All interns from Mercy West, report to the fourth-floor conference room. All Seattle Grace interns, remain on your current rotation. We'll be assigning new surgical pairings today."
That's when the tension really hit.
---
Upstairs, chaos reigned.
The room was overfilled—white coats packed shoulder to shoulder. A few heads turned as Nia walked in, dark curls still damp from the rain, eyes alert but unreadable. She looked around for an open spot and found one next to a tall intern with cocoa-toned skin, tight locs tied back, and a sharp jawline. He glanced up and nodded.
"Mercy West?" he asked.
She nodded. "Nia Adisa."
"Micah Duvall."
They shook hands, both gripping firmly. A beat passed—long enough for something unspoken to pass between them. Then Chief Richard Webber entered, followed by Bailey and Owen Hunt, and the room snapped to attention.
"We are in a merger," Webber announced, cutting through the murmurs. "And you're all surgical interns. That means whether you came from Mercy West or you were born in Seattle Grace, you work together. You operate together. You compete—respectfully. And you don't get caught up in politics."
Bailey's eyes scanned the crowd. "That also means some of you are going home if you can't keep up. This isn't summer camp. This is a surgical bootcamp with blood and guts and tears. You will rise, or you will be replaced."
Micah leaned over, voice low. "Cheery bunch."
Nia's lips twitched. "I've seen worse."
She hadn't. But her poker face was flawless.
---
The first rounds were brutal.
Nia was assigned to Dr. Miranda Bailey in the pit. Trauma cases lined up like a warzone—car crash, stroke, sepsis. Every second counted, and every move was watched.
"BP's 70 over 50. Tachycardic. GCS at 12," Nia reported on the patient in front of her. "Possible internal bleeding. Requesting stat CT."
Bailey raised an eyebrow. "You memorize those values or you actually see what's happening?"
Nia met her gaze. "Both."
Bailey studied her for a moment longer than necessary. Then nodded. "Good. Move."
Nia did. She floated through rooms like she'd walked these halls for years. She anticipated complications before they hit. When a patient coded, she called for the crash cart before the alarms even started. When Bailey asked what was wrong with the woman in curtain three, Nia responded without hesitation.
"Subarachnoid hemorrhage. I saw the rigidity in her neck and dilated pupils. She needs a neuro consult immediately."
By the time Derek Shepherd arrived, Nia had the CT pulled up, annotated, and a surgical recommendation drafted.
He blinked. "You prepped all this?"
"I visualize surgeries before I do them," Nia said softly. "It's how my brain works."
Shepherd studied her. "And what do you visualize happening if I operate on this woman?"
"Aneurysm rupture. You'll need to go in from the left side, clip the neck before it blows. Her blood type is O-negative. You'll need two pints ready."
"Come scrub in."
---
Later – On the Surgical Floor
Micah caught up with her at the end of a long hallway. "They say you assisted Shepherd today."
"They do?"
"Yang's already threatened to shiv you with a scalpel," he said with a grin.
Nia sighed. "She'll get over it."
Micah watched her carefully. "You don't talk much. But when you do, it's surgical."
"That a compliment?"
"Definitely."
She turned toward him. "You're good too. I saw you in the pit. You stabilized that kid with a flail chest like a trauma surgeon."
He shrugged. "My mom was a paramedic. Grew up stitching up broken noses."
They smiled. The connection between them wasn't just professional—it was something deeper. Something sparking quietly beneath the surface.
"I've been thinking about this place," Micah said suddenly. "All these brilliant people. All this pressure to be a superstar."
"Yeah."
"Think we can survive it?"
Nia looked ahead toward the glowing OR board. "I don't want to survive it. I want to own it."
---
Meanwhile – Attendings' Lounge
Cristina stormed in. "Who the hell is Nia Adisa, and why is Shepherd already calling her brilliant?"
Meredith barely looked up from her chart. "She's from Mercy West. She's calm, scary smart, and doesn't seem to want to talk to anyone."
"She's a silent assassin," Cristina snapped. "You should've seen her during rounds. Like she could see inside people's skulls."
"Maybe she can," Meredith murmured.
---
Late Evening – On-Call Room
The hospital had quieted for the night shift. The halls dimmed. But Nia couldn't sleep. She sat on the edge of the on-call room cot, reviewing today's cases in her mind. Replaying every incision, every mistake, every near miss.
She didn't hear the door open until Micah leaned against the frame.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
She shook her head.
"Mind if I join you?"
She looked up, and something in her finally relaxed. "Sure."
He crossed the room and sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder. They didn't talk for a long time. The silence between them was comfortable.
Then Micah said, "I think you're the real deal."
Nia turned to him, eyes serious. "I think you are too."
They didn't kiss. Not yet. But the air between them was charged—like the calm before a storm.
---
End of Chapter 1