The walls of Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital had a pulse of their own. Quick. Relentless. Erratic. Like a heart out of sync—too many surgeons trying to pump life into a body already overwhelmed.
Nia Seraphine Adisa woke before her alarm. Again.
The dream had been short and strange—a red heart in her hand, beating like a drum, steady and strong. But the operating room had vanished around her, leaving only that sound. Rhythm. Pressure. Blood.
She stared at the ceiling of the on-call room for a few minutes before swinging her legs down and planting her feet.
Today was her cardio rotation.
---
Teddy Altman's World
Dr. Teddy Altman moved with quiet force. She wasn't loud like Bailey or cold like Shepherd. Her power came from precision—each step purposeful, each sentence short.
Nia was assigned to her for the week, and Teddy wasted no time.
"You're with me on the Turner valve replacement this morning. Don't speak unless you're asked. Don't touch unless you're told."
"Yes, Dr. Altman."
"Cardio is about rhythm. If you fall out of step, people die."
Nia followed her down the hallway, mentally reviewing valve repair techniques, complications, and suture patterns.
She didn't just memorize—she visualized. As they walked, she saw the operating room unfolding: retraction, bypass, the open thoracic cavity.
"You're quiet," Teddy noted.
"I'm thinking."
"I hope you're thinking fast."
---
Turner Case – OR 2
The patient was a former marathon runner with a mitral valve prolapse. Teddy led, assisted by a second-year resident, and Nia stood at the foot of the table, scrubbed in but observing.
"Clamping," Teddy announced.
Nia's eyes flicked across the surgical field. She saw a faint shimmer on the anterior leaflet of the valve.
"There's slight calcification near the commissure," she said, before she could stop herself.
The room paused. The resident blinked. Teddy turned.
"What did you say?"
"Calcification," Nia repeated, pointing gently with her gloved finger. "Anterior leaflet. Could affect leaflet mobility after repair."
Teddy narrowed her eyes. "Not bad. Step forward."
The resident stiffened, clearly irritated as Nia moved closer. Teddy handed her the suture needle.
"You think you see the future? Prove it. Place a stitch."
Nia adjusted her angle. The vision in her head snapped into place. She had rehearsed this hundreds of times. Her needle dipped through tissue like a conductor's baton.
The stitch was perfect.
Teddy nodded. "Maybe you do see it."
---
Cristina's Territory
Later that day, Nia found Cristina waiting outside the OR board.
"Cardio now? Seriously?"
"It's my rotation."
"You think you're the only one who loves hearts around here?"
Nia held her ground. "You think love means entitlement?"
Cristina's eyes flared. "This isn't about love. It's about sacrifice. I've earned this."
Nia didn't back down. "Then maybe I'll earn it too."
They stared at each other, surgeons drawn like blades. Cristina didn't say another word, just walked off with her jaw tight.
---
Micah's Complication
Meanwhile, Micah was elbow-deep in another trauma case with Owen Hunt: a teen shot twice in the chest, possibly gang-related.
"He's hypotensive," the nurse reported. "BP dropping fast."
"Clamp the aorta," Owen ordered.
Micah did it swiftly, but the bleeding wouldn't stop.
"There's something else," Micah said, scanning the field. "A tear in the left ventricle. It's small but bleeding through."
"You sure?" Owen asked.
"Yes. I can feel it with the suction."
Hunt confirmed it. "Good catch. That would've killed him in five minutes."
After the case, Hunt pulled him aside.
"You think like a trauma surgeon. Fast. Instinctive."
"I see the damage like a map," Micah said. "Where it spreads. Where it dies."
"You ever consider going into trauma full-time?"
Micah didn't answer right away.
---
Locker Room – Breathing Room
That evening, Nia sat in the locker room, tugging off her scrubs. Her body ached, but her mind spun faster than ever. Every heartbeat she'd monitored, every stitch she'd placed, still replayed behind her eyes.
Micah walked in, a quiet tension in his shoulders.
"Rough day?" she asked.
"Teen boy. Bullet to the heart."
"Did you save him?"
"We did. Barely."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"I heard about the valve repair," Micah said. "Teddy doesn't let just anyone touch a heart."
"I didn't mean to speak up," Nia admitted. "But I saw it. I see things sometimes—before the other shoe drops."
He turned to her. "Do you see us?"
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
Micah's eyes were serious, vulnerable. "Do you see us… getting close?"
The silence stretched.
Nia swallowed. "I see the possibility."
"That's enough for me."
He leaned forward, close enough that she could feel the heat off his skin, but didn't kiss her. Just rested his forehead against hers, and for a moment, the world slowed.
No ORs. No whispers. Just breath and space and electricity.
---
Chief Webber's Office – Red Tape
That same night, Chief Webber sat with Dr. Bailey reviewing progress reports.
"Adisa's showing early signs of something rare," Bailey said. "Focus. Consistency. And an unsettling ability to predict complications."
Webber rubbed his temples. "Shepherd and Altman both flagged her. That kind of attention paints a target."
"She's not asking for it. She's just good."
"Good isn't always safe."
"Neither is letting talent get buried because it makes people uncomfortable."
They both fell silent.
---
Cristina's Frustration Boils Over
Cristina Yang cornered Teddy Altman the next morning.
"You let a first-year stitch a valve."
"She saw something you missed," Teddy said simply.
"I've been working for this since pre-med!"
"Then stop whining and work harder. You think cardio rewards seniority over instinct? Think again."
Cristina's face fell—but not from hurt. From rage.
And ambition.
---
Tension Rising – Meredith's Perspective
At Meredith's house that night, the gossip boiled over as she sipped wine with Cristina and Alex.
"She did a valve stitch. Teddy let her touch a heart," Cristina said.
"Shepherd likes her too," Alex added.
Meredith raised an eyebrow. "Are we sure she's not some kind of prodigy?"
Cristina groaned. "She's a thief with a good memory."
Meredith leaned back. "Maybe she's more than that."
Cristina shot her a look. "Don't defend her."
"I'm not. I'm just saying… maybe she belongs."
Cristina slammed her glass down. "Not yet, she doesn't."
---
Call Room – One Last Beat
Nia lay in the call room again that night, unable to sleep. The vision of a different heart haunted her now—not in an OR, but in her hand. Soft. Beating. Vulnerable.
Micah was already inside when she stepped in.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I should be. But it feels like the walls are closing in."
He stood and crossed to her. "Then push them back."
She looked up at him. "How?"
He leaned in—slow, intentional—and this time, he kissed her. No hesitation. No questions.
Just pressure. Rhythm. Heat.
Their hearts synced, beating in perfect, fragile time.
---
End of Chapter 3