Aurora Karev

Aurora Karev sat at the breakfast table, scrolling through her emails while sipping her coffee. The hum of family life buzzed around her—Parker and Everly were squabbling over whose cereal had more marshmallows, and Tommy was giggling at Jackson, who was attempting to clean oatmeal off his tiny nose.

Rory paused as an email subject line caught her eye: "Director of Regenerative Neurosurgery Initiative – Immediate Response Requested." Her brows furrowed, and she opened the message, her heart skipping a beat as she read.

It was from a prestigious research institute in Boston, offering her the opportunity to lead a groundbreaking program in regenerative neurosurgery and stem cell therapy. The project aimed to revolutionize treatments for conditions like Parkinson's, ALS, and spinal cord injuries—work that could define her career. The position came with substantial resources, a team of world-class researchers, and the chance to be at the forefront of cutting-edge medicine.

But it also came with a catch: she'd need to divide her time between Boston and Grey Sloan, which meant long hours away from her family and the surgical floor she loved.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Parker's voice broke through her thoughts, tugging on her sleeve.

Rory blinked and forced a smile. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just a work email."

"You're never fine when you say you're fine," Jackson quipped from across the table, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Rory quickly closed the email, turning her phone screen face-down. "It's nothing. Just admin stuff. You know how it is."

Jackson raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. "Well, don't let them stress you out before you even get to the hospital."

She nodded, grabbing her bag and leaning down to kiss the kids goodbye. Her mind was already racing as she headed for the door. How could she even begin to tell Jackson about this? This wasn't just a job—it was a chance to change lives on a global scale.

But at what cost?

Aurora Karev-Avery strode into the emergency department, her tablet in one hand and a cup of rapidly cooling coffee in the other. Trauma consults were rarely predictable, but that was part of the appeal—solving life-or-death puzzles under pressure kept her sharp.

"Dr. Karev," a nurse called as Rory approached the central desk. "We've got a 37-year-old male, severe head trauma after a fall. CT scans are up, but there's a question about brain swelling."

Rory nodded, already pulling up the chart. "Bay three?"

"Yes, and April's in there. She wanted your input."

"Got it," Rory said, pivoting toward Bay 3. She pushed through the swinging doors to find April Kepner standing over the patient, her expression tense.

"April," Rory greeted as she scanned the room. The patient was unconscious, pale beneath the harsh overhead lights. "What are we looking at?"

April glanced up, relief flickering across her face. "Fell from a second-story ladder. No obvious fractures, but his head hit concrete on the way down. GCS is hovering around nine. I'm worried about increased intracranial pressure."

Rory stepped closer to the bed, her eyes darting to the monitors. "We'll get him on mannitol and prep for a ventriculostomy, just in case. Labs?"

"Pending," April replied.

Rory nodded, pulling up the patient's CT scans on her tablet. "Okay, let's—"

Her words were cut off by the sharp, discordant beep of a monitor. Then another. And another. Within seconds, every monitor in the room was flashing error messages. Rory's tablet went black, rebooting with a screen of unfamiliar code.