Page 19 of Outbreak Protocol
"Felix," Erik says, and the way he speaks my name carries weight that wasn't there this morning. "Today has been educational in ways I didn't anticipate."
"For me too."
We stand closer than professional distance requires, and I'm acutely aware of his height, the way the streetlight catches those pale blue eyes, the fact that I'm still wearing his jacket and neither of us has mentioned returning it.
"We have early interviews tomorrow," Erik says, but doesn't move to leave.
"Six AM with the port authority workers."
"Perhaps we could continue this conversation. After the outbreak is contained."
"I'd like that."
The words hang between us, an acknowledgment of mutual attraction carefully contained within professional boundaries. We're not ready to cross those lines, not while investigating a potential epidemic, but the possibility exists now in ways it didn't this morning.
Erik reaches out as if to touch my hand, then catches himself, the gesture transforming into adjusting his tablet bag.
"Good night, Felix."
"Good night, Erik."
I watch him walk away, his tall figure disappearing around the corner toward his hotel. The evening feels different somehow—warmer despite the cool air, full of potential despite the crisis we're investigating.
Back in my apartment, I hang Erik's jacket carefully in my closet, noting how it still carries his scent. Tomorrow we'll return to outbreak investigation, contact tracing, and the urgent work of containing whatever pathogen is spreading through Hamburg. But tonight, for the first time in months, I fall asleep thinking about something other than emergency medicine.
About someone, actually. About pale blue eyes that learn to see individuals behind statistics, and the unexpected discovery that analytical minds and empathetic hearts can complement each other perfectly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Day 26
ERIK
The models don't lie, but I wish they would.
At 4:23 AM, I stare at Yuki's latest projections on my laptop screen, the exponential curve climbing with mathematical precision that makes my chest tight. In the past seventy-two hours, our neat cluster of thirty-one cases has exploded into 847 confirmed infections across Hamburg, with satellite clusters appearing in Bremen, and Lübeck.
The R0 value has shifted from my initial estimate of 3.0-4.5 to a terrifying 5.3. Each infected person now transmits to more than five others before showing symptoms.
"Bloody hell," Sarah mutters from across the conference room we've commandeered as our operational headquarters. Red hair escapes from her hastily assembled ponytail as she hunches over viral sequencing data. "Erik, you need to see this."
I abandon my modelling and cross to where she's surrounded by printouts covered in genetic markers and mutation maps.Coffee rings stain the papers—we've been running on caffeine and determination for eighteen hours straight.
"The viral genome isn't behaving like anything in our databases," she continues, pointing to highlighted sequences. "Look at these recombination events. This pathogen shows genetic complexity suggesting multiple species involvement—avian, mammalian, possibly even reptilian components."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning this virus has been jumping between species for months, maybe years, accumulating mutations that increase both transmissibility and lethality. What we're seeing now isn't the original pathogen—it's an evolved variant that's learned to exploit human physiology with devastating efficiency."
Yuki looks up from her computer where she's been running outbreak projections through the night. "If Sarah's genetic analysis is correct, and if current transmission rates continue, we'll see 15,000 cases within two weeks. Hamburg's hospital capacity will be overwhelmed by Thursday."
As Yuki says this, I notice her meticulously straightening the pens and styluses on her workstation into a perfectly parallel line. It's a small unconscious gesture of her trying to impose order onto a situation rapidly spiralling into chaos.
The numbers settle in my stomach like cold stone. Fifteen thousand people. Each one someone's parent, child, partner. I've spent years viewing epidemics through statistical abstractions, but Felix has taught me to see the individuals behind every data point.
Felix, who hasn't left the hospital in thirty-six hours.
"Where's Dr. Müller?" I ask Aleksandr, who's been coordinating with German health authorities while the rest of us analyze data.
