Page 32 of Outbreak Protocol
"We'll find solutions," Sarah says firmly. "Adaptive modelling gives us advantages we didn't have yesterday. Real-time analysis means faster interventions."
"And if we don't?"
The question hangs unanswered because we all know the implications. Hamburg first, then Berlin, Munich, London, Paris. Mathematical progression that becomes human catastrophe unless we identify intervention points quickly enough.
I reach across the table and take Felix's hand, needing physical connection to anchor emotional response. His fingers interlock with mine automatically, muscle memory from days of shared crisis.
"We'll find answers," I tell him. "Together."
He nods, drawing strength from contact that I'm learning to provide instinctively. The careful emotional barriers I've maintained for years continue crumbling under his influence, replaced by something that feels dangerously like hope.
"I should check on Anna," Felix says. "Her condition deteriorated further overnight."
I stand with him, chair scraping softly. "I'll come with you."
"You don't need to—"
"I want to."
The simple truth surprises us both. Months ago, visiting individual patients would have felt like emotional indulgence, distraction from important analytical work. Now it feels essential, part of understanding the outbreak's human cost that data alone cannot convey.
Ward 7 maintains hushed atmosphere that hospitals develop around dying patients. Soft footsteps, muted conversations, machinery humming with mechanical persistence. Anna's room sits halfway down the corridor, door slightly ajar.
Felix pauses outside, gathering courage I recognize from my own hospital visits with Astrid. "She's unconscious now. Has been since yesterday afternoon."
"How long do you think..."
"Hours. Maybe less."
I follow him inside, immediately struck by Anna's changed appearance. The vibrant nurse who welcomed me with professional skepticism now appears fragile, diminished by viral assault. Monitors display declining vital signs with clinical precision that feels obscene in this intimate setting.
Felix checks her chart, professional habits providing familiar structure. "Neurological symptoms progressed faster thanpredicted. Cerebral hemorrhaging, respiratory compromise, multi-organ failure."
I watch him work, recognizing how he's processing grief through medical observations. Clinical assessment becomes emotional protection, same defensive mechanism I've employed with statistical analysis.
"Tell me about her," I say softly.
Felix adjusts Anna's blanket with gentle precision. "Single mother, works double shifts to support Emma. Never complains, never misses work, never fails to notice when colleagues need support." His voice catches slightly. "She taught me how to read patients' emotional needs, not just medical symptoms."
"Like Jakob's mother asking about suffering instead of cellular pathology."
"Exactly." Felix smooths Anna's hair back from her forehead, gesture filled with protective tenderness. "Anna would sit with families during difficult diagnoses, hold hands during procedures, remember personal details that made patients feel human instead of medical cases."
I understand now why Anna's illness affects Felix so deeply. She represents everything he values about patient care—emotional connection, human dignity, healing through relationship rather than just treatment.
"She's why you invited me to dinner that first night," I realize. "Anna's influence."
Felix nods. "She told me statistics don't capture what matters most about medicine. That understanding people behind data makes better decisions possible."
"She was right."
We stand quietly beside Anna's bed, sharing vigil that feels both professional and deeply personal. Her breathing grows shallower as we watch, machine-assisted rhythms becoming increasingly laboured.
Felix's composure finally cracks. "I don't know how to tell Emma. She still thinks her mother is going to walk through thedoor all better any moment now, and tell her they're going home."
I move closer, wrapping arms around him from behind. He leans into the embrace, accepting comfort I'm learning to provide despite years of emotional avoidance.
"We'll tell her together," I murmur against his ear. "We'll take care of Emma together."
