Page 41 of Outbreak Protocol

"Not mean. Just... chemically reactive."

Emma nods sagely, as if this explains everything about vegetables.

Felix steps closer, ostensibly to help but really to brush his hand against mine as I stir the sauce. The simple contact sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with the cooking.

"You're full of surprises," he murmurs.

"I contain multitudes," I reply, quoting Whitman.

"Now you're just showing off," he teases.

Dinner unfolds with unexpected ease. Emma regales us with stories from school—before everything changed—about her friend Lisa's pet hamster and the time Hans brought his grandmother's dentures for show-and-tell.

"They were so big!" she exclaims, gesturing wildly with her fork. "Like horse teeth! And Hans put them in his mouth and couldn't get them out, so the teacher had to call the nurse."

Felix nearly chokes on his pasta, laughing. "What happened then?"

"They had to use cooking oil to get them unstuck. Hans was very slippery for the rest of the day."

Even I find myself laughing at her animated retelling. Emma has an unconscious gift for mimicry, perfectly capturing her teacher's exasperated tone and Marcus's mortified expression.

"You tell stories like your mama," Felix observes gently.

Emma's face brightens. "Mama says everyone has stories inside them. You just have to know how to let them out."

The mention of Anna creates a moment of quiet, but Emma recovers quickly. "What stories do you have, Dr. Lindqvist?"

"Erik," I correct automatically, then pause. What stories do I have that an eight-year-old would find interesting? Most of my life has been dedicated to research, statistical analysis, academic achievement.

"I once got lost in a Swedish forest for six hours when I was about your age," I finally offer.

Emma leans forward, intrigued. "Were you scared?"

"Terrified," I admit. "But I remembered what my father taught me about moss growing on the north side of trees, and stars for navigation, and eventually I found my way back."

"Were your parents mad?"

"They were too relieved to be angry. Though I was grounded for a week afterward."

"What's grounded?"

Felix and I exchange glances. The concept of being confined to home takes on different meaning during a pandemic.

"It means staying inside as punishment," Felix explains carefully.

Emma considers this. "Like now, but for being bad instead of sick people?"

"Something like that."

After dinner, Emma insists on showing me her colouring books while Felix cleans up. Her artwork reveals remarkable attention to detail—flowers with individually drawn petals, houses with carefully shaded windows, people with expressive faces.

"This is very good," I tell her, examining a picture of what appears to be a hospital. "Are those doctors?"

"That's Felix," she points to a figure with brown hair wearing scrubs. "And that's Mama." A smaller figure in a nurse's uniform, smiling. "And that's you." She indicates a tall figure with light hair holding what looks like a clipboard.

"You've added me to your hospital pictures now?" I ask, genuinely touched.

Emma nods matter-of-factly. "Felix told me about you even before I met you. He said you were very tall and very smart and had serious eyes but a nice face."