“True.”

“Meanwhile the plague continues to spiral out of control in Naples. And we still don’t have a goddamn clue as to how it actually got there.”

“Agreed.”

She throws up her hands. “We haven’t even really tied those mutant rats—and the medieval monastery that hid them for all these years—back to this outbreak.”

Byron points to the patient, who sits himself up in the bed with ease. “Granted, Pietro over there represents a small victory. But it’s a significant one. Maybe our first since this all started. He’s worth celebrating, Alana.”

An hour later, they end up at an all-night restaurant, an ancient diner in the old town with low ceilings and red-checkered tablecloths. The only other guests are two students who each sit at separate tables with laptops open and earbuds in.

The penne marinara is so delicious that Alana can’t help but wolf it down. Byron watches her in amusement. “Are you ending a hunger strike tonight?”

“Practically,” she says unapologetically as she swallows the last bite. “I might be the first person ever to spend a week in Italy and actually lose weight.”

Byron lifts his beer bottle to his lips without really sipping it. “You look . . . um . . . amazing tonight . . . all things considered.”

“All things considered?” She grabs her chest, feigning insult.

“Dana used to tell me I was never much good at that.”

“What? Compliments?”

“Small talk. What I’m trying to say is that after a week of nonstop outbreak-chasing and practically no sleep, you look really—”

He stops when she breaks into a laugh.

“Dammit! I’m useless at this.”

“Beyond useless,” she says. “Do you still think about her much?”

“Dana? Less than I used to, but I still do. After she left, I hung on to the belief that we were going to somehow work it out. We always made so much sense together. To me, anyway.”

“How so?”

“Similar interests, same career, matching life goals—at least, I thought so.” His gaze falls to the tablecloth. “I guess we were just one of those couples who looked a lot better on paper than in real life.”

“It’s easy to get fooled, huh?”

He nods. “Is that what happened with Nico?”

“Nico and I never made much sense on paper.”

“Really?” His expression is skeptical. “A couple of idealistic infectious diseases doctors who both worked for the WHO . . .”

“One of whom has an alcohol problem and two young children?” she counters. “He has a huge heart, though. And we both shared real passion for the work. That first mission—the cholera outbreak in Angola—was all-consuming. We were young. Naïve, too. You know what it’s like in the field.”

He studies the label on his bottle. “Yup. I do.”

“I guess we confused those emotions for something more.”

“Or maybe you were just in love?”

“Yeah, maybe. No, you’re right. We were. But if there’s one thing this past week has reinforced for me, it’s that Nico and I never would have had a future together.”