CHAPTER 8 - A Cold Rejection 

Felicity stared at the vibrating screen, her eyes narrowing into cold, sharp slits.

Why is he calling me now?

In her past life, Mack hadn't bothered to check on her once the chaos began; he had already been cooped up inside the house with Phoebe, enjoying the fruits of Felicity's labor.

But this time, everything had shifted. 

She hadn't spent the week waiting on him or sweet-talking him, and she certainly hadn't invited him into her space.

Tristan’s dark eyes lingered on the flashing phone for a moment longer. 

Recognizing the shift in her focus, he clicked his tongue softly, stepped back from her window, and turned on his heel without a word. 

He retreated toward his own van, respecting her privacy while making his disdain for Mack painfully clear.

Felicity picked up the phone, slid her thumb across the glass, and brought it to her ear. 

She didn't say a word, letting the heavy silence hang over the line.

"Felicity?! Where the hell are you?!"

Mack’s voice blasted through the speaker, loud, breathless, and laced with raw panic. 

The usual smooth, charming facade he put on whenever he wanted something from her was completely gone.

"I've been trying to reach you for hours!" Mack yelled. In the background, blaring car horns, distant screams, and heavy glass shattering echoed loudly. "Why aren't you at your apartment?! Where did you go with that van?!"

Felicity leaned casually against her kitchen counter, her lips curving into a dark, mocking smile.

"Why does it matter where I am, Mack?" she asked, her voice smooth and devoid of warmth. "Aren't you supposed to be helping Phoebe settle into her new house?"

"Don't give me that right now!" Mack snapped, dropping all pretense of being an attentive boyfriend. "Have you looked outside?! The whole city has gone completely insane! There are people biting each other in the streets! Are you even okay wherever you are?!"

Felicity let out a quiet, breathy laugh, a sound so cold it made Mack freeze on the other end of the line.

"I'm completely fine, Mack. Better than ever, in fact."

"Then where are you?!" Mack pressed, his breath hitching as panic took over. "Listen, things are getting terrifying out here. Phoebe and I are locked inside the house, but we can hear screams down the street. You need to come over right now—"

"I'm not coming over," Felicity interrupted calmly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "In fact, I don't want to talk to you ever again."

Silence fell over the line for two long seconds before Mack let out a disbelieving grunt. 

"What?! Felicity, stop playing games! People are dying out there, and you're throwing a tantrum?!"

"I'm not throwing a tantrum, Mack. I'm breaking up with you," Felicity said, her tone icy, deliberate, and final. "You disgust me. Don't ever call this number again."

Before Mack could scream another word, Felicity ended the call, immediately added his number to her blocked list, and tossed the phone onto her bed.

The screen had barely gone dark before it lit up again, buzzing wildly against the mattress.

This time, the caller ID read: Phoebe

Felicity didn't hesitate. 

She picked up the phone, slid her thumb across the glass, and brought it to her ear with a calm, expectant smile.

"Felicity?! What the hell did you just say to Mack?!" Phoebe screeched into the receiver, her voice high, shrill, and vibrating with pure panic.

In the background, the sharp sounds of heavy wooden furniture being dragged across floorboards echoed through the house. 

Phoebe was breathing heavily, panting like a hunted animal.

"He said you broke up with him?!" Phoebe demanded, not even waiting for an answer. "Are you out of your mind?! Do you have any idea what's happening outside right now?! The news is saying people are turning into monsters! They're eating each other on the main avenue!"

Felicity crossed her arms, leaning back against the edge of her kitchenette counter. 

"I know. I'm watching the news too."

"Then why are you acting like this?!" Phoebe shrieked, her voice cracking under the stress. "Mack said you refused to come over! You have that massive van, you're supposed to drive here so we can figure this out together! You're my twin sister, Felicity! You can't just leave us here!"

Us.

Felicity’s eyes turned to liquid nitrogen.

Even in this life, Phoebe naturally assumed Mack belonged with her, casually lumping him into her demands without a shred of shame. 

She really thought she could manipulate Felicity into being her shield and provider all over again.

A cold, razor-sharp realization suddenly crystallized in Felicity’s mind.

Phoebe had been reborn too. 

She had known the apocalypse was coming all week long.

Yet, during those seven entire days, Phoebe hadn't warned her once. 

She hadn't sent a single text, hadn't hinted at the impending doom, and hadn't cared if Felicity lived or died when the dead began walking the streets.

Instead, Phoebe had waited until the exact moment the monsters hit the pavement to place this call.

Felicity could practically smell the stench of their desperate, pathetic scheme through the speaker.

Phoebe and Mack hadn't called out of sisterly love or genuine worry. 

They called because they knew they lacked the practical skills to survive long-term. 

In their minds, pulling Felicity into that suburban house wasn't about safety; it was about securing a free live-in servant. 

They wanted her there to manage the rationing, scrub the floors, cook the meals, stand night watch, and act as a human shield the moment things went south.

They wanted her to be their domestic slave all over again, just like in their past life.

A slow, dark chuckle escaped Felicity’s throat, dripping with pure contempt.

"You didn't call me once all week, Phoebe," Felicity said, her tone smooth, light, and utterly chilling. "Not a single word to check on me, not a single text. But the second the city falls apart, you want me to rush over?"

The frantic dragging noise on the other end of the line stopped instantly. 

Phoebe’s breathing hitched sharply.