They slipped through the narrow gap between two cars that had crashed nose to nose in the middle of the street. One engine was still ticking as it cooled. Smoke drifted upward in a thin ribbon. Somewhere nearby, a car alarm pulsed weakly before cutting off mid-wail.
It had barely been three hours since phones screamed emergency alerts and people started changing. Felicity's hands still shook, knuckles white, panic crawling beneath her skin.
They ducked into the alley for quiet. The city sounded alive in the wrong ways: sirens, screams. An overturned crate leaned against the brick wall. Groceries spilled out. Oranges rolled into the gutter from a torn bag.
A crushed orange released a citrusy aroma mixed with smoke. Felicity's mind circled the same thought: the light. Earlier, when she lifted her hands, Rose moved faster. Finch struck cleaner. Pushing warmth from her ribs into them felt strange.
She did not understand it; she only knew she felt thinner afterwards.
Finch checked the alley mouth, scanning both directions before speaking. His voice was controlled but tight. "Pharmacy's around the corner. We run in, grab water, electrolytes, fever reducers, anything for shock."
"Fever?" Rose shot back. "It's been three hours."
"I watched a man convulse and spike hot enough to fog glass," Finch said shortly. "Whatever this is, it's not normal flu."
That landed better. Felicity swallowed, "Shouldn't we be trying to call someone?"
Rose's jaw flexed, and she pulled her phone from her pocket again, even though there was no signal. She stared at the blank bars, as if they might change if she bullied them hard enough. "I tried," Rose said flatly. "Sixteen times."
"To whom?" Finch asked.
"My sister."
"Straight to nothing."
Felicity didn't take out her phone. She had no one to call. The silence settled over her, heavier than panic, pressing on her throat.
Finch pushed through the pharmacy service door first, and the overhead lights flickered violently.
One shelf was knocked down, but the place was not stripped bare; it was too soon for looters to organise. Something shifted near the prescription counter. A woman swayed there. Her skin was flushed red, veins dark like ink beneath the surface. Her jaw jerked once, and then she lunged toward them.
Rose sprang forward, extending her claws in a fast, if messy, sweep that connected with the attacker.
The woman went down hard, skull striking tile.
Felicity stared: hours ago, that was someone waiting for antibiotics. The thought turned her stomach. More figures staggered between the aisles, not full decay, not zombies yet.
Finch's voice cut low, "on my mark."
Felicity did not think this time; she just raised her hands. The warmth burst forward, stronger because she was scared, and it wrapped Rose first. Rose's movements sharpened instantly, then it went to Finch, his stance aligned like someone had adjusted invisible strings. They came fast and sloppy.
Rose dropped one with a clean slice across the throat.
Finch used a fallen rack as a shield and rammed forward. Chaos, yet organised. When the bodies stopped moving, silence stunned the room. Felicity slowly lowered her arms, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear. Her vision blurred; she clung to consciousness, numb with shock and fear.
Finch grabbed bottled water, sports drinks, paracetamol, ibuprofen, no antibiotics this time, not yet.
Rose noticed a fallen phone and nudged it across the tile with her foot. It buzzed uselessly, the screen blank. "Still no signal," she muttered. Outside, sirens wailed again. They did not linger. By the time they reached the stream, dusk had barely settled, and the sky still glowed orange.
They reached the stream because it was the first quiet, open place. Smoke rose behind them. Sirens wailed deeper in the city, overlapping and dissonant, three hours, three hours since everything cracked open.
Finch dropped the stolen supplies beside a flat stretch of rock and crouched to check them. He had water, electrolytes, basic painkillers and gauze. He was still thinking in mission structure.
Rose stood at the edge of the tree line, scanning without urgency. Not tense, not frantic, just detached. "My sister lives five blocks east," Rose said absently, while unscrewing a bottle cap.
"You should try again before we move."
Rose didn't turn around "She'll either survive or she won't," she said calmly. "Running into that won't change it."
No emotion, no crack in her voice, just a fact. Felicity looked at her, "You're not going to check?"
Rose shrugged one shoulder "We weren't close." That was it.
Felicity didn't ask again. She knelt and splashed cold water on her face. The reflection felt wrong—too clean, untouched, like she'd stepped from a photo shoot, not a massacre.
Her chest still felt hollow, carved out by fear. She stood too fast. The world tilted viciously sideways, her stomach plunging, breath caught in her lungs. Hearing shrank to a high, shrill ring.
She tried to say something, but it came out as "I…", and her knees folded.
Victor had been moving through the overgrown city fast, tracking Finch's scent trail and boot pattern. Snow Team had split during the weapons surveillance sweep, then the city imploded, comms died, and civilians started attacking each other. There had been no briefing for this. He broke through the brush just in time to see her fall.
Victor lunged forward before processing the thought, catching Felicity mid-collapse. One arm locked securely around her waist, the other braced her shoulders, keeping her skull from striking stone. She fit too easily against him, feeling small, and his whole body tensed instinctively.
"What happened?" Finch demanded, rising immediately.
Victor didn't answer. He stared at her. Her lashes touched flushed skin, fennec ears slack in her hair. Her pulse fluttered at her throat. Instinct snapped tight: claim. It hit fast, deep in his spine. His grip tightened and pulled her close.
Rose stepped forward "She burned herself out. That glow thing."
Victor's eyes lifted slowly "Don't touch her." The words were quiet, almost a whisper and a growl.
Rose froze "What?"
He didn't look away from Felicity. His hand shifted from her waist to the back of her head, fingers spreading possessively into her hair. "I said don't touch her."
Finch stared.
"Victor, what the hell?"
"I've got her." His tone wasn't loud, it wasn't dramatic, it was final.
Rose's eyes narrowed, not offended but assessing. "You met her five minutes ago."
He flexed his jaw. He didn't know why his pulse spiked when she collapsed, why her scent hit sharp in his lungs, or why every muscle felt ready to tear something apart. The instinct was there—violent, immediate.
Felicity stirred. Her fingers curled weakly in his shirt; the contact sealed it. His shoulders broadened, posture shifting to block Rose and Finch.
Rose noticed she tilted her head, "That's new."
He ignored her. "She overextended. Her temperature's high. She needs water and sugar."
Finch handed him a bottle carefully, like approaching a dog guarding a bone.
Victor took it without breaking eye contact. He shifted Felicity higher against him, supporting her head with one hand while pressing the bottle to her lips with the other.
She swallowed weakly.
Relief hit him, raw and overwhelming, sharper than it should have. His breath caught, and his hand shook.
Rose watched the entire thing with eerie calm "You get territorial when something's marked?" she asked bluntly.
Victor's eyes flicked to her "I didn't mark her."
Rose's lips twitched faintly "Sure."
Finch rubbed a hand over his face "This is not the time."
Victor ignored both of them. He adjusted Felicity again, thumb brushing lightly over the base of her ear without conscious thought. His breathing had slowed, deepened, and settled into a rhythm around her weight in his arms.
Rose crouched closer, deliberately invading space to test him; his shoulders tensed instantly.
A low sound left his chest before he could stop it, not a growl, something lower, a warning.
Rose's brows lifted "Well," she muttered, "that's inconvenient."
Felicity's eyes fluttered open slightly. Her gaze was unfocused, dazed. She blinked up at him.
He felt it physically, a wire tightening from sternum to throat. "You're fine," he said, voice rougher than usual, barely held together. "I've got you." The words tumbled out before he could stop them, stripped bare by fear.
Rose caught it immediately "You've got her?" she repeated.
Victor didn't look away from Felicity "Yes." No hesitation, no embarrassment, just certainty.
Finch stared between them, "We were literally tracking illegal weapons three hours ago."
"Now we're not," Victor replied flatly. His grip did not loosen. Behind them, another distant explosion rippled through the city air.
Rose stood slowly "I don't care what you're doing," she said calmly. "But if you slow us down because of some new alpha kink, I will knock you out myself."
Victor's gaze lifted slowly "You can try." It wasn't aggressive.
Rose held his stare for another long second. Then she huffed softly and turned back toward the tree line .
"Fine," she said. "Carry your new obsession, just move."
Victor rose smoothly, Felicity secure against his chest as she had always belonged there; he did not question the instinct, he did not analyse it. Something in him had chosen, and in a city that had shattered in under three hours, that clarity felt like oxygen.