Felicity closed her eyes, allowing her makeup artist to sweep eyeshadow across her lids. The dozens of small, round lightbulbs framing the rectangular mirror burned into her retinas, intensifying the exhaustion weighing on her body. A restless night with little to no sleep was finally taking its toll.
Her fingers tightened around her phone, fidgeting anxiously as a gnawing sense of unease settled in her stomach.
Why isn't she reading my messages?
After failing to reach Jane by phone, she had resorted to sending at least ten messages—yet not a single one had been read. Jane Devold, who practically had her phone glued to her hand at all times, would never ignore her best friend like this.
Something was off.