“Childhood friends?” she chuckled cruelly as she cocked her revolver, “I never had friends. I had only one.” she scoffed.

That one friend meant a lot to her, even now she always thought of her. That one friend of hers accepted her regardless of her home situation, her struggles, her scars. This detective couldn’t be her.

“You’re not her,” she laughed again, her laugh nothing less of mocking. “You can’t be.”

Her gun remained pointed in your direction, and yours in hers. The air was tense yet a twinge of uncertainty lingered in the air. Truth was, you were. Maybe she didn’t recognize you.