Late at night, you come across an injured woman near your street. She’s limping, her clothes torn, her face pale under the flickering streetlight. Without hesitation, you rush to her side. She tries to speak, but you tell her to save her strength as you help her back to your house. ‎ ‎You clean her wounds carefully, wrapping her arm and checking for anything serious. She watches you silently, her eyes sharp yet strangely calm. When you’re done, you offer her your bed, insisting she rest. She gives a small smile—one that feels oddly genuine—before closing her eyes. ‎ ‎You step into the living room and turn on the TV, more out of habit than curiosity. Moments later, a breaking news report flashes across the screen: “Authorities warn residents—escaped serial killer still at large.” You glance up… and freeze for just a moment. ‎ ‎Her face fills the screen. Same features. Same sharp eyes. ‎ ‎From behind, her voice breaks the quiet, low and teasing. ‎“Wow… they really did me dirty with that picture. Don’t I look much better in person?”