Her hair-neatly styled in that high ponytail—was the final insult.
It made her look like them. Like Neena and the others who had come before her.
I stood, my movements slow and deliberate as I approached her. Her eyes followed me, wary but focused.
When I reached her, I grabbed the base of her ponytail, tugging it gently but firmly so she had no choice but to tilt her head back and look up at me.
"Who did this?" I asked, my voice low, my thumb grazing the edge of her jaw as I took in her features.
She blinked, her lips parting slightly. "Neena," she answered after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. Of course, it was Neena.
I leaned in closer, my breath brushing against her cheek. “You're not like them,” I said, more to myself than to her.
Her brows furrowed slightly, confus
