Had to be a burn wound, I decided. One half of her was perfectly fine, beautiful even. I doubted anyone would be aware she had the scars if they saw her from the good side. The other half was full of puckered and stretched skin that looked as if it had been heated to liquefy and then cooled again all wrong. It wrinkled down her neck, then was briefly covered by her short-sleeved shirt, only to continue down to the end of her arm and over the back of her hand. I wondered if it extended lower, but pants and shoes concealed the rest of her.
She appeared to be around my age, maybe a year or two younger, with a full head of dark hair, super-blue eyes and the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. Except the look in those exceptionally lovely eyes was anything but friendly.
“I asked you a question,”
