The Secret Game My Friend Played

Summary

The scent hit me first—that familiar, cloying perfume she always wore. It drifted into my senses without warning, a ghost of a memory I hadn’t summoned.

Before I could even think, my hand moved. I slapped her. Hard.

Mallory stumbled back, the force of the blow snapping her head to the side. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just looked at me with that same maddening indifference she’d perfected over the years.

"So," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "I guess you heard."