I met Willow five years ago.

It was the middle of the night, and I was in an interesting neighborhood. See, due to the demographic I choose—criminals nobody will miss—I'm used to my victims living in the... not so great parts of the city. I'm used to mobile home parks and rundown apartment complexes, cracked and broken streets in areas of Hadena most people avoid.

The thing that is different in Hadena, comparative to other cities, is how blatantly visible the wealth gap can be. You can be standing in the worst neighborhood you've ever seen in your life, but right over a large row of bushes and a fence, are mansions. There are multiple areas in Hadena where it's obnoxiously clear, and I was in one of them.

I was going after a guy, and if I remember right, his crime was some sort of violence on children. At this point in time I only had myself, and the way I'd find deserving people was usually by means of my job. Something I was trying to get away from, since it was much harder to remain anonymous.

He lived in the less fortunate part of the neighborhood, and I'd already finished knocking him out with a baseball bat... and then some. He was pretty close to death already.

I put him in a bag, and was in the process of dragging him across his backyard to my truck, which was hidden in the trees, when a sound scared the absolute shit out of me.

It came from the bushes, and I immediately dropped the bag, hand flying to the holster on my hip that stored my knife. I didn't pull it out just yet, instead searching around the darkness for what that could've possibly been. When I saw no movement for a minute or so, I decided it was probably an animal, and prepared to move on.

Then, someone burst through the wall of bushes in an explosion of leaves and branches. They fell to the ground immediately, and now I had my knife out.

I just watched the dark silhouette lay on the grass, face down, crumbled in on themselves. Eventually I decided they probably weren't dangerous, and put my knife away, instead favoring my flashlight.

I clicked the button at the very back until it bursted to life at its lowest setting, before finally beginning to take slow steps towards the figure. I didn't shine the light directly onto them, so as to not make my presence that obvious, until I was right in front of them.

When I finally bathed the figure in the low, focused light, it was revealed that the person was a girl. A young one, judging by her size. Her body was shaking, the faint sound of crying echoing through the air. Beside her was a knife, blood covered, which glinted when I shined the flashlight on it.

"What're you doing?" I asked her, beyond confused. What the hell kind of business does a child have, running around the bushes in the middle of the night? With a knife? She had no idea whose backyard she was in, it was a good thing the guy had already been neutralized.

The girl looked up at me shakily, and she had tears streaming down her face. She held up a hand to block the light, and since she was obviously not threatening at all, I decided to shut it off for her. She was difficult to see until she sat back on her feet, and the nearby street lamps were able to cast her in some light, though not much.

It was just enough for me to recognize the substance she was covered in, and I realized I might've been a little in over my head with this one.

The girl had on an expensive-looking nightgown, perfectly styled hair falling over her shoulders in unnatural ringlets. She didn't have any shoes or socks on, and she was absolutely covered in blood. She was still sobbing, which was probably part of why she hadn't spoken yet, but despite her appearance, she didn't seem dangerous.

"Help me," she whispered, barely able to maintain composure as sobs wracked through her body.

I am not, and have never been, good with people. This includes children.

"With what?" I asked in confusion. "You look like you just killed somebody."

The girl covered her face with her hands, entire body trembling, and that's when I realized something. That's when I finally recognized the emotion she was expressing, which hadn't clicked before.

Pure, mortal fear.

Despite the fact she was currently in possession of a huge butcher's knife, which was still resting on the grass right next to her, she looked absolutely terrified.

"I did," her voice was broken and scratchy, a complete wreck. Every syllable that came out of her mouth was unsteady. "My parents, I can't... I couldn't do it again."

Okay, now she was making no sense. Also, if she just committed a murder—which is what it was starting to look like—then I needed to get the hell out of here before the cops came. The only problem was that this girl looked absolutely traumatized, and I had always been quite lacking in the empathy department. I couldn't remember a time in my life where it didn't take absolutely everything in me to relate to another person.

This girl, though... the image of her, huddled on the ground, covered in blood... it was familiar. I'd seen it all before, except it was me. It was me, but I wasn't wearing expensive clothes and escaping from a mansion. No, I was wearing rags, living in alleyways and under bridges with my mom, while my dad spent all our money on substance abuse.

Eventually, he snapped, and she was gone, and that's when I was really born. Covered in the blood of an abusive father, the authorities writing it off as self defense and getting thrown into the foster care system without a scratch in my record.

Except, there was a difference. This girl's parents clearly were not homeless. No, they had to be important if she was living in a mansion like this. She would not be getting off easy, even if they deserved it. The police would ensure justice for people so high profile, and everything about the scene I was faced with pointed to murder. Not self defense. She just admitted her crime to a stranger, after all. What if I was anyone else?

She wouldn't last. The police would break her apart, would get the real story with no effort, judging by how broken she looked. However, I had a distinct feeling. One that was growing increasingly hard to ignore.

She didn't deserve that. She was in the right.

I had no idea what the full story was, but somehow I knew. She didn't deserve the punishment she would face if I left her.

So, I held out my hand. "What's your name?"

The girl sniffled, rubbing at her face and trying to compose herself, but failing horribly. Eventually, she placed her blood covered hand in my own clean one. I used the hold to pull her up, and she stumbled against me. At first I thought it was a mistake, before I felt her arms wrap around me, burying her face in my chest.

"Willow." She whimpered into my shirt. I couldn't even help how tense I was, not used to physical contact. Period. Let alone anything remotely affectionate.

"Okay," I told her, nodding. She was grabbing onto me like a lifeline, and I didn't know what to do. So, I just wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hoping it wasn't awkward.

"I'm Camilo."