We jerked our heads towards the door, taking in the intruder. A tomboyish human girl in a baggy shirt, with headphones on, stood at the threshold of the door. Sensing the tension in the air, her eyes darted between Bridget's furious face and the clumps of hair at my feet. She saw the pair of scissors in Bridget's hand, but she said nothing.

"Uh, I, uh, need to use the restroom." She stretched out.

Bridget turned to me. "This isn't over, bitch." Then she turned to leave, with her ...