Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection.
But Renna knows her life is nothing but a golden prison coated in pretty lies that keep her muted and small.
Her day...
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The only reason Cameron wasn't six feet under by now was because I was one kill away from perfection. A flawless streak.
My thumbs moved like I'd been born with controllers grafted to them, screen tilted at the perfect angle, Airpods shoved in so tight I couldn't hear the absolute circus going on in Queen Margaret Union café.
Freshers were everywhere. Tote bags, free pens, people pretending they gave a shit about the Chess Society. Flyers shoved in my face like I was a sinner walking past some holy pilgrimage. Didn't matter. I was God right now, and God didn't get distracted mid-deathmatch.
Headshot. Sit the fuck down, you absolute corner-camping rat.
Beside me, Cameron had his legs stretched so far apart on the sofa it looked like he was auditioning for childbirth. He was still in his lab coat and half the café thought he was an actual medic who'd just come from saving lives.
Reality check: this was the same guy who once poured ethanol into a coffee mug because he thought it was water.
"You’re actually grinding a mobile game during Freshers’ Week,” he said, loud enough to be a hate crime. “On campus Wi-Fi. You’ve got the audacity of a man who’s never been throttled.”
"If you breathe on my neck again,” I said calmly, “I’ll introduce your face to the vending machine and buy crisps with the compensation.”
He laughed. That stupid, wheezy laugh that sounded like a dying fox who refused to go quietly. The kind of laugh that made people want to push him into traffic but also keep him alive forever.
“You’re mentoring this week, aye?” he said, nudging my knee with his foot. “Big second-year responsibilities. Freshers. Wide eyes. Hope. Innocence. All that stuff we crushed last year.”
"I’m not mentoring anyone,” I muttered, mowing down three unfortunate enemies in a corridor.
Cameron gasped dramatically. “Liar. Admin says no mentoring, no attendance credits. No credits, no med socials. No socials, no free pints. No free pints, no Med Ball. You’ll be socially executed. Persona non grata."
I hummed noncommittally and looted a body. “Sounds peaceful. Quiet. Dim lighting. No people.”
He scoffed. “You’re going to be stuck in your room while everyone else is out getting smashed.”
“I already do that,” I said. “Just without the hangover.”
He exhaled sharply, offended on behalf of civilisation. “Half of med school already thinks you’re some sort of nocturnal cryptid. Mentoring is your one chance to prove you don’t sleep upside down in a cupboard.”
I tilted my phone down enough to glare at him. “I don’t sleep.”
