"Renesmee!"

I jumped at the sound of my dad's booming, judgment-laden voice.

"How many times have I told you—"

I scrambled to close the incognito browser, fumbling like a criminal caught mid-heist.

"—to stop reading—"

But it was already too late.

"—werewolf romance!"

He was by my side in seconds, arms crossed and brow furrowed in the dramatic way only my father could manage. I slouched in my chair, feigning innocence, though the glowing "Forbidden Moon: Alpha's Obsession" tab on my laptop was still betraying me.

I glared down at my lap, feeling both rebellious and annoyed. Privacy? In this household? Forget it. Forget the room, forget the door—I didn't even have privacy in my own head. I cursed my gift of thought-sharing for the millionth time. Honestly, why couldn't I inherit Mom's cool shield thing instead of this nonsense? Life was so unfair.

The moment was supposed to be perfect. The main characters were about to kiss for the first time after chapters of painfully slow burn. But no, my prudish dad had to come waltzing in from his hunting trip, ruining everything. He hissed, snatched my MacBook like it owed him money, and disappeared out the door without another word.

I sat there, fuming. I could only hope he didn't destroy it—I'd practically earned that laptop after months of studying, begging, and pretending to be a "responsible young adult."

With a dramatic sigh, I stood up, gathered the hem of my dress, and tied it around my waist. I didn't bother changing. Why would I? Alice would just toss whatever I wore into her "donation pile" anyway. Sneakers on, I launched myself out the window, mentally shouting:

I'm going for a run!

"Be careful!" Dad hollered back.

Yeah, sure. I'll be real careful… carefully furious, thanks to you.

Minutes later, I was perched at the top of the tallest tree, glaring out into the horizon like a brooding protagonist in a YA novel. Lately, I was mad at everyone, and everyone was mad at me. It was like an endless game of "Who's Annoyed at Renesmee Today?"

Last week, Rosalie had practically combusted because I accidentally scratched her car. And by scratched, I mean tiny—so tiny that a normal human wouldn't even notice. But no, I had to spend an entire day repainting it because, apparently, perfection doesn't scratch.

And Alice? Don't get me started. Ever since I dared to suggest buying clothes from local boutiques instead of hoarding designer brands, she acted like I was personally funding fashion treason.

Not to mention Carlisle's insistent to document every little change in my body like I'm a lab rat. Maybe I was to him. I get it, I was rare, but can't he act like he was my grandpa for a second?

I sighed. It's not that I wanted to be normal—I knew I wasn't normal—but pretending? Pretending was fun.

The wind shifted, carrying voices my way. Human voices. I honed in on them—three men with rifles and hunting gear. They were speaking a language I didn't understand, but their intentions became crystal clear when I followed their gaze through the binoculars.

A Siberian tiger and her cubs.

Oh, no. Poachers. My heart sank. The poor tigers didn't stand a chance. They were endangered, protected by law, and blissfully unaware of the threat creeping toward them.

I knew I shouldn't get involved. I knew it. But then again…

Or can I?

I didn't have anything that I can use to scare them. But I knew that no matter what race you are and what religion you believe, humans are scared of ghosts. In minutes, I'd scaled down the tree and crept closer to the hunters. My outfit was perfect: a white dress with my long red hair cascading around my face. Add some atmospheric darkness and, voilà, instant nightmare fuel.

I hid behind a tree and let out my best ghostly laugh:

"Heeeeh heh heh heeeee!"

They froze, their flashlights darting in every direction. I cackled again, louder this time, and let them catch a glimpse of me peeking out from behind the tree. Their heartbeats thundered like war drums.

Now for the finale.

I climbed a tree and hung upside down, grinning like a maniac. Thank you, Emmett, for teaching me dumb circus tricks. One of the poachers panicked and fired his rifle. The bullet hit the bark, narrowly missing me. Right. Guns are a thing.

Plan B: full horror show.

I let myself drop to the ground and crawled toward them on all fours, dragging my hair dramatically like some vengeful forest spirit. One of them screamed. Another one wet his pants.

Mission accomplished.

They bolted, abandoning their rifles and gear, and I stood up with a victorious smirk.

"Cowards."

.

.

.

Of course, my victory was short-lived.

"Renesmee!"

I cringed as Esme's disapproving voice rang out the moment I stepped inside. Mud dripped from my dress onto her pristine floors, and I knew I was in trouble.

She rarely got mad, but when she did, it was like the wrath of a thousand disappointed moms condensed into one.

"I was going to clean it," I muttered, but I knew it was futile.

With a heavy sigh, I resigned myself to her lecture.

Hi. My name is Renesmee Cullen.

And I can't wait to get out of here.