Some people looked like they belonged at Saint Ivy.
Jane Mercer didn't.
Not because she wasn't beautiful.
She was.
Painfully.
The sort of beautiful that never asked for attention because it had grown tired of receiving it. Dark curls fell just below her shoulders, usually tied back in a careless knot that somehow looked intentional. She wore oversized sweaters beneath the academy blazer whenever she could get away with it, old combat boots instead of polished loafers, and silver rings on almost every finger except the one that mattered.
The one Daphne held whenever they thought nobody was looking.
She smiled easily.
Until someone mentioned the Lucien Circle.
Then something inside her disappeared.
...
I hadn't seen much of Jane since that night in Daphne's room.
Not because she'
