Louis Moreau had never been threatened by anyone. Until London walked in. She transferred in mid-semester, the kind of new student that made the hallway go quiet without even trying. Word spread fast — she was Korean, but her mother was Japanese-American. A blend of cultures. A blend of sharp elegance and effortless confidence. Her beauty wasn’t loud. It was precise. Smooth dark hair that framed a delicate but striking face. Eyes that held both warmth and challenge. Skin that seemed to glow under the classroom lights. She moved with quiet grace, like she had grown up knowing exactly who she was. And yet, there was something guarded about her.