They didn’t stay on campus.

  Elias suggested they walk, and Seraphine didn’t ask why. She simply fell into step beside him, her pace easy, unhurried, as if she had nowhere else, she needed to be.

  The café they ended up in was small and dim, tucked between two older buildings. Mismatched chairs crowded uneven tables, and lazy jazz drifted through the air like something half-asleep.

  They chose a corner table.

  Seraphine sat lightly, posture composed, hands resting calmly in her lap. Her eyes were steady, patient, unguarded.

  Elias sat stiffly across from her, shoulders tight, like he wasn’t sure whether this was an interview, a mistake, or something he’d later deny under oath.

  Two coffees arrived. Steam curled upward.

  Neither of them touched theirs.

  Silence stretched between them, wide and unforced.

  Seraphine waited.

  Elias stared at his cup as if it might explain what he was doing there.

  Finally, Seraphine spoke.

  “So… Detective,” she asked gently, “why did you want to speak with me?”

  Elias froze.

  Not dramatically—just a slight hitch in his shoulders, a pause in his breathing, as if the question had caught him unprepared.

  Which it had.

  Seraphine tilted her head a fraction, curiosity soft but present, offering no pressure.

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  Elias opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

  Her brows drew together the smallest amount—not confusion, not suspicion, just mild interest—and something in Elias’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

  Cute, he thought before he could stop himself.

  He coughed quickly to cover it. “Right. Yes. Um—question. About Dr. Alano.”

  Seraphine blinked once, attentive.

  “Yes?”

  Elias cursed himself internally. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t planned anything. He’d just seen her surrounded and reacted on instinct.

  Now he was sitting across from her, scrambling.

  “So—ah—when exactly did he… start pressuring you?”

  Smooth, he thought. Real smooth.

  Seraphine didn’t smile, but something subtle flickered behind her eyes. She answered calmly, clearly, repeating the same basic details she’d given before.

  But her gaze lingered.

  She watched his face closely, tracking every twitch and pause with careful precision.

  And suddenly, Elias felt uncomfortably aware that he was the one being observed.

  When she finished, silence settled again.

  Elias nodded once. Then again. Too many times.

  “Right. Yes. Helpful.”

  Seraphine blinked, then spoke again, her voice soft as silk.

  “That’s not really why you followed me, is it?”

  The question wasn’t sharp. Not accusing. Just stated, like a conclusion she expected him to confirm.

  Elias swallowed. His throat had gone dry.

  He shrugged, a little stiff. “I’m following the case,” he said.

  It was a lie.

  Seraphine didn’t challenge it. She simply looked at him—not judging, not disbelieving. Just… aware.

  The faintest curve touched her lips, as if she found the moment quietly amusing.

  Elias looked away first.

  He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more—that he’d sought her out, that he didn’t know why, or that she clearly did.

  They finally lifted their cups, sipping without comment, neither voicing what lingered beneath the surface.

  Seraphine could have stood then and told him the truth.

  You’re curious because I’m dangerous, and you feel it.

  Instead, she asked, “Are you okay, Detective?”

  Elias blinked. “Fine,” he said.

  Another lie.

  Seraphine nodded slowly. “Good.”

  Two liars, sitting in a corner café, pretending they were strangers.

  Elias remembered—belatedly—that he was supposed to end this.

  He cleared his throat. “Well. Thank you for your time.”

  Seraphine rose easily. She hadn’t brought anything with her, so there was nothing to gather.

  “Of course,” she said.

  They walked to the door together and paused.

  For a narrow moment, they simply looked at one another—two people standing at a crossroads neither of them had planned to reach.

  Then Seraphine stepped away, disappearing into sunlight and movement beyond the glass.

  Elias remained where he was, watching the door swing shut.

  He still couldn’t name the feeling she left behind.

  But Seraphine could.

  He was hooked.