The sun was brutal that afternoon, heat rising off the concrete in visible waves as students poured out of classroom buildings like ants released from a disturbed hive. Laughter, complaints, footsteps, and chatter blended into a single restless sound.

  Seraphine moved with the flow, books hugged to her chest, hair tucked neatly behind one ear, her pace unhurried. She had just finished her last major class of the day and was already deciding which coffee she would reward herself with on the way home.

  She was almost at the main gate when three shadows slid into her path.

  Upperclassmen. Older. Broader. Too comfortable in their own skin. Every campus had men like them—men who moved through shared spaces as if ownership came free with confidence.

  The tallest stepped forward, blocking her exit with a lazy grin.

  “Hey there,” he said, eyes roaming over her openly. “You’re Seraphine, right?”

  She stopped. Small. Quiet. Still.

  “Yes,” she answered softly.

  His grin widened. “Thought so. You’re kinda… famous.”

  His friends snickered behind him—not at the words themselves, but at the intention woven beneath them.

  He leaned closer, invading her space.

  “You know, people talk about you. Pretty face, pretty body—” He let the sentence fade, as if she should be grateful for the attention.

  Then he smiled wider. “Funny thing is, nobody’s gotten close to you yet.” His gaze sharpened. “I wanna be first.”

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  Seraphine lowered her lashes. Let her shoulders curl inward. Let her voice soften and shake just enough.

  “I… I’m busy,” she murmured. “Maybe some other time.”

  She stepped to the side, attempting to pass.

  They shifted with her.

  Left.

  Right.

  Each movement blocked, each laugh low and pleased, as though the outcome was already decided.

  Seraphine lifted her chin and met the leader’s eyes fully.

  The fear drained from her face like a mask slipping free.

  For a fraction of a second, something crossed his expression—something unsettled, something cold reflected back at him. A flicker of instinct trying to speak.

  Arrogance drowned it out.

  He grinned and reached for her—

  “Is there a problem here?”

  The voice cut through the air, sharp and clear.

  All three men turned.

  Detective Elias Rivas stood several steps away, hands tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed but unmoving. His expression was unreadable, his gaze steady and alert.

  Nearby students slowed, curiosity pulling their attention toward the scene.

  Elias didn’t raise his voice.

  Didn’t flash a badge.

  Didn’t threaten.

  He didn’t have to.

  “I need to speak with Miss Calderon,” he said, tone clipped and professional. “It concerns Dr. Alano.”

  The leader blinked, the moment collapsing around him. Embarrassment flashed across his face.

  “No problem, sir,” he muttered quickly. “We were just—leaving.”

  The three men retreated into the crowd, dissolving back into noise and movement. One of them shot Seraphine a final look—part promise, part threat, part frustration—before disappearing.

  Seraphine watched them go without expression.

  Then she turned to Elias.

  Their eyes met, and for a brief heartbeat something passed between them—gratitude she did not voice, and suspicion he did not allow himself to speak.

  “Do you have time to talk?” Elias asked quietly.

  Seraphine nodded. “Yes, Detective.”

  He returned the nod and gestured for her to follow, guiding her toward a quieter corner of campus.

  As they walked side by side, Seraphine felt that strange pull again. Not fear. Not admiration. Something harder to name.

  The men she avoided—she understood them completely.

  But Elias?

  Elias was the first man she couldn’t place.

  Not predator.

  Not prey.

  Not threat.

  Not ally.

  Just someone walking beside her at exactly the wrong moment, on exactly the wrong day.