He read.
And kept rereading lines, looking for something—anything—solid.
But the more he scanned, the more it all felt strange, sad, and way too coincidental.
SERAPHINE CALDERON — SUMMARY NOTES
Parents: Deceased, car accident
Lived with: Aunt & Uncle
Left their care: Age 16 (no explanation on record)
Employment:
Caretaker to an elderly couple.
Both died within two years.
Cause: natural / stress-related
Police notes: “No foul play suspected. Couple had no children; left property to Seraphine.”
Elias blinked.
That wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t even suspicious on paper. If anything, it sounded tragic: a kid with no one, suddenly working as a helper, suddenly alone again, then thrown into independence with money she never asked for.
He moved on.
- AURELIUS UNIVERSITY RECORDS
Nursing student: 3 years
Shifted to Psychology: Year 3–present
Elias checked the dates.
The so-called accidental deaths — the bleacher fall, cafeteria poisoning, bathroom slip, drowning, car crash — all happened during her nursing years.
That caught his attention. But correlation wasn’t causation. Lots of students were enrolled then.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
He scanned the list of the men involved. A few notes caught his eye — mostly gossip-level scribbles: “harassment complaint filed”, “bad reputation with girls”, “rumors”. No name attached.
Then he hit one line that made him sit straighter:
Formal complaint filed
Complainant: Calderon, Seraphine
Subject: Jonathan Perez (Drowned male student)
Elias stared at the text.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he expected to feel.
Shock? Certainty? Triumph?
Instead, he felt unease.
One complaint didn’t make anyone a killer. Students filed them all the time. Most meant nothing.
Still— it was the first tangible intersection between her and a body.
But there was no proof she ever saw him again. No notes saying she was present where he died. No witnesses. No CCTV. No motive anyone could prove.
It could mean nothing.
It probably meant nothing.
He forced himself to write that down: Not evidence. Just… odd.
THE MOVE SOUTH
He skimmed her aunt and uncle’s address. Far from the city. Far from trouble. Far from help.
He noted how she left their household abruptly at sixteen.
No report. No conflict. Just… gone.
Again: Not abnormal. But strange.
Most kids her age couldn’t just leave. Most didn’t land on their feet immediately. Most didn’t end up inheriting anything.
He sat back, rubbing his forehead.
Every detail could be: trauma, tragedy, luck, survival, or nothing at all.
But lined up too neatly, the coincidences pressed on him like a bruise.
Elias closed the file halfway, staring at the upper corner where her ID photo smiled gently.
She didn’t look like a killer.
She didn’t look like someone capable of violence.
She looked… young. Determined. Maybe too composed for someone with that much upheaval.
He let out a long exhale.
“None of this proves anything,” he whispered, to the room, to himself, to the photo.
And it didn’t.
No fingerprints. No footage. No witness. No confessions. No physical link whatsoever.
Just: one complaint, a string of tragedies, and a habit of being near the wrong people at the wrong times.
Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not.
Elias leaned back in his chair, file open like a mouth waiting to swallow him whole.
He wasn't convinced she was guilty.
But for the very first time, he wasn't convinced she was completely innocent, either.
He stared at her picture longer than he should. “I don’t know what role you play in this,” he muttered.
“Victim… witness… or something else entirely.”