Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 288: Welcome Back

The silence wasn’t passive anymore.

It had weight now—like air holding its breath, like the pause before thunder, not because it feared the storm but because it recognized it was already inside one.

When she returned to her hideout, slipping through the rear service path she always used, her boots barely made a sound against the old steel grating, and she didn’t check the outer seals.

There was no need.

If someone had gotten through once, they could do it again—and she knew now that whoever it was hadn’t come to break her defenses only to acknowledge they understood them.

The air inside was still.

Not heavy. Not sharp. Just... still.

And at the center of that stillness, resting neatly on the table where she always set her gear—was a note.

Plain. Folded once. No symbol. There is no trap aura—just paper.

She approached slowly, already sure there wouldn’t be any danger in touching it but still letting her instincts guide the pace.

Her fingers brushed the surface. Cool. Dry. Real.

She unfolded it.

Simple, handwritten lines. Not careful, but deliberate.

We know what you’re looking for.

And we know why.

The next move is yours.

She read it once.

Then again.

There was not much change in expression. No tightening of the jaw, or shifting in her posture.

But her mind had already begun to turn; each thought falling into place like puzzle pieces she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

This wasn’t just observation.

This wasn’t someone curious or cautious.

This was someone who’d read her map—not the one she drew on paper, but the one she walked through the city, traced with her breathing, pacing, and habits—and answered with their own.

She wasn’t being warned off.

She was being engaged.

And now came the question she didn’t like to ask out loud—not even in her head.

Do I take the next step?

Or do I vanish again?

She didn’t leave.

She didn’t sleep either.

She stayed there through the night, the light outside slowly dying, the world’s hum fading to quiet, and far beyond her senses—behind windows, above spires, between pulses in the walls—the city listened.

And waited.

Meanwhile, Ethan stepped out of the lecture hall, the doors sliding quietly behind him with a hiss that barely registered as he stretched one arm back over his shoulder, adjusting the weight of his bag.

The sun was beginning to dip low behind the spires of Astralis University, casting long amber-gold shadows across the wide stone courtyard.

The air smelled clean, a mix of charged ozone from the nearby conduit rails and the faint floral trace drifting down from the upper garden platforms.

His class had gone on longer than scheduled, but he hadn’t minded. The instructor had a way of explaining aura harmonics that actually made it click—not like half the faculty who just recited theory like they were reading a cookbook.

Today, we discussed layered resonance and how overlapping superpowers could create instability in field deployments. Useful stuff. Practical.

But the moment he stepped out, his thoughts slid elsewhere.

A soft buzz at his hip—student panel lighting up.

Two messages from Everly.

The first was short:

"Don’t be late."

The second had a photo.

Dim lighting. A simple table. Two plates set. Real candles—short, steady, already burning low.

He let out a quiet breath. Not a laugh, exactly. Just that soft kind of exhale that says, Yeah, I get it.

The path back wasn’t long, and he didn’t hurry. The crowds were starting to thin as students filtered into dinner spots or drifted toward dorm clusters.

Some clustered around vending machines, others shouting half-hearted arguments over which noodle spot was less trash.

Ethan let the sound wash over him, but he didn’t really hear it. His thoughts were already ahead of him, already in the room with the warm lights and the quiet that didn’t demand anything.

By the time he reached their private sector tower, the pathways had cleared out almost entirely.

This part of the campus had more space—old-world stone paths from before the Fall, lined with soft lights that glowed just bright enough to see your way but never enough to ruin the mood.

He turned the final corner.

Saw the window.

Warm light. Steady.

He reached for the door—but it opened before he touched it.

Everly stood there barefoot, wearing a robe that looked like it had been dipped in the ink of a night sky—deep, soft, clinging just enough to her form to show its shape but loose enough to move with her.

Her hair was tied back carelessly, a few silver strands falling forward, framing her face. And her eyes... calm. Unhurried. Holding something softer than a joke. A real welcome.

"Welcome back," she said, and her voice was quiet enough that he didn’t need it louder.

He stepped in.

The air hit him immediately—warmth from the candles, from the kitchen, from whatever spell they’d used to seal the room against the colder upper breeze.

It was like walking into a pause in time. The lights were low, just enough to see, with no overhead glare. The table was already set, simple but whole.

From the kitchen, Evelyn emerged carrying a dish—something warm, layered, and fragrant. She wore a grey top that fell softly across her collarbones and a long skirt that swayed slightly with every step.

Her hair was loosely pinned, with two strands curling down to her cheeks in a way that looked accidental but wasn’t.

They didn’t make a fuss.

Ethan waited until they were both seated before lowering himself to his chair.

The table wasn’t large, but it didn’t feel cramped either. There was just enough space for three plates, a teapot, two candles, and the kind of silence that wrapped itself around shared moments without needing to be broken.

They ate slowly.

There wasn’t any rush. The food wasn’t extravagant, but it was made with care, enough spice to feel the warmth and familiarity to ease the mind.

They talked, but it wasn’t deep.

Just stories. Little things.

Evelyn talked about a classmate who tried to demonstrate a power technique and accidentally set off the room’s fire alarm. Everly nearly snorted her tea. Ethan almost choked.

Nothing big.

But everything is real.