Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 381

Chapter 381: I Always Worry About You

Their voices had quieted into the slow rhythm of sleep, breaths steady and even. Ethan was the last awake, his mind sharp even as his body begged to rest.

He glanced down at them, one by one. Evelyn curled tight against his side, her arm still draped across his stomach like she was pinning him in place so he couldn’t slip away.

Everly rested close, her breath warming his collarbone, her hand locked with his like she knew he needed the anchor.

The twins, tangled against each other and against him, their presence heavy with trust, pressing into him with every small shift of their bodies.

The weight of them wasn’t suffocating—it was grounding, like each heartbeat pressed against him was another reminder that they were real, that they were his to protect.

He lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss into Seraphina’s hair, then leaning to brush one against Evelyn’s forehead.

He reached for the twins next, kissing each lightly. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The gesture said everything he couldn’t put into words.

That he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere. That no matter what storm rose tomorrow, tonight belonged to them.

Finally, his eyes slid shut, and this time he didn’t fight the pull of sleep. The storm still churned under his skin, waiting.

Nature’s balance, life for life, the demand of powers too sharp to ignore. It would be there when the night broke. But not now. Now belonged to them.

And when sleep claimed him, it did so softly. Not restless. Not heavy. But fragile, steady, and rare—the kind of calm that only came when love pressed close enough to soften everything else.

His breath evened, blending with theirs, until it felt like the whole room was bound to a single rhythm. For a little while, it was easy to believe that the weight he carried could be set aside.

The night carried itself forward without sound, the weight of it folding over Ethan until nothing remained but warmth and stillness.

By the time the sun reached over the university walls the next morning, the mansion’s peace belonged only to those inside it. Across the city, another life stirred into its own rhythm.

Sera Valcrest pushed the edge of her holo-screen closed with a faint motion of her hand as the final notes of her lecture wrapped up.

The professor’s voice still echoed, sharp and clipped, but her mind had already taken what it needed. The rest was just noise filling the air.

She didn’t linger in her seat. The moment the dismissal cue hit, chairs scraped across the polished floor, voices colliding in the room all at once, students trading comments and gossip as though they had been holding their breath for the chance.

The university was sprawling, one of the most prestigious on the continent, and everything about it was built to remind them of that.

Wide marble halls gleamed with polished stone, archways rose like gates to a higher order, and thin veins of glowing steel traced the walls, carrying energy that hummed low enough to feel rather than hear.

It swallowed individuals whole, making even the most arrogant feel small if they stood still too long. The air smelled faintly of ozone and polish, a mix of old tradition and sharp modern power.

Sera didn’t. She never stood still in crowds. She moved with her usual calm certainty, her steps measured, her shoulders straight, and her gaze sharp.

Students bumped past her without slowing, but she slipped through as though their noise belonged to some other world.

It wasn’t that she meant to stand out—she didn’t dress for it, didn’t chase attention. But people noticed her anyway, even when they tried not to.

They noticed the way she never stumbled, the way she walked like she had somewhere worth going. It was a quiet presence, but it carried weight all the same.

Her path rarely crossed Ethan’s. The academy made sure of it. Combat majors lived in one wing, tactical analysts like her in another, medical branches in their own, engineers in theirs.

Even in the same school, it was possible to go years without meeting certain people. To Sera, that suited her.

She didn’t need the noise of everyone’s ambitions pressing against her day. She thrived in the silence between it, where details had room to surface.

By the time she stepped out into the courtyard, the chaos of the halls had thinned. Open sky stretched above, sunlight cutting sharp across stone.

The chatter didn’t vanish—clusters of students still filled benches and steps, laughter and arguments spilling freely—but the air here was wider, easier to breathe.

She slowed slightly, enough to let the sun warm her shoulders, before slipping her holo-phone free and flicking her fingers across the screen.

Her circle’s updates flowed in. A half-dozen voices, scattered but reliable. Small notes written quickly, fragments sent in the gaps between their own classes.

A mobilization order whispered at the edge of a barracks. A record of officers pulled from one wing to another.

A rumor about key figures leaving for “inspection.” Alone, they were scraps. Together, they drew a line that was too straight to ignore.

The cadence of the reports was sharp, irregular—like drumbeats that didn’t belong in the same song.

Sera’s eyes narrowed as she scrolled, fitting the threads together. Her circle wasn’t large, but it was hers.

She had built it from favors and sharp memory—peers ambitious enough to notice details but not bold enough to carry them alone.

She gathered their pieces and strung them into something bigger. That was the point of her network: she turned whispers into patterns.

It had taken time to teach herself to see the shape of things others missed, to let her mind build the larger picture without forcing it.

This wasn’t a rumor anymore. Something was moving.

Her thumb hovered above her contacts, and she tapped a name. The screen pulsed once, call lines opening and static flickering before the image cleared.

Her brother’s face appeared. Director of the Superpower Association. Authority etched into his expression as naturally as breath.

But when his gaze landed on her, some of that weight lifted. His tone softened, though the care beneath it was edged with caution.

“Sera,” he said. “Calling during the day? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I finished,” she replied evenly. “And I wanted to hear from you directly. I’ve been seeing things.”

A faint crease touched his brow before smoothing again. “What kind of things?”

She shifted slightly, scanning the courtyard before lowering her voice. “Too much movement. Mobilization.

Officers are leaving posts they don’t usually abandon. Orders that don’t line up with standard rotations. They’re consistent. Too consistent to be dismissed.”

He exhaled, long and low, the kind of sound that sat between patience and warning. “Sera, don’t dig too deeply into this. Not everything needs your eyes. Especially not right now.”

Her gaze sharpened, steady on his face. “If I shouldn’t dig, then it means there’s something worth finding.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced aside for the briefest second, then back, his voice smoother but heavier than before.

“It’s bigger than us. Bigger than the academy. Some things move whether we look at them or not. And when they move, they don’t stop for people who stand in their way.”

The words weren’t a direct answer, but she had learned to listen between them. He was admitting more than he meant.

Something had already begun, and it was large enough that even he—who never showed doubt—looked strained beneath it.

Her head tilted, voice quiet but pointed. “You sound worried.”

“I always worry about you,” he said quickly, too quickly. “That’s not new.”

Warmth coated his words, but it couldn’t erase the shadow in his eyes. He was holding something back, and the choice not to share was louder than any warning.

She opened her mouth to push, her words ready, but his posture shifted suddenly, his gaze snapping off-screen. The line of his shoulders tightened, alert.

“Sera, I have to go,” he said, his voice clipped now, all softness stripped away. “Don’t chase this. Please.”

And then the line cut.

Her screen flashed once, then went black, leaving only her reflection staring back at her. For a long moment, she stood still, the courtyard noise crashing around her—students laughing, debating, complaining about professors—none touching her.

He had never ended a call like that before. Not with her. Not unless something urgent had demanded him in that exact instant.

That meant he hadn’t just brushed her off. He had been pulled away by whatever storm she had caught the scent of.

Her jaw tightened as she slid the phone back into her pocket. Threads tugged at her thoughts, unraveling into shapes she didn’t like.

If he thought cutting her off would keep her from pulling them together, he had forgotten who she was.

The sunlight caught in her hair as she lifted her chin, eyes sharper than before. The system had its secrets.

The academy had its walls. But she wasn’t the kind to wait quietly while answers slipped by.

Whatever was coming, she intended to see it before it arrived.

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