CHAPTER 93: UNEMPLOYED INCUBUS

Chapter 93 – Unemployed Incubus

He pushed the door open.

A small bell chimed, soft and charming. The scent hit him harder now—coffee beans ground fresh, sugar, butter, a hint of citrus peel and something floral woven in the steam.

The warmth of the place wrapped around him immediately. And without hesitation, Lux walked in.

The light was soft, filtered through fig leaves brushing against the tall front windows, and the soft hum of indie jazz laced itself through the air like someone was trying really hard to say "we have personality here."

Lux walked straight up to the counter.

The barista looked up.

She was mortal. Maybe mid-twenties. Hair in a loose bun. Brown skin, soft freckles, linen apron, arms tattooed with tiny plants and stars like she’d gotten bored at a cosmic farmer’s market. Her name tag read LINA in handwritten cursive.

She blinked once.

Then twice.

And yeah—there it was. The Incubus Effect. Her pupils dilated slightly. She leaned in just enough to make her shoulders shift, and her lips parted like she was about to greet a god.

Lux gave her a relaxed smile, fingers brushing the counter gently. "Hey."

"H-hi," she stammered, catching herself too late. "Welcome to Fox & Bloom. Um, take your time. Unless you already know what you want."

"Don’t we all?" Lux said. "But for now, I’ll start with something simple. What’s your strongest?"

"Our espresso’s double-roasted with cardamom," she said, voice smoothing out as she found her footing. "We do a single-origin pour-over that’s got citrus and dark cherry notes if you like something more—"

"I want the one that kicks like a minor regret but leaves me feeling poetic about it," Lux replied.

Lina blinked again. "...So espresso with a splash of oat milk?"

"Perfect."

She smiled and nodded, writing it down. "Anything else?"

"A recommendation. Something sweet. Preferably with a flaky soul."

"That would be the almond fig croissant."

Lux grinned. "Now we’re talking."

He paid—using a sleek black card with no name and far too much weight—and dropped a generous tip into the jar.

He stepped away from the counter, his coffee order in progress, and picked his spot.

Window seat, obviously.

He always chose the window. Not for the view, but for perspective. It gave him angles—people, timing, shadows, reflections. He sat down slowly, hands resting on the small round table. The chair was wooden but comfortable, legs sturdy like they’d survived more than one emotional breakdown and at least two poetry readings.

Outside the window, the street wasn’t busy. A little traffic. A few pedestrians. A guy walking a small dog that clearly hated leashes. A couple on a scooter who looked like they were still in the first-month phase of touching each other constantly.

Lux leaned into the light. Watched. Not stared—observed.

He always did that.

Details. Body language. Minor inconsistencies. The slight stagger in someone’s step, the twitch of a smile, the way a person checked their reflection not for vanity but for proof that they still existed.

He used to do this right before negotiations. Meetings. War pacts. Seductions.

Allies. Rivals. Warlords.

And now?

He huffed. Shook his head. "Ah... habits..."

He leaned back into the chair, exhaled. A little heavier this time.

This ’second separation’ didn’t sting like yesterday’s had.

When Naomi left, it hit harder. Not because it hurt more—Naomi had her walls, her drama, her storms—but because it was the first. The first time Lux felt left in the mortal realm. Unanchored. Just... drifting.

But with Rava?

He kind of got it.

This wasn’t cold. It wasn’t abandonment.

It was just... mortal culture. That push and pull of having places to be. Schedules. Meetings. Human pacing. Rava had her own goals. Her own empire to manage. And somehow, he respected that more than he could admit.

Still, it left him alone again.

A cup clinked gently on the table.

Lux blinked. Looked up.

Lina stood there, coffee in hand, along with a small plate and the croissant. "Here you go," she said. "Double shot with oat milk. Almond fig croissant. And a smile, apparently."

Lux gave her a soft grin. "You deliver all three flawlessly."

She laughed, a little too high-pitched, then caught herself. "Well, I hope you enjoy it. If you need anything—"

"I’ll wave with devastating charm."

"Right." She smiled again and turned away, hands brushing the front of her apron.

Lux picked up the coffee. Breathed it in.

Ah... nice.

Smooth, dark, slightly spiced. Not overly bitter. He took a slow sip and let the flavor bloom on his tongue. It was genuinely good.

He made a mental note.

"Maybe I should go up," he muttered. "Use the therapy coupon."

He still had it, after all. Heaven’s little apology. Redeemable for one celestial-certified soul healing session—whatever that meant.

He leaned back, letting the coffee settle into his bloodstream.

And that’s when he felt it.

A chill. Subtle. Like something old exhaled nearby.

His breath didn’t fog—but the air shifted. Thinned.

The sunlight outside the window dimmed just slightly, not darkening so much as... pausing.

He looked around.

The mortals had stopped.

No panic. No shouting.

Just—frozen.

The girl across from him mid-laugh, spoon hovering inches from her lips. The barista behind the counter, hand halfway to a paper cup. The scooter couple outside frozen like they’d been caught by an invisible camera shutter.

And then the System chimed in—softly. Slowly.

[Warning: Spatial Distortion Detected]

[You have entered a Devil Space]

[High-Level Demon Presence Nearby]

[Time dilation active. Mortals frozen.]

Lux didn’t move.

Didn’t panic.

He took another sip of coffee.

Huh. Still warm.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, looking around casually. "I sit still for five minutes and the universe sends someone."

He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the croissant.

Then slowly, calmly, set his coffee down.

The café was silent.

Frozen.

Perfectly still.

[Warning!!]

[High-Level Demon Detected: Signature = Unknown]

[Classification = Noble]

[Threat Level: ???]

[...Would you like to prepare a witty remark in advance?]

He didn’t get the chance.

Because a smooth, feminine voice sliced through the stillness like velvet over a dagger.

"I never thought I’d find you here," the voice said. "In the mortal realm. Sipping coffee. Sitting around a café like an unemployed incubus."