Claimed by My Bully Alpha Chapter 310

Caleb’s P.O.V

I watched my father closely, my arms crossed, leaning against the doorway of the morgue where he stood, pacing back and forth like a lion in a cage. The light from the morgue streamed through the cracked door, illuminating the tension in the creases of his forehead and the stiffness of his jaw. He hadn’t spoken in over five minutes, not since my question shattered the remaining calm in the atmosphere. I could see the storm building in his eyes. He was trying not to let it show, but I knew him too well for that. Something was eating at him.

“I’ll talk to Alpha Jackson again,” he finally muttered, barely above a whisper, his voice gravelly with exhaustion.

I straightened, my brow furrowing. “You already did,” I reminded him. “He told you the remains were dealt with. That they were set on fire, reduced to nothing.”

He stopped, turned to me, and nodded slowly. “Yes. But that’s just it, Caleb. That’s what he told me. What if he didn’t give us the whole truth? What if something was left behind that we missed?”

I stepped forward, the weight of hope and dread settling simultaneously in my chest. “You think he lied?”

“No,” my father said quickly, shaking his head. “Not lied. But maybe even he didn’t know what happened at that spot after the explosion. Maybe there’s something left behind only a witch can tell. They took snapshots before they burned it all. Maybe there’s something in those images. Something we didn’t notice before.”

I exhaled slowly, letting that sink in. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I’d been holding onto the weight of that night like a second skin, hoping for answers, anything that would explain what happened, why it all felt so… unfinished. Maybe the photos could give us a clue. A piece of the puzzle we didn’t even know we were missing.

Just as I was about to ask when we could get the images, Shane’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“What about the half-siblings?”

Everything stopped.

I turned toward him sharply, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Shane was leaning against the wall, arms folded, his expression unreadable. There was something in his eyes though—a shadow, a flicker of something unsettling.

“Aurora’s father,” he said, looking from me to my father, “he was deep into resurrection magic, right? Not just the theory, the practice. He transferred subconscious energy—memories, fragments of identity—into corpses and made them walk again.”

My father stiffened at that, his lips pressed into a hard line. I could already see the warning flashing in his gaze, like he didn’t want to entertain this line of thought.

Shane didn’t care.

“So if he could do that,” Shane continued, “what makes you think Ashton and Maggie couldn’t?”

A chill crept down my spine as I tried to process his words. “Are you seriously suggesting they brought someone back? That they used Aurora’s father's knowledge?”

“I’m saying,” Shane said slowly, “if they found out about the rituals, if they got their hands on his research or even remnants of the bodies… then maybe the fire wasn’t the end.”

“No,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “We would’ve known. We would've felt something.”

“Would we?” Shane asked. “Or are we just assuming because it makes it easier to sleep at night?”

My father finally stepped in, his voice low and hard. “This is reckless speculation, Shane.”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Shane argued. “What if there’s something still left of those two? Harmona and Lucas…what if they aren’t really dead?”

I looked between them both, my heart pounding in my chest. “We saw the ashes. We saw what was left.”

“And yet,” Shane whispered, “you still don’t feel closure. Do you, Caleb?”

He was right.

Damn him, he was right.

I leaned back against the wall, the weight of the silence between us thick and suffocating. The kind of silence that screamed louder than any words could. Shane had just dropped a bomb—something wild and ugly—and I could already feel the air shift, like the atmosphere was about to combust. 

"You’re out of your damn mind," Jade hissed, striding towards us like a storm barely contained. His eyes locked on Shane with such intensity it looked like he was ready to rip him apart with his bare hands.

"You don’t get to say that about them. Ashton and Maggie have been through hell. You think after everything Lucas and Harmona did to them, they’d side with them? That’s disgusting, Shane." 

"Jade," I said quietly, reaching a hand out, but he ignored me, eyes blazing, voice shaking with the kind of fury that only came from deep, personal pain. 

"No, Caleb. I won’t just sit here and let him accuse them like this!" he snapped. "They were victims, not villains! They were tortured, broken. You saw it. We all did. Maggie couldn't even speak for a week after what Harmona did to her. And Ashton—he still wakes up screaming some nights. Don't you dare let anyone spin this narrative like they’re suspects."

“Jade,” I said again, firmer this time. I stood up slowly, careful not to make him feel like I was trying to dominate the space, just trying to anchor it. "No one is accusing them. Not really. We’re just thinking out loud. We’re trying to cover all possibilities because we have to. This isn’t personal."

His head snapped toward me, his jaw clenched like he was trying not to scream. "It is personal," he said. “Because if it were me in their shoes, I know you'd be questioning me too.”

“That’s not fair,” I said, my voice low, a current of disappointment weaving through it. “You know damn well it’s not about favorites. It’s about protecting everyone—about not making the same mistakes again.”

"You think they're a threat?" he asked, and this time his voice trembled—not with rage, but with heartbreak. "After everything they survived?"

I sighed, raking a hand through my hair as I looked down for a second before meeting his eyes.

"They did suffer. I know they did. I held Ashton when he couldn’t stand on his own. I sat beside Maggie when she couldn’t eat unless someone else tasted the food first. Don’t think I forgot any of that. But... It's been five years. That’s a long time, Jade. And what if—just what if—Lucas knew his time was running out and he planned for this? What if he didn’t want his legacy to die with him, so he trained his prisoners, shaped them like weapons, molded them in quiet ways to take over when he fell?”

"You’re reaching,” he whispered. But his voice was uncertain now. Hesitant. He wouldn’t look me in the eye anymore.

"Am I?" I said, stepping closer, lowering my tone so only he could hear. "Do you really know what they were doing all those years? Do you know everything they went through? Every whisper they heard, every lie they were fed, every night they were too broken to fight back and maybe started to believe that giving in would hurt less than resisting?"

He swallowed, hard, and looked away.

“I’m not saying they betrayed us,” I added, softer now. “I’m saying we can’t afford blind faith. Not anymore. If we’re wrong... if they are part of something bigger, something darker... then we’ll be digging our own graves. And I’m not ready to let that happen. Not again.”

Jade didn’t respond for a long time. He just stood there, chest heaving, eyes glistening. I didn’t need him to agree with me. I just needed him to understand that doubt isn’t always a betrayal. Sometimes, it’s a necessary wound.

And right now, I’d rather deal with a wound than walk into a massacre.