Todos los capítulos de Claimed by the Fallen Five: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

It started small. A tremor in her hands. A shake in her knees. But the spiral was fast. Ruthless. Mae’s breath hitched, then broke. Her lungs wouldn’t pull enough air. Her chest constricted so tightly it hurt. Her vision tunneled, and her pulse roared so loudly in her ears she barely heard Lucien’s voice trying to say something. No. No no no no no. Her fingers clawed at her sleeves, digging into her own skin as if anchoring herself could undo the last hour of her existence. This isn’t real. This isn’t possible. It was supposed to be bad luck. Broken tech. Small things. Her hands shot up to grip her hair, pulling tight. “No no no, this, this doesn’t happen, this can’t be me.” She staggered backward, eyes wide, frenzied, scanning the others like cornered prey. “Stay back. Don’t, don’t come near me. I mean it.” Kaine actually lifted both hands, palms out. Lucien froze mid-step, tension carved into every line of his face. Sethis stood, hands half-lifted as if debating whether to help or

The warped silence inside the castle pressed heavier than any sound. The hum of fractured energy had quieted, but something lingered beneath it, a feeling. A shift. Like the world itself was holding its breath. None of them spoke. Not Lucien, whose usual sharp tongue was buried behind furrowed brows and a jaw set tight with thought. Not Sethis, whose hands turned his silver ring over and over with no trace of his usual lazy humor. Not even Kaine, who paced the cracked floor like a caged predator, but slower. Edgier. More uncertain than angry. And Ashar, he stood where he always did. Silent. Still. Crystal gaze distant, focused somewhere far beyond what anyone else could see. The tension snapped with Kaine’s voice. “Alright, no. No.” His hands clenched. "I’m done standing here like an idiot. Someone’s explaining what the hell is going on.” No response. Kaine’s gaze snapped to Ashar.“You. You know something. I can see it written all over you.” His tone dropped, not hostile, but heavy

The silence didn’t hold forever. It cracked. And it cracked, when Ashar spoke. Not the sharp, single-word commands they were used to. Not the silent glances, the weighted stares. Words. Full. Measured. Heavy. When he turned from where Mae lay, his crystalline gaze pulled from her for the first time, they all felt it. A shift. A rift closing, or maybe opening wider. “It started at the auction.” His voice was lower than expected. Not soft, no, never soft, but raw. Strained at the edges like a machine running too hot, too fast. Kaine blinked. “The hell you mean?” Ashar’s arms folded slowly, his shoulders squaring as if bracing for something heavier than anyone could see. “The moment they dragged her onto the platform, I felt it. I didn’t understand it then. But I felt it.” He glanced back toward Mae, jaw tightening. “The weight in the air. Like the fracture wasn’t just watching, it was, leaning. Pulling.” Lucien muttered, half-stunned, “You felt that before the attack even started?” As

The tears dried. Slow. Quiet. Not rushed. Not forced. Just finished. Mae sniffed once, knuckles wiping under her eyes, breath unsteady but no longer shaking apart at the seams. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers twisting the fabric of the blanket. The others stayed close. Not crowding. Just there. Watching. Waiting. Giving space, but refusing to leave. Until. A shift. Subtle. Soft. But all of them felt it. The air thickened. The shadows near the doorway curled, just slightly. Kaine’s eyes flicked up first, followed by Lucien, then Sethis. Even Riven’s head turned. His lazy grin softened, not surprised. Not tense. Just expectant. Because of course. Of course. He’d been there the whole time. Footsteps, silent. Weighted not by sound, but by presence. Ashar stepped into the room, the shadows seeming to drag behind him like reluctant ghosts. His posture straight, precise. Silent. But in his hands, a book. Thick. Heavy. Bound in a material that looked like stone and metal fused together

The castle grew quiet as night fell. One by one, the others scattered, grumbling, muttering, finding their own corners to rest in. Doors shut. Footsteps faded. Voices dimmed. Until there was nothing left but silence, a sharp silence. Silence and them. Mae sat curled at the edge of the long, low bench by the window, knees pulled to her chest. The fracture-twisted sky stretched beyond the cracked glass, endless spirals of stars stitched between ribbons of black and violet clouds. She hadn’t meant to stay here. Not she had a choice in staying. When the others started filing out her feet wouldn’t move. Her chest wouldn’t loosen and her breath was still. And neither did his. Ashar. Still seated across the room. Still like a statue, back straight, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely threaded together. His hair spilled forward over his shoulder, catching slivers of dim starlight. Silent. Watching. Breathing. Present.Why is he still here? Her gaze flicked to him, hesitant. But the