My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her

Chapter 471: Chapter 471 TOO YOUNG

AVA’S POV

Ever since the Alphas started arriving, Nightfang had stopped feeling like a packhouse and started feeling like a fortress.

There were guards in places where guards usually weren’t.

The hallways, normally full of noise, had gone strangely quiet, like everyone had been told to keep their voices low so the walls wouldn’t carry secrets.

Training schedules changed every few hours. Some sessions were moved. Others were cut short.

More than once, I had arrived at the yard with my gloves on and my hair tied back, only to be told the adults needed the space and we had to clear out.

The younger kids hated it.

I hated it too, but for different reasons.

They were bored.

I was angry.

Most of us had been moved to the other side of the packhouse during the bigger meetings—away from the council chamber, away from the visiting Alphas, away from the war maps and clipped voices and grown-up decisions nobody wanted us to overhear.

The adults called it safety. I called it being shoved aside.

Daniel called it practical.

Which was exactly the kind of annoying thing perfect Daniel would say.

The other side of the packhouse had a lounge, rec room, study corners, and enough snacks to make it feel less like containment. But everyone still knew what it was.

We were being kept out of the way while something big happened somewhere we couldn’t interfere.

That’s how I ended up curled on a window bench with a borrowed tablet, exploring social media. Training was canceled again, and I could barely read when calm, let alone restless.

At first, it was almost funny. People argued about everything.

Rogues.

Nightfang.

Jack Draven.

Alpha Kieran.

Then I saw Sera’s name.

My thumb stopped moving.

SILVER WOLF OR CALAMITY WOLF?

I frowned and tapped.

The screen filled with comments so ugly and cruel they made my stomach clench.

’Monster.’

’Bloodthirsty bitch.’

’Ancient curse.’

’No Luna should have that kind of power.’

’Maybe Marcus is right.’

’Maybe Nightfang is hiding what she really is.’

’Bet she cast some voodoo on Alpha Kieran.’

I sat very still, reading line after line until the words blurred together, merging into one long, poisonous smear.

They were talking about Sera like she wasn’t real.

Like she wasn’t the woman who smiled softly at kids in the hallway, even when she looked exhausted.

Like she wasn’t the person who had once stopped beside the training yard because one of the little boys had scraped his knee and was trying very hard not to cry.

Like she wasn’t the Luna who spoke to people as if they mattered, even when everyone else was too busy being important.

Like she wasn’t the person who saved me and took me in when anyone would have tossed me aside.

My fingers tightened around the tablet, knuckles whitening.

A comment flashed beneath a video of some smug man ranting about silver wolves.

‘Someone should put the silver bitch down before she kills everyone.’

Heat rushed into my face, my breath turning sharp as anger flared.

“Oh, I’d love to put something down,” I muttered.

Across the room, two younger girls looked at me, frowning.

I forced myself up before I scared them.

Unfortunately, my enemies were trapped inside a screen, and a screen was useless in a fight.

I couldn’t drag those cowards into the training yard. I couldn’t make them hold pads while I kicked sense into them. I couldn’t punch a headline hard enough to make it apologize.

But I needed an outlet for the sudden heat in my blood.

So I did the only thing I could do. I went downstairs.

The private gym beneath the west wing was quieter than the main training hall, mostly used by ranked members when they didn’t want an audience.

I probably wasn’t allowed in there, but I didn’t care.

When I opened the door, the familiar mix of leather, sweat, and polished floors greeted me.

Then the sound came.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Someone was already there.

I was about to retreat. The last thing I wanted was to get into trouble and be another problem on Sera’s plate.

But then I saw who it was.

Daniel Blackthorne stood near the far wall, hammering his fists into a heavy bag with enough force to make the chain groan overhead.

He had wrapped his hands badly. One strip of cloth had loosened around his wrist, but he didn’t seem to care.

His face was flushed, his dark hair damp against his forehead, and every hit landed like he was imagining someone’s face.

I paused in the doorway. “You’re going to hurt yourself like that,” I called out.

He stiffened at the sound of my voice, but he didn’t turn to me.

“Get out, Ava,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for another spat.”

I stepped inside anyway. “Good. Neither am I.”

His next punch hit harder.

“So get. Out.”

I almost snapped back on instinct.

That was how Daniel and I worked. He said something annoying, I said something worse, and then somehow we ended up arguing over something neither of us cared that much about.

But this time, the snarky words caught in my throat.

Because I knew what was wrong with him: frustration.

The kind that crawled under your skin because you couldn’t put your hands around the thing hurting someone you cared about.

Daniel wasn’t just angry; he was helpless.

And he hated it.

Just like me.

I walked closer, stopping a few feet from the bag.

“You saw the comments,” I said.

His fist froze halfway through another strike.

For a second, only the swaying bag moved between us.

Then he lowered his hand.

“Everyone’s seen them.”

His voice sounded too calm. Good for him; he’d mastered how to keep his emotions in check.

I folded my arms. “They’re lying.”

He scoffed. “No shit, genius.”

I ignored the jab. “They’re making her sound like some kind of monster.”

“I know.”

“She saved people. She saved Aaron. She helped rogues when everyone else wanted to blame them.”

”I know, Ava. Shut up!” he snapped, his voice cracking at the edge.

I shut up.

Daniel turned away sharply. He grabbed the bag and pressed his forehead to the leather for a moment before stepping back.

“My dad can’t just go out there and challenge everyone who says something mean,” he said. “My mom can’t explain herself to every person who thinks she’s a monster. And I can’t do anything.”

The last part came out low. Bitter.

I looked at him then and remembered that he wasn’t just Daniel Blackthorne, heir to Nightfang, the boy who always acted like some kind of reincarnated king.

He was Sera’s son.

He had to watch strangers tear apart his mom’s name while adults told him to wait, train, grow stronger, be patient.

I hated patience.

“So there’s no way to fight back?” I asked.

Daniel gave a humorless laugh and started fixing the loose wrap around his wrist.

“We’re kids.”

“So?”

“So there’s nothing we can do that would make an impact.”

I scowled. “That sounds like something an adult would say.”

“It sounds like something true.”

“Gods, you’re such a square.”

Daniel’s mouth twitched, but it didn’t become a smile.

He looked older than usual under the gym lights.

“We keep training,” he said. “That’s what we can do. Get stronger. Get smarter. When it’s our turn, we’ll be ready.”

I hated that answer.

By the time we were older and stronger, today would already be over. The lies would already be planted. People would already have decided what Sera was, and some of them might never look past the word silver wolf long enough to see her.

I looked down at the tablet still clutched in my hand.

The screen had gone dark, reflecting my face at me.

A face too young to enter war rooms.

Too young to be taken seriously.

Too young to matter.

Then I thought of Sera offering her hand to me in that dark alley after I’d stolen from her.

‘Ava...you don’t have to handle this alone.’

I thought of her staying with me while the doctor treated my grandma. I thought of her promise to teach me whatever I wanted and how she’d so far kept that promise.

That was who she was.

People needed to see that.

Not Marcus Draven’s poison.

My breath caught.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed at me.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

I looked from the blank tablet to him, and suddenly, the anger in my chest stopped feeling useless.

“You said we’re kids,” I said slowly.

“Last I checked.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re powerless.”

Daniel sighed, “Ava.”

For the first time in a while, I smiled.

“The adults are trying to fight Marcus like adults,” I said. “Statements. Strategy meetings. Evidence. Speeches.”

Daniel nodded. “That’s generally how politics works.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But people don’t trust politics. They trust what feels real.”

Daniel went very still. ”What are you saying?”

I lifted the tablet.

“Marcus told the world his own version of Sera,” I said. “So let’s tell ours.”