"That's ambitious," I say dryly.
"That's necessary," she counters.
"And what about you? You really think you're going to survive killing three Viper lieutenants in their own territory?"
"I don't plan on surviving," she says quietly, and the words land like stones in water.
The statement hits me like a physical blow. "Talia?—"
"I'm not suicidal," she interrupts quickly. "I'm realistic. But I'm okay with it. As long as Henry's killers pay, it's worth it."
"No," I state flatly. "It's not."
"You don't get to decide that," she snaps back. "I'm eighteen. An adult. I can make my own choices."
"You're my baby sister," I throw back, and my voice cracks on the words. "You and Henry—you're all I have left of our family. Mom's gone. Henry's gone. I'm not losing you too."
Her expression softens fractionally. "Asher?—"
"No," I interrupt. "You want to kill the people who murdered Henry? Fine. I get it. I want them dead too. But you're not doingit on a suicide mission. You're doing it smart. With backup. With a plan that includes you surviving."
"I can't ask you to help me with this?—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling you how this is going to work." I step closer, and she doesn't back away. "You keep me updated on everything. Every meeting, every operation, every piece of information. And when you make your move, I'm there to make sure you get out alive."
"Asher—"
"This is non-negotiable," I interrupt. "You're my sister. You and Henry—" I stop, force myself to continue through the emotion clogging my throat. "You two are the only family I have left. I couldn't save Henry. But I'm sure as hell going to save you."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay. But if things go wrong—if they figure out what I'm doing—you pull back. You don't try to save me. You protect the club. Deal?"
"No deal," I respond immediately.
"Asher—"
"I'm not agreeing to let you die," I state flatly. "So either accept my help with the understanding that I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you alive, or do this without me."
We stare at each other. A battle of wills.
"Fine," she mutters finally. "You're as stubborn as he was."
"Learned from the best," I say quietly.
A small smile flickers across her face. "He would've hated this. All of it. The violence, the revenge. He always said there had to be a better way."
"Henry was better than both of us," I agree. "Always was."
"Yeah." Her eyes get distant. "He was."
I step forward and pull her into a hug before she can protest. She goes rigid at first, then melts into it, her forehead pressing against my chest, arms gripping my jacket tight.
"You're not just anger and revenge," I murmur into her hair. "Henry's still in there. The good parts of him live in you."
"I don't want the good parts," she mumbles. "The good parts get you killed."
"No. The good parts keep you human. Keep you from becoming what you're trying to destroy."
She doesn't respond, just holds on for another few seconds before pulling back.