“It was public,” he says. “And we had proof. He ran. He tried to leave. Xavier reacted.”
“And here?” I ask, voice rising. “We have a king in a hospital bed because he waited too long to act. I’m not repeating that.”
His mouth hardens into a flat line. “You think rounding people up won’t create enemies?”
I slide off the desk entirely, boots hitting the floor with a sharp thud. I step close enough that our chests almost brush, the list bent sharply in my hand.
“They’re already enemies,” I say, voice low but shaking with conviction. “They’re already plotting. Already deciding what happens if he doesn’t wake up.”
“You don’t know that,” he says, but the flicker in his eyes betrays him.
“No?” I lift my chin defiantly. “Then why is there a list? Why the marks? Why did he haveyouwatching them?”
That hits.
He doesn’t answer—his silence is answer enough.
“Asher,” I say softer, but no less intense, “if we wait for more information, the information we get might be a body.” My throat tightens. “Jackie. You. Me.”
His jaw works again—harder this time.
“And if Xavier wakes up,” I continue, chest tight, “what do you think he’ll be more angry about? That we scared a few disloyal riders?” I step closer. “Or that we did nothing while the people who wanted him dead kept moving pieces around the board?”
A beat of silence stretches between us, thick as a held breath.
Finally he says, “You want to round up the moles.”
“Yes.”
“And then what?” His voice is quieter now, dangerously calm.
“We pressure them,” I say. “Split them from their allies. Ask questions. See who flips. See who names a name.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then they’ve chosen a side,” I say. “And we deal with that.”
His eyes search mine — methodical, assessing, almost surgical — like he’s trying to see how far I’m willing to go.
“Xavier didn’t tell me his plan,” Asher murmurs at last, a confession tucked between his teeth. “He trusted me to follow orders, not make them.”
“I know,” I say. “And that’s where we differ.”
His eyes narrow. “How?”
“You think you’re here to carry out his will,” I say. “I think I’m here to protect what he built—even if that means doing something he didn’t spell out yet.”
A flicker of something like respect — or warning — crosses his face.
“And if you’re wrong?” he asks.
“Then you can tell him it was my call when he wakes up.” My voice trembles but doesn’t break. “And he can punish me himself.”
7
ISAIAH
Two weeks.
