“Well I have the art of puppy dog eyes and knowing where he hides all the bodies,” she winks, lifting her mug of tea to me.
“Touché,” I nod back, turning towards the kettle to make my own cup.
We fall into a quiet, easy silence as I move around the kitchen. It surprises me how much I missed this—Talia’s presence, that soft, steady calm she carries like a second skin, the way she somehow looks both fragile and completely unbreakable at the same time.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly. “With… all of this.”
Her eyes drop to her hands wrapped around the mug. “Depends on the hour.” She blows on the surface of the tea, watching the ripples. “Sometimes it feels like none of it happened. Sometimes it feels like Henry.”
“Henry?” I question, blowing my tea patiently.
“Y-yeah. My twin brother,” she says softly. “He was killed by the Vipers.”
“Oh,” I whisper, my stomach free falling. “I am so sorry.”
“It was five years ago. Wrong place. Wrong time.” She whispers into her mug, before taking a sip.
“It always feels like that when someone dies,” I slip into the chair across from hers. “Like if you changed one thing about that day they would still be here. That’s how I felt about my dad.”
Even though he put me up as collateral. Even though he trained me to be a killer for the cartel he thought he would run one day. Even if at the end of the day he is not the best person, sometimes I feel like he could’ve been better. If I loved him more. If someone showed him an ounce more of kindness. He would still be here. He would still be my dad, and I wouldn’t know all the ugliness about him that I know now.
“I know if I changed one thing he would still be here.” She says back.
I tilt my head to the side and lean forward. Change one thing? What is she talking about? She can’t blame herself for the death of her brother. There is nothing we can do to stop death. It's a fate we are all resigned to. There was nothing she could have have done.
“Talia--” I start to respond, but the footsteps entering the room cut me off before I can string together a sentence.
Asher steps into the kitchen, hair damp from a quick shower, fresh shirt clinging to his chest, water still drying on the strong line of his throat. There’s a faint scar near his collarbone I’ve never noticed before, a pale slash against his skin.
He scans the room quickly, that habitual assessment he never quite turns off. His gaze lands on Talia first.
“You’re having more tea,” he says flatly. “What is that, your third mug?”
“Fourth,” she corrects, unbothered.
A flicker of amusement touches his mouth and disappears. “You’ll vibrate through the floor. Zay is going to take you over to Jackie’s mom’s house in a few.”
“Ash, I can just stay here,” she sighs.
“No. When I’m not here you have to go where I know you’ll be safe,” he speaks firmly and then quickly softens. “That was the deal for you to come back here, remember?”
She rises, stepping close to him. She reaches up, cupping his cheek, eyes softening in a way that makes him look… younger. Less carved out of stone.
“You know I’m not going to die on your watch, right?” she says.
Asher’s jaw ticks. He looks like he wants to argue with her, to insist that death is always an option, that danger doesn’t care about the wordbrother. But what he says is, “You’re not dying. Period.”
Her smile is small and luminous. “Of course I can’t. You’d be unbearable as a grieving big brother.”
He huffs. “I’m unbearable now.”
“Exactly.” She lifts up on her toes and kisses his cheek. It’s a quick, affectionate press of lips to skin, but Asher freezes like she’s put a hand on his bare heart.
Then she steps back, grabbing her mug. “I’m going to change into sweats since I’ll be on baby duty all afternoon.”
She gives me a little wave and slips past us, leaving a trail of softer air behind.
Silence settles between Asher and me. It’s not the comfortable kind we used to share. It’s thick and heavy, full of things unsaid. I can feel his eyes on me, feel the distance between us stretch and pull.
