Focused more on his thoughts than her words, Sylar is surprised for a moment to find her asking him a question.

Real, solid, earthly tasks. The kind of thing he might have done in life, had he been inclined to. Perhaps they'll help him stabilise.

The thought, allied with his having been around Darla for a while now, gives him just enough solidity to say "yes". It's still barely above a whisper, but -- the sibilant hiss at the end is audible, and the first part of the word is understandable, for all that it comes out as a breath.

Death didn't make Sylar any less of a determined little mofo.