Wordlessly, Sylar rams open the door with his shoulder, gasping in a sharp breath as the injury wrenches sideways under his hand.

He doesn't let go of Kim's wrist until they both stumble through into Isaac's loft. The door bangs shut; immediately, he slumps against the wall and presses his other hand to the long gash, head bowed.

When he raises it, it's just long enough to spit out the blood in his mouth. Red spatters onto the very edge of the smoke billowing over New York City.