Isaac's bed is up the stairs and around the corner, tucked against the far wall: a short walk either way. Sylar takes a breath and nods before he reaches up to grip the railing.

But losing the telekinetic pressure makes it all the easier for the wound to shift again. It's less a wince than a hoarse gasp of pain this time, and it takes far longer -- and far more of Kim's help than he'd prefer -- to ease himself back to his feet.