1910 Ezekiel Drive, Seattle, WA

[watchmakers_son]

Crossing into another world feels no different from crossing into his own. It's late afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky but not truly setting yet; water keeps dripping from his clothes as he steps onto the porch and lets the back door of Frank Black's house swing closed.

For whatever reason, they've painted it a garishly bright yellow. Sylar eyes the outer wall, then skates his fingers over the doorframe as he pauses, listening for --

There. Childishly high sobs from around the corner.

With a smile, he lifts his fingers away and begins to follow them.