The pressure at his ankles is back; Sylar can't turn around, can't step away.
"That isn't -- " He swallows. The wind has died down, but not the cold, and there is still enough of a breeze to send his hair into his eyes. "It's Sylar. My name is Sylar."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-02-09 06:27 am (UTC)The pressure at his ankles is back; Sylar can't turn around, can't step away.
"That isn't -- " He swallows. The wind has died down, but not the cold, and there is still enough of a breeze to send his hair into his eyes. "It's Sylar. My name is Sylar."