If she doesn't notice that, then he doesn't notice that her grip is less than gentle by now.

What Sylar does notice: it's colder than it should be. He can feel his skin prickle as it tightens into goosebumps, and he shivers, pulling back as he continues to stare at the snow.

"I did what you asked of me." The shock ebbs, by a degree, and lets the smallest edges of his anger surface. "You wanted me to be important. Didn't you. And then, once I was..."

He drops his gaze, locks eyes with her. "You called me monster. You were afraid."