Sylar's jaw tenses as he finally looks up, away from the mug. "And that's your idea of helping me."

As if just noticing the plate for the first time, he seizes it, shoving it across the table toward her with a clatter.

"Making it colorful? Making me breakfast? I have -- " He slams an open hand on the table, and instantly has to shift to grab the edge of the table instead, cut off mid-sentence as he catches his breath. When he begins again, his voice is a low, vehement rasp.

"I can't freeze things, I can't hear anything, I have lost. Everything. That I have worked for. Everything that I had, it's gone. And what have you done? Made me believe I was going crazy, that it was all a lie?"

(Maybe it still is, whispers something quiet and traitorous.)