Like the fate of a twig on a bowl, but on a much grander scale. It's maddeningly impressive. Sylar feels that tug again, that twisting.

And why refrain any longer? If she's suddenly against him, why afford her any asylum?

...this is really not the time.

Moving things, freezing things, glass manipulation. Well, he knows which of his powers would definitely not be useful in this situation. He raises his arms, and the nearest triffid suddenly finds itself pinned to the ground.

He's finally getting to push himself further.