"I'm sure you're just torn up about it," Sam managed with a dry throat and a dryer tone, swallowing. He wanted to bark at the bastard to get the fuck away from her (or to put her in another room), but he knew enough to know when talking wouldn't do any good.

Over Sylar's shoulder Sam could see what a beautiful day outside it still was. Sunny, warm, a cool breeze curling in from the shattered window. He winced when the door shut, felt his legs shake.

"Right. Just business." Sylar's calm was oppressive. The slicked-back, pretty-boy arrogance acting like this was just another day and Sam's life was just a means to an end. He wanted to knock the fucker's shiny teeth in.

"...Don't fuckin' lie to me. You've got options. You just don't fuckin' - care." His shoulders were aching now too, strung out too tense from his martyred pose. "What do you mean?"