"Slightly inconvenient." Sylar paced forward, following the sound of her breathing and her heart. "That's all." He bent down, sending more ice toward her, trying to imagine cuffs and restraints of ice, to encase her and keep her docile.

In a way, he admired her-- what was the word? Spunk? Whatever. Give her credit for not whining, or crying, or saying 'you won't get away with this'! "One more second..."