{Chapter: 195 - The Sound of Fear}
Sarah stood at the threshold of the boutique hotel, her eyes tracing the sleek glass façade that reflected the city lights. The earlier conversation with Aiden still clung to her mind like fog on a window. She couldn't shake the image of him, leaning back so casually in that plush armchair, his voice dipped in a smooth, almost playful tone—calling her secretary. The word echoed in her skull like a mocking whisper.
"Secretary?" she murmured under her breath. Her lips curled with something between disbelief and amusement. "Was that some kind of twisted job interview?"
Turning on her heel, she walked away from the building, her boots clicking sharply against the pavement.
Despite her abilities—her power—Sarah lived a remarkably mundane life in the city. She had chosen a modest apartment in Manhattan's Upper West Side. Not because she couldn't afford better. Quite the opposite—she could have easily manipulated any number of people into giving her a penthouse, even a mansion upstate if she wanted. But there was a difference between having power and using it freely.
She didn't crave attention or chaos. She craved… silence. Control. A quiet, personal sense of safety.
Her apartment was small, but neat. Sparse in decoration, save for a few books on psychology and hypnosis, and an incense burner she rarely used. The walls were a soft beige, the couch an olive green. A small kitchen peeked out from one corner. For someone who could subtly bend minds to her will, it was humble living.
That night, after changing into cotton pajamas and tying her hair up in a loose bun, she lay sprawled on her bed, her head buried in a pillow as thoughts raced. She couldn't sleep. Aiden's words kept replaying in her mind.
He wasn't just another enhanced individual. He was calm, composed—too calm for someone claiming to be able to steal powers. His demeanor was polished, layered. Dangerous.
Still, there was something about him that intrigued her. Most people—especially men—either feared her or tried to dominate her. Aiden did neither. He offered her a position, yes, but he also suggested something darker beneath his playful tone. A test? A power play? She didn't know.
And the truth was—she didn't really have a direction in life. She wandered through it. Most days were filled with meaningless errands, and the occasional thrill of practicing hypnosis on difficult minds. That was it.
Maybe working with someone like Aiden would give her purpose. Or at least break the monotony.
"Can't be worse than this," she whispered.
Just then—click.
Her brows furrowed.
A sound.
Not loud, but sharp.
Click. Scrape. Twist.
Someone was picking her lock.
Sarah sat upright in bed, completely still. Her instincts kicked in, honed from years of not trusting people. She didn't panic. Instead, she quietly slid off the bed and tiptoed toward the door, her bare feet silent against the wood floor. Pressing her back against the wall near the hallway, she waited, listening.
Another sharp click. A jiggle of the handle. The lock gave way.
Her breath caught.
Not a thief. Not a junkie. Too methodical.
And then she remembered Aiden's warning.
Sylar.
The name sent a chill down her spine. The boogeyman of the evolved. A monster who didn't just kill—he took. He made your ability his own, and left you a lifeless husk. Aiden said Sylar's method was brutal. That once Sylar set his eyes on you, escape was nearly impossible.
Could he already be here? For me?
Sarah didn't wait to find out.
She darted back into her bedroom and quietly shut the door behind her, locking it quickly. The soft metallic click felt pathetically thin against what she feared was outside.
Then—BANG!
The front door crashed open, slamming against the wall. The sound echoed through the apartment like a thunderclap. She winced.
Heavy footsteps.
He's inside.
Her hands trembled, and she forced herself to breathe through her nose. Stay calm. Think.
Sylar's silhouette loomed as he passed by the hallway—tall, confident, predatory. He didn't sneak or tiptoe. No, he stalked. Like a lion who had already caught the scent.
Then he turned.
He was heading straight toward her bedroom.
Sarah backed away, eyes darting around the room for a weapon. She grabbed a metal rod—the detachable leg of a folded clothes rack—and clutched it tightly.
The knob jiggled.
Then—CRASH!
A floor lamp, heavy and old-fashioned, slammed against the door from the other side. Wood splintered with the first blow. A second crash followed. The door wouldn't hold long.
"Who are you? Why did you come to my home!?" she shouted, knowing the question was pointless.
Silence.
Then a calm, deep voice.
"You know who I am," Sylar said from the other side. "You're stalling. He told you about me… didn't he?"
Sarah's heart thudded.
He means Aiden.
"I'm curious," Sylar continued, his voice like a blade sheathing itself in velvet. "Why didn't he take your ability? He's usually more… pragmatic."
Sarah swallowed hard. Her mind raced.
Lie. Distract him.
"You're too late," she said loudly. "I'm already with him. Aiden's my boss now. If he finds out about this, you're dead."
She didn't know if it would work. But she hoped Sylar respected power. Or at least feared someone stronger.
"I see," came his voice, slightly amused. "Is that your defense? Name-dropping a stronger predator?"
She took a deep breath and tried a different tactic. Her voice dropped into a soft, rhythmic tone. Measured. Focused.
"Why don't you sit down, Sylar… Just for a moment. You've had a long day. Let's… talk."
She activated her ability—hypnotic suggestion, laced into her words like silk threads. Invisible. Subtle. She felt the shift in her voice, the resonance she had practiced for years.
Silence.
Then—laughter.
"You're trying to hypnotize me?" Sylar said, amused. "Cute. But I came prepared."
From the splintering door, she could now see a shadow—then the glint of earbuds in his ears.
Damn it. He's blocking the sound.
"Sound's only part of it," she snapped, bluffing. "Even your heartbeat can betray you."
But Sylar just kept hammering the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"I'm taking your ability, Sarah," he said. "You won't need it anymore."
Her fingers tightened around the metal rod.
She was scared—more scared than she had been in years.
BANG!
The door didn't creak or groan—it shattered. The lock exploded inwards, wood splintering in all directions. A sofa—her sofa—came flying in like a wrecking ball and slammed against the far wall with a hollow thud that reverberated through the apartment.
Sarah screamed, stumbling back, heart pounding in her throat. She instinctively ducked into the farthest corner of her bedroom, her body shivering from the cold rush of adrenaline. Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw the figure that stepped through the destroyed entrance.
Sylar.
He stood tall, composed, with the calm of a killer who had done this too many times. He brushed imaginary dust off the sleeve of his jacket and looked around like he was inspecting a new home. His lips twisted into a smirk when his eyes found Sarah, huddled and wide-eyed.
"Well," he said smoothly, pulling the earbuds slightly from his ears just enough to hear her shallow breathing. "Didn't expect you to be awake. That makes this… better."
Sarah's gaze fell on the earphones dangling from his ears. Clever bastard. He was prepared. Her only real defense—her voice—had already been neutralized.
"You already know that won't work on me," Sylar said, reading her thoughts without needing telepathy. "Your hypnotic voice? Lovely, really. But I've studied enough abilities to know better than to walk in blind."
Sarah scrambled to her feet but stumbled as he made a sharp upward motion with his hand.
"No." she gasped.
Her body jerked off the floor. Invisible fingers closed around her ankle and yanked her skyward. She flipped midair like a ragdoll, then hung suspended, struggling, helpless, upside down.
"It's always the quiet ones who think they're safe behind locked doors and little talents," Sylar said, pacing slowly beneath her. "But you should know something about me, Sarah—I don't knock to be polite. I knock to say hello before I break things."
He stopped directly below her, tilting his head in a curious, almost childlike manner. "Your voice. It's not just sound, is it? There's frequency, cadence, a biological compulsion. You override instinct. Fascinating. I wonder what part of the brain holds that gift…"
He extended a finger toward her temple, eyes gleaming with dark purpose. "Let's find out."
"No!" she cried, struggling harder, voice cracking with terror. "Please don't—!"
"Shhh," he whispered, like a twisted lullaby. "Let's not make this dramatic. You have no idea how many gifts I've unwrapped this way. I'm really quite good at it. And your boss won't be coming to save you."
Sarah closed her eyes. The panic in her chest threatened to choke her. She should have stayed in the hotel. Should have accepted the job. Should have trusted Aiden.
But it was too late.
BOOM!
The wall exploded behind Sylar, not from flame or debris—but from a concussive force of hard light, shimmering in a strange, dark green hue. Sylar's body was ripped from the ground and thrown violently across the room like a broken marionette, crashing through the drywall and embedding into the concrete.
Sarah fell. Instead of hitting the ground, her body was gently caught in a cradle of the same dark green light. She blinked in confusion, her mind foggy with disbelief.
"Boss…?" she whispered, barely able to process what was happening.
Standing in the ruined threshold was Aiden—cool, composed, and faintly annoyed. He stepped in slowly, surveying the wreckage like someone inspecting a spilled drink.
"Looks like I showed up just in time," he said, brushing his coat sleeve. "Didn't expect the place to be redecorated, though."
Sarah floated down to the ground gently as Aiden dismissed the energy holding her.
She ran to him, voice rising with urgency. "Why are you late?! Did you know I was in danger?!"
Aiden offered a faint smirk. "Late? You're alive, aren't you?"
He walked forward, passing her with calm confidence, and glanced at Sylar's twitching figure embedded in the wall. "Besides, I knew where you were the whole time."
Sarah blinked, confused. "How?"
He gestured vaguely toward his temple. "One of my abilities came back after you left. A little trick I call Positioning. Think of it like having a map for every living person I've ever met. You moved—so I checked. Then I noticed Sylar was at the same place."
Aiden said with a smile. In fact, it was also a coincidence. After Sarah left, Aiden found that one of his abilities was restored.
Positioning ability!
So he conveniently looked at her position and knew her address then he casually located Sylar and both of them were In the same place and he reacted instantly and hurriedly came over.
The result was that he arrived just in time.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"And that's when I stopped taking my time."
Sarah, shaken and still clinging to the adrenaline high, looked at him in awe. "You really came for me."
"I said you'd make a good secretary," he replied, not bothering to look at her. "I don't replace staff before they clock in."
Sylar groaned.
Aiden finally turned his full attention toward the killer.
"You know," he said, voice low and unreadable. "Gabriel Gray. The watchmaker who couldn't stay in his lane. I really admire you, if I was you I'd definitely hide far away. Although I would still know where you are, you could at least live for one more day. Unfortunately you ran into me."
Sylar spat blood onto the floor. "I'm not scared of you."
"You're a predator, Sylar," Aiden said, still walking closer. "But you're also predictable. You obsess over powers, over understanding. That's why you're weak. Because people like me?" He lifted his hand. The green aura flared, crackling. "We don't care about understanding. We control."
Sylar screamed as the energy coiled around him, locking him in place.
Aiden looked down at him and sighed. "I'd let you live, but that would require me believing you'd learn something."
Sylar gritted his teeth. "You think you're better than me?"
"No," Aiden said, narrowing his eyes. "I know I am."