John reached out to her a she passed, fingers brushing over her arm lightly as if he had sensed her distress. He hadn't thought to warn her about how he'd found Sylar, the fact that he was wearing Samuel's face just a footnote in the story as far as he had been concerned, and now he wished he had. He could apologize later, though, if she required one, and he offered her a sympathetic look in spite of how otherwise cold he was, before raising his sword to finish the window.

He stepped back away from it, nearly bumping into Peter who was staring, rapt. Apparently one of them turning into a wolf or a leopard, a crow or a lion, was perfectly alright, but such an overt display of Power was worthy of staring at. John rolled his eyes, grateful that the fool boy didn't express his surprise verbally, and willed himself to move around Peter and over to Sylar, each step heavy, his exhaustion showing. It would be a miracle if he made it through this and didn't pass out at the end, he decided.

"You're welcome to leave, my dear," he said, nudging Sylar (Samuel) with the flat of his sword. "This ... won't be a joy to watch, I can promise you that."