[ If everyone is going to answer questions with non-responses-- ]

Does it matter?

[ Sylar twists a little in his chair, an attempt to visually follow the path of the plastic tubing, unable to get a sense of where it disappears behind him as leather and metal stops him short. He turns his attention back to Kavinsky. This kid, honestly.

(He isn't immune, his own heart going at an odd tempo. This kid has something dripping into Sylar's veins that is making him weak. A monkey with a gun is still a monkey, and still has a gun.) ]

You don't strike me as a romantic. Or like a very interested friend. You knew it was me that killed her, and what'd you do about it, Joseph.