"Claire," he said softly, dropping his hands down to hold hers, his hazel eyes locked on her blues. "Listen, please." Mentally, he could feel the connection with Nathan muted; Peter closed it further to avoid his brother accidentally overhearing this conversation.
When he felt reasonably sure she wasn't going to bolt, Peter looked downwards, letting out a breath to try and line up his thoughts. "If anyone has reason to hate Nathan Petrelli, it would be me. He hid who he was, he lied to me, he knew that... that the explosion would happen. He knew, and he didn't tell me." Peter didn't want to hold back any information, but telling her the truth about the bomb... it would be too much.
"You know what happened after. The Linderman Act. The curfews. Travel restrictions, educational constraints." Peter shook his head. "I wasn't there. I don't know when, but early on. We lost track of Candice. She was an illusionist. We thought she'd just... done what she does best. I didn't find out for a long time that it was him. Sylar survived the explosion. He killed Candice, and then he killed Nathan."
Those words still hurt to say. His hands tightened their grip for a moment. "He killed Nathan, and he did all of it. Pretended to be the President so he could round us up for the fresh pickings."