He runs a hand through his hair, the flat side now sticking out all over the place like the messy side. I can’t help thinking he looks like an anime character, but I don’t dare share my observation, lest he decides to throw me bodily from his room.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Again, it’s all about intent, so as long as I focus, I should—hypothetically—be able to do it.”

Hypothetically. Theoretically. Neither words inspire much confidence, but I’m willing to try if he is.

I shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

I meant it as a semi-joking rhetorical question, but there’s nothing humorous in his expression when he answers, “You could get trapped in your own mind and fall into a coma, never to awaken.”

I stare at him, then choke out, “Seriously?”

He waves a hand in the air, “Don’t worry. The risk is small— maybe twenty percent.”

Twenty percent? He considers that small?

“That’s a one-in-five chance, Smith!” I cry, somewhat shrilly.

“Which means there’s a four-in-five chance that you’ll be fine,” he returns. His gaze locks on mine. “You said this is important—it’s up to you to decide if you’re willing to take that risk.”

I close my eyes, calming myself. I don’t have to think about my answer. I came here for a reason, and I’m going to see it through.

“Let’s do it.”

Smith watches me carefully as if waiting for me to change my mind, but then he gives a satisfied nod and gestures for me to hold his hand. It feels weird even if there’s nothing remotely intimate about our positions.

He must sense my discomfort, because he says, “This helps anchor me to you. Helps me focus. Usually I can project people on their own, but sometimes I have to travel along with them. In this case, since you don’t know where you want to go, the risk of you getting lost along the way will be lessened if I’m with you.”

I read into that and say, “But won’t that mean you risk getting trapped in my mind with me?”

He pulls a face. “Believe me, it’s not an ideal situation. But if I’m not there to pull you back out, the odds jump to fifty percent.”

My heart gives a panicked thump. I swallow against my suddenly dry throat, gripping his hand more tightly than before, no longer caring about how strange it feels.

“Right,” I say, somewhat hoarsely. “Let’s stick with the twenty percent.”