He sighed, and didn’t deny it. “He wouldn’t thank me. He doesn’t want to go back. I don’t blame him. I would rather die here than go back into that moment—assuming there’s even anything to go back to.” “He’s twelve. He doesn’t get to choose.” “Yes. He does. He’s twelve, and he’s not real, and he’s nothing but anger and fear, but unless he’s a danger, he still gets to choose. He’s no danger to anyone at the moment.”
