He feels his limbs involuntarily stiffen the moment he rounds the corner. His breath hitches, too, and he doesn't realize the amount of dread that's creeped up until now. It hits him full force, sudden and impactful, causing his jaw to tighten and his gaze to harden.

This is a dream, he tells himself. This might just be all his subconscious. Before he fully approaches the mirror, though, wary and with his guard up, he wants to make sure. It's an old trick they're taught at Brakebills--he puts his palm out and tries to poke his finger through, lighter flickering as it moves. If it's a lucid dream he can control, time will stop--if it's not, this mirror and this place is something else, and Quentin's going to have to inspect it.

He's not surprised when it doesn't work. It sets him even more on edge, and he puts one hand behind his back as he approaches it, fingers curled and ready to cast.