Quentin has spent the entire afternoon upping his own strength and speed and perception of the passage of time. Even the air in the room is a little richer. He crosses the space between them in a single leap, grabs him by the shoulder with one hand, the hair at the nape of his neck with the other, and drags him back and away from the exit like he's a ragdoll.

Quentin minds his neck, but definitely throws him down onto the bed, all without a word.