There's a difference between being alive and it being magical.

[ That's a phrase he didn't think he'd say in his lifetime. And yet here he is, hunting down magical dolls that enjoy mischief. As rational as he's trying to be, that doesn't stop him from being attentive to everything going on around them.

And from flinching again when Annabeth lets out a shrill shriek. ]

If they're trying to corral us they're not doing a good job of it.

[ After all, here they all were in one room while the remaining doll was across the hall. But almost immediately as soon as he says it, a little laugh chitters around them as if it were somehow in here with them when he knows that's impossible. They were dolls. They were just fabric. He straightens himself up, casting a look at the drawstring bag that seems to move just slightly when he does.

Telling himself that it's a figment of his imagination he readies to move the chair out of the way and places his hand on the doorknob. ]

We'll rush into that classroom and shut the door behind us so it can't get out. On the count of three.

[ And at that he holds up his fingers, counting down before flinging the door open and darting across the hallway into the empty classroom. ]