Jo had stopped rubbing her forehead with her fingers, just looking at the mottled stains on her palm, her fingers, a mess getting itself everywhere, and one not likely to be done with itself if this place had anything to do with it. She lets it fall back to a similarly grim-soaked pant leg over her knee before tilting her head against the wall to look in his direction.

This might be the longest they've been civil.

"Think you're a little late on that pearl of wisdom."

It's already a half-debate whether she should say she's fine now;
they can get up and keep going now. Take whatever the fuck else it wants to try.