Jo's brow wrinkles at that, still too sharp in that anger, but it's not what she expected. It's a disturbing lack of parallels. He turns away, again, toward that wall, looking for something, but his voice is quieter. She wouldn't call it soft, but it's lost the matching disgusted bitterness looming over her or that black-eyed rage slamming her into a wall.

He pulls a lever, and the sound of stones groaning and grinding somewhere far off is ominous, rumbling through the walls and the floor. The darkness stretches beyond and down that only one side she hasn't paid enough attention to look at, which is absolutely on her. She's not standing close to him, but there's no way to get further away from him in this space.

"You've got to be kidding. You have a dark, creepy rat-race maze under that—" And Jo does have an ounce of compromising preservation inside her disgust every once in a while. "—room, too?"