The darkness is suffocating. Even he struggles to see without a single pinpoint of light to aid him—or perhaps that's simply a feature of the Horizon. Of where they're trapped. He isn't thinking about it, because he isn't thinking about much at all except not being here.

He slams his palm against the wall—trying to knock something loose or sheer frustration, it's difficult to say. The crack is sharp; the sting drags his attention back to reality. In time to hear Jo speak, reminding him that she's here.

He takes a deep breath, and the smell immediately roils his stomach.

"It's not real." That isn't an answer. He might not even be talking to her, but it isn't. None of this can be real.

He closes his eyes. Imagines a door. A hole in the wall. Nothing. Not even a doorknob.

He's so fucking done with this place. His head hurts; his eyes are beginning to burn like they've been dipped in hot coals. It's his imagination, probably, but he can't shake it. For the first time in a long while, he doesn't know what to do. The dawning realization that they've no choice except to wait this out grips him. He does not want to sit and wait. He's not certain he can. And the fact that Jo is with him is—

His fingers dig into his palm. Like he's trying to stop himself from clawing through the stone itself. "There has to be a way out."