If it was just darkness and monotony, she might breathe deeper, but nothing about this place is tame; there are only the twists to whatever is thrown in front of them. Subverted assumptions and expectations; like this stupid hallway. They'd both been sure it was a maze, but they'd walked a hell of a long way, in the muffled silence of footfalls and crackling fire, in only the forward direction. One.

No openings. Not cuts between walls sections. Nothing that looks remotely door-like.
Like the thing was refusing to play the game of even being what it was inside the path.

When Geralt pauses, she does, too. No need for a word to stop, but following what he's doing. In step with him. When he looks back. Searching for something. No. Listening for something, to something. Jo doesn't ask at first, trying to focus on just what she can hear—letting her vision slack and her attention shifts only to hearing. And it's super faint. So faint she's not entirely certain she heard it right.

It's the bare breath of a question. "Wolves?"

Then, "Where?" No. Wrong. Where is pointless. "How far away?"