His giving it a name causes her expression to shift, becoming one that's equal parts surprise and concern. That hand on her shoulder is comforting, to a degree, enough to confirm that at least in some capacity, he's really there. Her grip on the knife tightens, her knuckles going white.

"Purgatory," she echoes, as though she'd misheard him. She wishes she had, but she knows better than that. "How did we get here?"

More importantly, it's only fair to ask: "And what else is waiting for us out there?"