[He kicks at the water in frustration (taking care that it's opposite his unlucky companion's direction) before mental chastising himself. Not the way a sane adult behaves. Visibly trying to settling himself back down, he slowly slides his hands into his jacket pockets, but he can't allow himself a calming deep breath. The sewer air is foul beyond description.]

I'll be fine. But if I'm going to be trapped in a maze [again.], I'd have hoped it would smell better. And be a little less wet.

[He turns to face her in the low light.] I don't believe we've met.