He knows it's her. He knows, and he can't bear to look, because it can't really be her, because she isn't real.

He stares at the wall and breathes out a lungful of smoke. "No," he says quietly. "There's no getting out of here for me. You're not real." He knows he shouldn't be talking to her - it never helps - but he's beyond caring at the moment. It'll hurt all the worse when she inevitably disappears, but it's not like he's not used to pain by now.