That his hand is cold in hers isn't a surprise when he's already said he must have hypothermia, nor does it serve as any kind of deterrent. Karen doesn't know this man, not beyond the name and occupation she's just given him; she doesn't know how he came to be in this state or if he's even someone who should be trusted. Right now, it doesn't matter. Hopefully, the ambulance will be here sooner rather than later, but until then, she doesn't want him to be alone. A small gesture like this seems like the least she can do for him, so she keeps her hand curled gently around his, figuring it's better than nothing.

"It doesn't really mean much here, no," she says, shaking her head, her smile small, rueful. "But I'm from Hell's Kitchen, so it means something to me." It also means she has to be careful, but she can ignore that for the time being. He's hurt, he's barely hanging on; what his allegiances might be aren't important. Besides, they're in a different world now, something she has to try to tell him as carefully as she can.

Taking a deep breath, she continues, "As for how you got here... I don't really know." It's an unsatisfactory answer, but it's the only one she's got. Even for all the explanations people have shared about this place, none of them explain how anyone got here, something that bothers her all the more for the fact that it makes it so hard to describe to someone else. "I turned up out of nowhere. It sounds like it's the same for a lot of people. Which seems crazy, I know, but..."