Sullivan hears this, but doesn't pry. Professional courtesy amongst the lost and the damned.

They head down to the first floor, and then stop at a particularly dark patch of shadows, bending down and beginning to fiddle with a giant turning wheel as they mutter to themselves.

"Now, this was supposed to be a bunker and safe against these sorts of effects, let's see how that panned out... at least I got a good stress test..."

There is a release of air and the sound of a giant door slowly creaking open. It smells... wrong. Like someone mixed too many schools of magic and fiddled with things they shouldn't have. So, probably home-y.