Myr hasn't thought so far ahead as to what it will be like when they get inside the warehouse and find whatever's rotting there. He's consciously avoiding imagining that--because the reek of decaying corpse isn't as unfamiliar as it should be, because scent is the handmaiden of memory and dread follows after it. (Still, he's pale, uncomfortable, breathing as shallow as he can make it without risking lightheadedness.)

Focus on the here and now. Don't let it overwhelm you. You're needed. "What can I do?" Not "what are they"; he's far enough out of his depth that he's sure he wouldn't know a good idea from a bad one. Point him in the right direction with clear instructions, though...