The nickname raises his eyebrow until he catches a glimpse of that young reflection himself. It's tempting at first to keep where he stands and not offer up a more accurate look at himself. But he's trying not to be quite so much of an unknown. Even if it goes against his better judgment.

"I grow into it," he says. There's resignation in his voice as he steps around one of those mirrored corners and the reflections move with him, revealing him in from perspectives.

In another reflection there's man, mostly naked, save for a patchwork of tech and wires strapped around his body. That one looks at her from beneath a red eyepiece attached to the hardware on his head. In another there's a mangled beastly thing with more scar tissues than facial features that barely looks capable of standing upright on its hind quarters. In another, there's an ordinary looking man in Buffalo plaid and steel toe boots. Every instance of Logan's reflection is wildly different from the last save for the pale blue eyes.

He looks at her a long moment and then reaches out to touch one of the mirrors near him, just to confirm he's looking at the right version of her.

"There's an exit somewhere that way," he points. "The smell of stale popcorn and fryer grease gets stronger. But I ain't found the right path."