When prospective opponents do not immediately take the bait, Logan gets out of the cage at the gesture from the guy who's overseeing this particular tournament. No sense in arguing, not when his cash is likely to be held back for starting trouble, so he shoulders his way out the gate to collect his fistful of money and be on his way.

Thoughts of going for an exit versus the bar are shattered promptly, though, when instinct overrides and he finds himself turning his head towards where a scent catches familiar. A human scent and therefore unspecial, except for in here, when it happens to be uniquely individual, and out there, where he's picked up traces of it before in his paranoia that seems to operate entirely removed from him consciously. Which is a good thing it does, considering what he does on his own time these days.

Anyway. There's a guy being followed by some other guy. Either the first guy is oblivious to this, or his nonconcern is as eerie as his own (what appears to be like) apathy to the adrenaline charged environment of the bar.

Logan picks up his jacket as he goes to doggedly follow.