Logan raises his eyebrows a little at the 'not too much trouble', but the kid seems to know what he's talking about. And he's been stuck between these goddamn rooms and falling through an ice storm too many times to shrug off a way out that might actually work.

So he pulls himself back to his feet with a groan and picks up the mirror -- noting again the warmth, the stay right here pull as he gets closer to it -- and carries it over to the far wall. He's not particularly careful to make sure Eliot has a good view, which is likely mostly of his stomach and upper thighs in all of their ripped-blood-splattered-spandex glory.

There's a dusty armchair roughly opposite the point on the wall that Eliot had been indicating, which Logan sets the mirror on. He walks over to the wall and sets his palm to it, sweeping it across in an arc.

"Can't feel anythin' here, bub. Though.." He pauses, frowning. Knocks on the wall with his knuckles. "Guess you were right, Sparky. There's somethin' under here." He pops a single claw and begins digging it into the wall.