Logan mostly ignores the sounds coming from the mirror behind him, though he glances back a couple times to see Eliot hugging it and then again when he curses. His claws skid through the wallpaper and thin metal underneath, until he's carved out a crude door. Eliot was right, he could have used the handle, but at least this way they don't have to worry about the lock.

And it does feel good to stick his claws in something that stays cut.

He peels back the metal of the locker and peers inside at the contents. There's a stack of moldering paper at the bottom, a couple metal clothes hangers and, sitting on a shelf, a heavy glass bottle two thirds full of unmistakable brown-gold liquid.

Logan grins.

"Bingo."

Swiping the bottle of whiskey off the shelf, he turns back to the mirror. Which now shows a slightly tilted view of the wall and ceiling.

"Those magic skills don't include movin' furniture, huh?"