Athena doesn't just roll her eyes. She rolls her head on her shoulders along with them, the picture of teenage exasperation. Teenage exasperation that seems shockingly unbothered by his current state.

"Right, got it. Ugh, grunt, no weakness, fuck emotions, probably." She trails after him, back out into the snow, hunching into her hoodie a little more as she tries to pretend she's not cold.

The biting feeling with no coat to hide in is brutally familiar, taking her back to the previous winter in Philadelphia and the shock of finding someone she knew dead from exposure near the Walt Whitman Bridge. Athena bites her lips together, a nervous tic, and trots to catch up with Logan and stay abreast. The keeping up part isn't hard. He's limping.

"Okay, well, I can either call you Julienne Fred or you can give me an actual name and I can maybe help you clean up. I'm Athena. And I don't think the stores here are going to have jackshit to take care of those... cuts."

Cuts doesn't seem like a strong enough word, but it's what she's got.