The first he knows of him is the scent of what he's doing. There's a stink to disease, a rotten smell as the cells of the body start misfiring or burning out, dying or duplicating, even before the sickness begins. Logan gets a whiff of it and knows something bad is on its way, even before he turns around.

He's a little surprised about the source. The kid he knows is a little golden god, all promise and sunshine, maybe a bit of an asshole sometimes but not this blackened creature that sneers at him across a dying man.

Logan straightens up, pulling his claws in. He scratches his chin, giving Josh an up-and-down, then turns his head and spits blood onto the floor. It's as much a statement as the hard glint in his eyes.

"I just flew in this morning," he growls. "Call it jet lag."

He flips a hand in Josh's direction. "What the hell happened to you, kid?"