Given the fact she tucked away the book, Logan was going to guess she wasn't keen on sharing. If he'd been in less of a mood, he might've been more curious; as it was, he was of the mind that everyone had their own business and none of it was his.
"Elsewhere," he echoed as he glanced down to her attire which indicated (to him, at any rate) that elsewhere was something of a given. "You could probably still be a writer here," he pointed out. Writing, after all, was one of those skills that tended to carry. Granted, she'd probably have to adjust her style, maybe the vocabulary, but otherwise he thought it would be a viable side job. Not that what she did or didn't do was any of his concern; he was just making suggestions.
He shook his head, glancing the direction he'd been walking. "I didn't have any plans," he assured her quietly. "Just assessing the layout, and I can do that any time." Later, tomorrow, whenever. It would still be here. He paused for a second or two before he shifted closer to extend a hand to her. "Logan," he introduced himself. "I'm ..." he almost grimaced, almost winced, and the corners of his eyes did crinkle a little. "The knife thrower," he managed. There was a hint of distaste in his voice, but there wasn't much of anything about this place that sat well with him, least of all his assigned job.