The flight had not been kind. Flights, more accurately, Theodore noted to himself. Canadian permission had been not as kind as he had expected, but apparently, the man named Logan, and nothing else, was a bit of a sore spot for the Canadian government. He'd spent hours on the phone with various analysts, and even a few civilians. Mutants had become a different kind of issue since the emergence of Krakoa. Krakoa had become not unlike Atlantis, or even Wakanda, the analysts had noted; key difference being Atlantis stayed very hidden and isolated, and Wakanda was famously isolated from the wider world community of nations.

Krakoa was geographically isolated, certainly, the closest landmass to it being the Wake Islands in the Pacific. But as a government, it was more active and available. The biggest difference seemed to Theodore to be that unlike Wakanda and Atlantis, their citizens wouldn't just appear in your backyard come puberty and become potential international incidents with a superpowered nation. After one flight in a jetstream, one flight in a bush plane, and one flight in a helicopter by way of the Royal Canadian Mounties, Theodore had the time to process the information.

Jean Grey made less sense in this, but Maria Hill thinking she was central after the Shi'ar demand meant, way he saw it, Grey was connected to New York. Wolverine was scary enough, but Jean Grey had a higher threat designator. The same one given to other beings that could reportedly end the world with a snap of their fingers. Telekinesis was bad enough, but telepathy? Her designator for telepathy was Omega. In the Jeeps on the way up into the arctic forest valley, not too far past the last remnant of civilization in a logger's camp, Theodore hoped he'd see his children again after today. That he wouldn't have his mind twisted into believing he was a dog, barking at the moon, for the rest of his days. 

Just getting to the cabin took parking the Jeeps and hiking much of the rest of the way. In the past day, two more people had slipped past the New York National Guard security perimeter. The number of people who were lost past the boundry was now up to sixteen. Time was waning. The uniformed mountie led the way, two N.S.A. operators flanked him on either side of the cabin door, while Theodore found himself distracted by the smell of cooking. It was later than they thought it would be when they arrived, clearly catching the mutant at a meal. And a call, judging by the sound of a ringing phone coming from the cabin interior. The exterior sound was nothing but wind and the random cracks and creaks and rustle of a forest nearby.

The firm, brief, knock of the uniformed Mountie at the door of the cabin snapped Theodore out of it. "Mr. Logan, this is Officer Longmire of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, I have with me agents of the U.S. government who would very much like a word with you regarding an important situation." 

Theodore thought the Mountie hid it very well: the terror and fear of knocking on that door, knowing how powerless any of them were should this mutant rampage, or simply take violent exception to their presence. Theodore had seen metahumans 'teach' officers of the law lessons before. Official funerals were always the worst ways to say goodbye to old colleagues. The sound was nothing; no immediate reply. The smell of dinner seemed to get stronger, but the only noise was that of wind and forest around.

Until that phone started ringing again.

Was someone trying to warn him?

After a few minutes, the Mountie looked back at Theodore. He shrugged at the man, and made the knocking motion. After a long stare, the Mountie slowly turned around, and gathered his courage to knock again.