Conversations were occurring and ending, bonds were being formed, social dynamics were being established, and Ian was simply present. A lack of meaningful interaction was par for the course since his interment, this being the single possible ripple in his pond of placidity. He would have appreciated someone to chew the fat with, but most of his fellow inmates seemed unapproachable, dangerous, or dull, none of which make for a good debate partner. He supposed he would have to wait for a while before making himself evident, at which point he would reveal his ability. There was no sense in doing so prematurely, as that would likely become more of a spectacle than he would desire.
Leaning awkwardly against his cane, he removed his journal and penned a paragraph or so to himself on the topic. His journal had rapidly filled with notes of this sort, serving to aid him in navigating a perilous climate. Some detailed schedules, guard rotations, prisoner habits, etc. Others expounded theories as to where the hospital was located, who might own it, and why they felt the need to incarcerate the supernatural.