Matt had been exploring the place. Getting his bearings, mentally mapping the most significant landmarks by smell and sound. All that got cut short when the cold rolled in, like knives in his senses, turning uncomfortable chill toward deadlier cold.

He doesn't like the physical restriction that comes with winter outerclothes, but it's that or risk losing sensitive fingers to frostbite, or worse. But he also can't just sit idly by when he could be helping, so he folds up his cane and pockets it alongside his glasses, and pulls his knitted beanie down over his eyes.

Nobody here should know Daredevil, but it never hurts to evoke his more helpful alter ego, for himself if nothing else.

"I'm a volunteer," he says, stepping up to the table.