Paul notices the eagle before the man. Omen or not, her silhouette catches his attention, and he takes a few short, habitually light steps down the shadowed stacks he's perusing.

This brings the stranger, and his books, into line of sight. Paul notes that he doesn't look up, though his pause acknowledges the presence of another. He's armed, which could mean an array of things, as could his practical garb suited for a different clime, as could the titles of the books he's chosen. It's the intersections of factors that produce a best approximation of the true remaining possibilities.

Paul takes another step, his black hood shading his face, knives unobstrusive but not hidden under the trailing edges of his summer jacket.

"Newly arrived?" He ventures, in something more informed than a guess.