[ The door inches open. Geralt peers through it, taking Alina in: the heavy cloak of misery that hangs over her. She looks like shit. Concern passes over his face. For a second, it appears he wants to say something before he leaves it be. He knows she has Sam, who's far better equipped to look after how she's doing. Geralt's skillset lies elsewhere.

So he nods, wordless. Yeah. He does. He waits for her to let him in before stepping through, though he doesn't go too far in. Habit, almost; few let him into their homes and most who do don't intend for him to stay long. He perches on the window's ledge instead, close to the door.

He need not tell her he hasn't got promising news. He can see she already knows. It bothers him, getting nowhere. More than usual, that is. Because he knows her. He's getting to know her and Sam, and he'd been familiar with Mal. They aren't wary strangers from a small village, handing him some coin to solve their problems and expecting to never see him again when it's over. It feels, distinctly, like he owes them more. ]

I wanted to talk to you. About Mal. [ He shifts his gaze towards her. He's got a few things he's learned, but he wants to hear from her first before he gets there. ] Had he said anything to you? Something he may have come across that wasn't right? Someone he spoke to?

[ What concerns him is not that he didn't find a proper trail. It's that he physically can't. Mal is not merely missing, didn't just run into trouble past the city limits and couldn't make it back. Something happened to him to remove him without a trace. ]