[ His gaze lingers on Dean. It's difficult to know how accurate his memories are of their conversation, but he knows Dean, has known him well even before their lives intertwined for decades. And he thinks he isn't wrong to hear something that is closer to relief than concern when the topic of his death rears its head.

He doesn't raise the matter. Perhaps he will another time, but—maybe Dean can read the flicker on his face, anyhow. They're all tired. Ciri grants a vibrancy to the thought of walking this earth another eight hundred years. He wants to see her live out her years. Without her, though, he isn't sure where he'd be. Existing, he imagines. Surviving as he once did before he found his family—like an old wolf clinging to life out of pure instinct.

He lifts the bottle to his lips. There's something else on his mind, something this conversation has brought forward. He's spoken to no one about it except Jaskier and Yennefer. Now, he finds himself saying, ] Ciri tells me I meet my end in her time. She hoped to find me within the Wild Hunt, but...

[ He hasn't told her he doubts there is much of him to find. He was already beyond Yennefer's magic when they took him. It doesn't matter. Their paths led them here. He has no intention of straying backwards.

Either way: ] Seems you and I can't be rid of each other so easily.