Riddles, unfortunately, are something of a necessity when there's an enemy telepath in play— something Kylo knows more than a little about. He watches Geralt's painful progress impassively despite the echoes of Yennefer's carefully padded distress still singing in his synapses, though he isn't quite so practiced at controlling his expression without the aid of his fearsome helmet to hide his intent entirely. He's pleased with Geralt's response, with the indication of understanding even through the haze of what is clearly considerable pain.

"I'm not," Kylo agrees, and then, crouching to put their eyes at a level, he adds with his usual, trademark over-intensity: "We both know I wouldn't be here without purpose. But I suggest you gather your strength, Geralt. You never know when you might need it most."

Plans, Kylo attempts to impress upon him with the steadiness of his gaze, are in motion. The Queen is far from the only player on the field. All Geralt needs to do now is hold on until a way out is secured.