[ The lack of a reply to his statement says something Geralt is not yet sure of, but which he finds himself putting away in the back of his mind. He leaves it be, finishes moving the table into place. It's sturdy when he leans his weight on it. Good enough. There are two tables that now sit upright, pieced back together, and though the wood is splintered and broken in places, it holds.

He rests his palms on the table, looking up at Sam. There is the smallest curve to his lips: ironic, almost. Like he appreciates the sentiment, the warning, but it also isn't necessary. ] Sam. If I didn't want to be involved, I wouldn't be.

[ Sam can handle it on his own. And if Geralt found no good reason to step into the mud, he'd be perfectly willing to let Sam do so. But things are more complicated now because he wants to keep Ciri safe. Ciri, Jaskier. Rinwell. He isn't worried about Goro. Not like that. If Goro wants to make things personal, he can try; he'd hardly be the first—but the Cities. That's another matter. He can take care of one bloodthirsty ogre. Wars and hungry mobs are not so simple.

A beat passes, followed by a sigh. ] I brought Ciri to Kaer Morhen to keep her safe. I thought merely being in these walls would be enough. [ He does not say I was wrong. Sam can see from the state of it, exactly how fucking wrong he was. ] If something in this world is shifting, I don't intend to miss the signs again.