His medallion shivers against his chest. He reaches for it, automatic, his eyes fixed on Ciri. She doesn't answer him—pulls away from him so violently he lets her go without a second thought, startled.

He doesn't step back, but he doesn't move forward.

"Ciri—"

His gaze cuts to Dean. It isn't accusing, though there's an edge to it beneath the obvious question: worry, trepidation, uncertainty. Dean was the last one who saw her, has been with her this entire time. And if there's something Dean knows which he does not, he expects to hear it now.