She sounds like Ciri, but it is not. It can't be, because he's seen her look at him with so many expressions that have wrenched his heart: fear, rage, frustration, disappointment, shame. But she has never looked at him with such emptiness.

Except the once. When Voleth Meir invaded her mind.

The blade forms in her hand, bone and ivory. His gaze grows sharp. (Where—?)

No. That's not possible. And why should a demon give a shit about defending another human? Dean is right. This place. It's fucking with them. Nothing about it is meant to make sense beyond that. Logic tells him none of this is real, and yet it is. The sting from the reminder of that night, when so much of his fucking world fell apart, is real. That ever-present fear he will lose her is real.

He looks at Dean, and slowly shakes his head: whatever is happening, he doesn't think either Dean's nor Jo's interference will help.

Instead, he crouches down, gently laying down his dagger and sliding it away.

"Ciri, look at me. I'm not going to hurt you."