Nothing. No reaction in her face, no glimmer of recognition in her eyes. She doesn't even seem to connect this with what Jo had said a few minutes ago, the name sliding off her consciousness, unable to find purchase even for a moment.

She turns to keep him in her line of sight when he moves, never relaxing her stance, ready to lunge or dodge at a moment's notice.

"I think I'd remember someone who looked like you."

Her heart is beating too fast, the visceral disgust and discomfort of that thing in front of her making it difficult to stay her hand long enough to listen. Ciri's seen plenty of unpleasant things; usually, she can simply push down the fear and horror, prioritize logic and getting herself out of disadvantageous situations. Now, for some reason, it's getting more and more difficult to focus on staying calm.

She doesn't like this. She doesn't want to talk. Her blade wants blood; her fingers itch to use it. To shut this monster up while she still has the chance.

The hesitation doesn't last much longer. When she realizes he's blocking her path, Ciri moves on the offensive once again, rushing him to see if he'll dodge or try to block, or make a grab for her again. This time, she'll be ready.