Geralt stood in the doorway for a moment as he had in the last room, taking stock. There was the source of the shattering that he'd heard, no doubt; the room was awash in the smell of whiskey. If Jaskier was here he didn't stink as badly as the liquor did. Geralt's face pulled into a slight snarl for how it stung his nose as he moved into the study. The curtains had been drawn... but there was movement. Was the bard back there, shivering? All Geralt could hear were the waves outside.

A few long, striking steps brought him to the window and Geralt yanked the entire leftside curtain off the hooks with a sharp motion. It fell quickly under the weight of its own lux fabric, the metal hangers that had held it hitting the floor with tiny, tinny noises; there was nothing behind except the nailed portions of the planking used to cover the window-- and the single, broken board at the bottom. The draft had been moving the curtain. Geralt kicked at the next board up, splintering it in half and then pried the two above it out by mean force, chucking them out toward the darkness beyond. Leaning into the wind, salt spray hitting his face, the witcher leaned out of the window enough to check the narrow ledge on either side of the window.

It was a long way down, after all, and bards couldn't fly.