The doors were shut behind him. The yellow of Geralt's eyes gave a slow shudder-- larger, smaller, almost a feral sort of heartbeat-- as he came through the shafts of light. There was no reaction to the husks that lined the space, the gentle breathing of the still people that echoed the ebb and tide of the ocean. Geralt's did as well, but unlike these party guests, he clearly felt no need to stand in one place; if they were the line of the shore than he was the tide, stretching ever forward, reaching, ready to devour.

"Nothing? Where's your sense of adventure, Jaskier!?" Geralt moved between those bodies as if he were water slipping through pylons, his body twisting with a sinuous grace to avoid elbows and shoulders entirely even as he kept his pace. The bard was here. There were two other sets of doors in the grand room but there were as large as the first, almost scraping the ceiling, and Geralt would have noticed if any of them had been opened. "Perhaps you should have named yourself after a bird instead of a flower." His voice echoed, bouncing against the high ceiling. "Since all your songs fall so quiet the moment something bigger comes along. Come out, Jaskier. Face your punishment."

Geralt lunged at a shadow near the harpsichord and found nothing, just a trick of the light. Growling he spun and resumed the hunt.