Jaskier stood stock still among the gathered bodies--had they not been here, he would have faced an empty room and been caught out in an instant. Geralt moved through the shadows, wove through the crowd, shouted and taunted in a way that was far more like the witch than the Witcher. Jaskier was terrified--he would be a fool not to be--but he couldn't let it glue his feet to the floor.

Geralt would find him.

It took far too long for Jaskier's eyes to adjust, to pick up the shape of the heavy rope that trailed down from the chandelier above. He might've imagined it, truth be told, but it was his only available course of action. Geralt lunged at the harsichord and Jaskier moved, nimble feet treading as quietly as he could toward the banquet table and the hook that anchored that rope.