Lucky, then, that Geralt has no such qualms. He's too old for games, too old to care about egos. When he's done, he's done. He's already getting up to leave. If Estinien gets in his way, he'll only be met with a blank stare—a hint of tired of this horseshit. And he is fucking tired. He heard her out once, Renfri. And it'd meant something to him, and then he'd put a blade in her throat. So where does that leave him now?

Sure as hell not in a position where he wants to understand a man he'll likely cross swords with in the future. Estinien has his reasons; that isn't in doubt. They all do. People do not become so unyielding without something deeply set inside to burn that flame. They don't doggedly cling to a conversation that obviously isn't happening, when it would be easier to end it and move on. Geralt has his reasons, too, for holding little desire to open himself up to someone he can't make promises to. He doesn't want to hear the desperation. It's already far too much that he knows the people who are important to Estinien. Had once said he'd look after them. It's beginning to feel complicated when the reality remains starkly simple: either they steer clear of each other or one of them won't walk away. And it doesn't appear Estinien wants the former.

So no. He isn't staying to hear anything else. If Estinien chooses to come up against those closest to him, then it won't matter how much or how little Geralt understands him or his reasons. He already knows what he'll do.

Regardless of if he has an elf in his path or not, Geralt will go in whichever direction is clear—and if there's no door existing, there will be one, emerging in one of the scuffed, scarred walls. Only a brief pause stops him, despite himself. He does not look back.

"I can't help you." He pushes the door open. Follow him out, and there'll be nothing but bones on the ground. No footprints in the snow. "Find someone better."