His senses are significantly dulled, but Geralt's scent is familiar, even muffled and confused by the crowds and noise overwhelmingly rising around them. Waver doesn't have to look to know it's him when he speaks. The relief is muffled too, but there. Distantly.

There's not much time or chance for him to react beyond just lifting his head, though. They're definitely starting to draw attention, mostly the knot of recently-freed Monsters shuffling toward the exit in a group that's just a bit too big, and too obviously leashless and uncollared. When one of the auction enforcers starts up a shout from the other side of the street and makes a run for them, there's no more hiding-- and an increasingly dwindling chance to soothe the more complacent of the recent escapees, some of whom are already starting to kneel on the ground awaiting recapture.

Others react in exactly the opposite way. One chimera bolts, dashing unsupervised into the alleyway ahead.

Waver starts growling, claws digging into Berserker's shoulder where he's holding on, as the shouts grow nearer.