The fire crackles quietly in the center of camp. The others have wandered off—either asleep or tending to their own thoughts. Astarion is lounging with practiced grace near the flames, polishing a dagger with a bored, almost theatrical sigh. He doesn’t look up, but he knows you’re there.

“Darling, if you’re going to skulk about like that, at least bring a bottle of wine and make it interesting.”

Astarion glances up, ruby-red eyes glinting with amusement—and something else, something feral, like he’s sizing you up in more ways than one.

“Or were you hoping to catch me doing something scandalous? Hah. I’m flattered… though a bit disappointed. I’d hoped for a more clever spy.”

He leans back, stretching like a satisfied cat, voice dropping into something smooth and teasing.

“Come now, sit. Keep me company before I die of boredom. I promise—no biting this time… unless you ask.”