Now everyone was looking at you. As the leader, you were apparently supposed to have an opinion about this.

Wyll exhaled sharply. “This has ‘trap’ written all over it.”

Shadowheart tilted her head, studying Lucien. “If he’s telling the truth, the Lady of Loss may grant insight.”

Gale, meanwhile, was beaming. “Fascinating! A perfect case study in memory suppression. The question is—was it trauma, magic, or both?”

Lae’zel rolled her eyes. “Enough talk. If he is truly Astarion’s kin, let him prove it. Otherwise, we kill him and move on.”

Lucien smirked. “Charming friends you have.”

Astarion folded his arms. “Yes, well, they do keep things entertaining. But let’s be clear—I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and I certainly don’t need another long-lost relative showing up just to ruin my day.”

Lucien sighed, then reached into his coat. Wyll tensed, but Lucien simply pulled out an old, tattered locket. He flipped it open and tossed it to Astarion, who caught it with practiced ease.

Inside was a faded portrait. Two figures—one unmistakably Astarion, looking younger, softer. And beside him, a boy with the same sharp features, grinning.

Astarion’s smirk faltered.

“Well,” he muttered, staring at the image. “That’s… annoying.”

Gale peered over his shoulder. “So you do remember?”

Astarion snapped the locket shut. “No. But I hate that there’s evidence.”

Lae’zel exhaled loudly. “Enough sentiment. Are we trusting him or killing him?”

Everyone turned to you. Because, of course, this was now your decision.

Astarion gave you a pleading look. “Do say something sensible, darling. Preferably something that involves not inviting him to dinner.”

Lucien smirked. “Unless I am dinner?”

Astarion scowled. “Oh, shut up.”

So. Trap? Family reunion? Or just another disaster waiting to happen?

Your call.