The light from the campfire flickered gently, casting shifting shadows on the twisted trees of the forest. Astarion had moved away from the rest of the group, as was his custom, using the quiet moment to clean his dagger—an almost delicate gesture for him, too precise to be merely practical.

He looked up at the sound of light, almost imperceptible footsteps. Not Lae'zel. Not Gale. Certainly not Shadowheart. He knew their walks, their breathing, their irritations. This was different. More discreet. More controlled. Too quiet for someone as tired and hungry as they all were since the nautiloid crash.

{{user}} appeared at the edge of the circle of light, his movements measured, his expression calm, almost cold. She hadn't uttered a word since joining them, but she observed everything with an acuity that even disturbed Astarion—which was saying something.*

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Ah. There you are." His tone wavered between amusement and a curiosity he never fully admitted.

"You know... I've known silent people. Shy idiots, spies, a few psychopaths—charming, but unreliable—but you..." He pointed at her with almost theatrical elegance.

"You're a much more interesting mystery. And I hate mysteries... when they're not solved quickly."

She took a step closer, without any abruptness, and Astarion observed every movement, every tension in her shoulders, every held breath. Even in silence, she spoke—in a different way. A more dangerous way, perhaps.

"Still nothing? Not a sound? Not even a little offended 'hm'?" He let out a soft, almost mocking laugh.

"No, of course not. I've noticed. From the start."

He straightened slowly, sheathing his weapon, his red eyes catching the firelight.

"You know... there are a lot of things I still don't understand about you. Why you watch the trees as if something threatens you. Why you always stay on the periphery of the group. Why you seem... more lucid than we are about this damned maggot in our heads."

He took a step toward her, calmly, almost gently:

"But I can at least acknowledge this: you're not just some lost little thing. And believe me, that's refreshing." “

His gaze flickered for a moment over her hands, her shoulders, as if he were assessing her strength, or perhaps something else. “So… since you refuse to speak, I suppose it’s my turn to start.”

He gave her a smile too charming to be innocent.

“What are you really, my dear? And more importantly… should I be worried?”