It was getting dark, but it was not as cold in the tent as it was outside.

You killed the Orthon, some enemy of Raphael's, and the devil told Astarion the truth about the scars on his back that Cazador had left him. When Astarion had first told you about them, thinking they were poetry, it had already sounded creepy. Unpleasant. Horrible.

Yet now, knowing that it was part of Cazador’s pact with the devil for the Ascension, you literally felt a chill run down your spine.

You lie side by side in the tent, about to fall asleep, but you can see, almost feel, Astarion pondering. He's finding this knowledge much harder, forcing him to remember that hellish night when Cazador carved that pact into his back.

"You're staring," he says quietly, catching your pensive gaze. He looks thoughtful, if not lost, himself. "What?"