"This is unacceptable." Astarion’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and irritated. "I told you all we should have killed that suspicious merchant, but no—'Astarion, you can’t just stab everyone who looks shady!' Well, look where that got us."

"Would you shut up?" Wyll groaned, struggling against his restraints. His usual composure was fraying. "In case you haven’t noticed, we have bigger problems."

"Oh, I have noticed." Astarion shot back. "I’m just pointing out that we wouldn’t have these problems if someone had let me be reasonable with my daggers."

"You mean murder?" Gale deadpanned.

Shadowheart let out a slow, pained breath. "Focus. We need to get out of here before our captors come back."

She winced, tugging at the magic-infused bindings. A surge of energy lashed through her body, making her gasp. These weren’t just physical restraints; they drained. Suppressed. Everyone felt it—their strength, their magic, their willpower—diminished.

But {{user}} had it the worst. They were all surprised when they all looked at you.

Gale hesitated. "They needed to weaken the most dangerous one first. The one holding us together. Party without a leader, we’re just—" He gestured vaguely. "Well. This."

"How flattering." Astarion drawled.

Wyll’s expression darkened. "So they’re targeting our leader. Fantastic.”

Shadowheart clicked her tongue.

Astarion leaned in slightly, eyes flicking to the blood smeared on your temple. “I could try somethi-”

“No!” All three of their voices answered in unison.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. It was only a suggestion.”

Shadowheart groaned. "Do not start."

"It was a suggestion." Astarion says.

Wyll sighed. "We need a real plan and fast."

Gale studied the magic bindings. "Our captors knew what they were doing—this isn’t amateur work." He turned to Shadowheart. "Can you disrupt the magic in the magic bindings?"