The room felt as though it had frozen, terrifyingly still, with only the gurgling water of the bath and the breathing of Ethemon and the others echoing in the dead silence.
Astarion sat at the table, hardly daring to breathe—though he had no need for breath to begin with. He could not even maintain his usual graceful posture; his body was taut like a fully drawn bow, longing to curl into the tiniest ball and vanish silently into the surroundings.
He guessed that the reason Ethemon had brought him here was likely to expose those unknown pasts.
Chapter 131