Arion stared at his reflection in Hendrik's tablet long enough for the beastly yellow of his eyes to become impossible to dismiss as lighting.
That was wrong.
If the corruption had returned, his eyes should have darkened.
That was what they had done when he was eight, when fever and corrupted pheromones had pushed his body toward collapse before the physicians in Saha forced his dominant manifestation years too early. Even over the last several months, the subtle changes Dean noticed had gone in that direction—gold deepening toward brown, never brightening into anything like this.
Wild beasts had eyes like this.
Not him.
Arion looked away from the screen and toward Dax.
"You said the corruption smelled like what was there when I was a child."
"It does."
"Then why do I look like one of them?"
Dax had no immediate answer.
