Dean had been correct when he decided he did not want details.
Unfortunately, Arion had brought them home anyway.
Not intentionally.
There had been no dramatic confession the moment he walked through the private residence, no attempt to frighten Dean with whatever had happened in the restricted zone. Arion had showered, changed into soft black trousers and a dark shirt, kissed Dean exactly as he always did, and spent the first half hour behaving so normally that Dean might have believed the meeting had been uneventful.
Then Dean had noticed the security archive open on Arion's tablet.
Now they were sitting at the small dining table in their private sitting room while a recording of Arion turning into something disturbingly similar to an infected beast played beside Dean's plate.
"This," Dean said, pointing his fork toward the screen, "is precisely why I said I didn't want to know."
Arion cut another piece from the roasted pork on his plate.
"You opened the file."
