Arion's hold shifted - firmer, as if Dean's suspicion was a physical thing he could brace against. "You were lost," he repeated, and the faint emphasis on 'were' felt like a correction.
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Answer the question."
Arion gave him a brief, irritatingly calm look. "My wing," he said. "It's closer than yours."
Dean stared. "Your wing."
"Yes."
Dean opened his mouth to object out of principle, but Arion's voice slid in first, smooth and controlled, like a blade being set carefully on a table.
"What were you doing outside at this hour?" Arion asked. "You should be asleep."
Dean scoffed. "Nice try."
Arion's expression didn't change.
Dean pointed at him with one hand, which was difficult because the angle was awkward and Arion had him pinned like a problem he'd decided to solve. "You don't get to dodge my question by interrogating me."
"I'm not interrogating you," Arion said, tone infuriatingly neutral. "I'm asking."
