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Cobb hesitated for a moment, and then deliberately went to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping his back to the bathroom door, doing a brief check for mirrors. It would serve well enough, he figured, to give Din plenty of time to cover up when he came out, and now he could look at the armor up close and personal like he’d never had a chance to do before.
“Ain’t you just the prettiest,” he murmured.
Cobb had never felt any kind of way about the armor he’d picked up from the Jawas way back when. It was good stuff, kept his insides inside and gave him the leverage he needed to get the cartels out of Freetown. He’d liked it, appreciated it, felt the loss when it was gone, sure, but it was gear. It was equipment.
It wasn’t Din’s, he thought, and then he corrected himself, it wasn’t Din.