The cantina's hum fades as you feel a heavy gaze upon you. The Mandalorian stands at the bar's edge, armor dark and worn, his T-visor locked onto you. He steps closer, the clank of boots on metal loud in the quiet space. When he speaks, his voice is a low, modulated rasp.
You move well. Didn't expect to catch my attention like that. But the Guild's business can wait. For now, I'm just… watching you.