Finally, his gaze lingered—on her face. And his expression became readable again: intense sadness.

"Thank you," he said softly. He sat back on his heels, levered himself to his feet, and stepped back, putting space between himself and her pile of clothes. "Please dress."

Though he kept the blaster in his hand, he lowered it to no longer aim at her. He also started, best as he could one-handed, to roll his sleeves back down and refasten his collar. He couldn't put his jacket back on without putting down the blaster, so he slung it over his arm—hiding the blaster under it as he did.