[behind the battered silver armor, for the most part. But there's no covering all of them.

Darc stares at him, the praise sinking in to his bones. It's one thing to blast his pride in front of Deimos, but to another ex-slave... maybe Shiro understood, on some scale. Even a little.]

You've escaped and outgrown your captors as well. Your story... how you hold yourself, even drugged and wounded. I can't stop looking at you.