It was a weapon. Arthur could easily discern it from the trigger and the design and the overall care that was being paid to it. A gun. He'd seen the pictures enough to recognize it as such. He grimaced and moved through the kitchen, feeling out of sorts and embarrassed that he'd been caught staring as blatantly as he had.
He poured himself the glass of water he'd originally come for and drank it slowly, taking the chance to observe the way she was piecing it back together.