"Yes," said Andirrul darkly. "The choice was logical, but when did love ever have anything to do with logic? If I had let my senses rule the day instead of my heart when I first met Kalla, I would have remained only a comrade-in-arms by her side. Instead, I let my emotions control me, and it appears that I have done so again. No more. That is why I practice skorost' from dawn 'til dusk, and yet focusing on combat has not yet driven all feelings from my soul. Tyrannus? You have mastered something I have not. What is your secret? How are you so cold, and I so fiery, like molten beskar? What am I missing from the essential things I need to know to reach your state?" She stepped closer to him, her hand bathed in sharp pain waves.
Pahro sensed the ruin before she sensed the Jedi. Sure, she hated stinky, decrepit outposts, and this one was no different save the scent of being dead for dozens upon dozens of years. Still, she had a sense the Force was here, and wherever it was strong, there the Jedi were or would soon be.
In order to play the part smoothly enough to fool her intended pawns, Pahro had brought along a slick, black archaeologist's collection bag that she had borrowed from one of the researchers aboard the Phantasm. Carefully, wearing black contaminant-resistant gloves, she picked up broken pieces of pottery and other ruined artifacts, slipping them into her bag and pretending to study them. They were of no importance, no worth, save the ones that tingled distantly with the Force. These she would leave for the Jedi--for what was a trap without bait? She snuck into a nearby cornice to conceal herself and attach her holomike to the lapel of her uniform. This was it...