Lukas noticed the tremor, invisible to the naked heart, at the same time as his Mistress. Something--or, rather someone, his former owner, had just perished. Doja the Hutt was now a bloody pulp of half-eaten remains, or so he sensed. If his murderer were allowed to run even further amok, then...
"I sense a..." began Wraight.
"...disturbance in the Force. It is a cliche, but cliches often ring true."
"It's Doja the Hutt," replied the young man who had just made his first kill. "He's dead. I can't say I'm sorry about it--in fact, I'm glad; do you know how many times his Aqualish and Rodian thugs beat me?--but something tells me that far worse is going to go down in that warehouse if we don't show up."
"And kill whoever killed him," said Andirrul. "You're right. Move out, whelp!"
Soon she and Lukas arrived at the sprawling, musty warehouse palace where Doja had made his home. The iron-scent of fresh blood filled the air, making bugs swarm furiously in great heaps where the biggest pools of it lay. What could have happened? Who could have killed Doja, and for what reason save that the Hutt had been trying to cheat him or her? Surely, even for that, there would not have been this vile and visceral of a death for him. This was why Andirrul cloaked herself in the Force and sensed his killer waiting nearby.
Lukas was busy securing the other parts of the perimeter, hopefully putting to rest any lingering members of Doja's guard. As for the Dark Lady herself...
She lowered the shadows that concealed her. "Shakhmat," she hissed, igniting her two lightsabers with hilts formed from the metal of the Blade of Fourteen Slayings. "Checkmate. Why are you here, and why did you kill Doja?" To prevent any sudden attacks for which she would not be ready, Andirrul slipped into that state that was so strange and yet so familiar to her.
In practice, she had worked her way up to skorost', sublustrum vtoroi.
It would only be a matter of time to reach the third level from the second...