Ramona's eye flicked to the hulking form of the marine as he stood vigil in the doorway, nodding her head in acknowledgement as she focused on her task. She had noted his presence in the fabrication halls, as she met with the artisans concerning the procurement of certain components that the factory-cathedral produced that would be of use to her Lord. Even amidst the endless bustle of the tech-priests, it was difficult to miss an Astartes standing head and shoulders above them all.

That scratched off at least one person that would need such a monstrous hole to escape through. That just left every heavy servitor and ogryn on Sarringrad. 

"Tell me, sir Astartes." Ramona's voice had a harsh rasp to it, speaking to a lifetime breathing scorched and poisoned air. As she turned, a flash of color was visible on the breast of her topcoat-- a coat of arms, gunmetal grey on deep teal. "An Archmagos is ambushed, her guards killed, and she herself is put down before Throne knows whatever she's stuffed in herself so much as have a chance to fire off. How does that sound to you?"

She squatted near the fallen body of Toros, taking care to avoid the spreading pool of blood, hands resting on her knees as she looked up at the marine. Her tone was blunt, frank, and far from the awed genuflecting the teeming masses would show one of the Emperor's angels. She had too much work to do.

"Because to me it sounds like a heap of grox shite." A humorless huff of air came from her as she looked back to the corpse, eye flicking from where it was to where it had been when the first shot was allegedly fired. Trying to piece together a clear picture of what had happened.