"... Heap of groxshite." Ramona reiterated her earlier assessment, chewing on her bottom lip in thought as she sifted through the details. It was all too damned convenient. Who would go through the trouble of painstakingly disabling the guards and preventing alarm just to leave a damned bootprint on the door, clear as day? "None of this feels right. Someone somewhere was sloppy."

A dead archmagos. Cogs in the trash. Shots apparently blessed by the Emperor himself with their accuracy. Bootprints and broken windows pointing at one thing while every instinct screamed about another. And no blasted motive for any of it, beyond the normal mountain of enemies powerful people accumulated over time.

"Need more to go on." With a sweep of her hand, Ramona gathered up the shards of bolter, tucking them away into one of the pouches on her belt. "Someone wants us to think one of your brethren did this, and there's one other on-planet that I know of. Could be he did it, but..."

Another grunt of disdain as she scoffed at her own theory. Weak and flimsy. It wouldn't do.

"Best to find him and pin down his whereabouts before someone does something stupid."