Khalid's typical self-assured expression lacked it's usual luster. The smile that came with it was not smug and superior, but almost sad. Most telling, his hands lay empty: no cigarette, deathstick, pistol, or alternative held to stall for time or agonise his contacts with ponderous theatrics. It was as close to the appearance of urgency as Khalid allowed himself to get; and the matter that had brought him here to Lúka Jibral's apartment in the dead of night, so soon after their last encounter, felt like the very definition of the word.
"Please forgive my intrusion."
While Khalid's body language didn't cultivate delays, his voice could not resist it. There were only so many sacrifices that could be made, even at a time such as now: only so much undermining that his carefully constructed air and aura could withstand before it began to crumble and collapse. Tonight, Khalid walked a fine line, straying as close to sentiment as he dared. His life's work was of the utmost importance, and the checks and balances that guided his actions, weighing the intrinsic value of all things to resolve the equation of what action to take, were not something to be lightly dismissed and ignored. But there was a grey area, a margin of error in the calculations where approximation and better judgement came into play. Now was one such time: a time where Khalid was forced to choose how many decimal places the value of certain assets ran to.
"I am afraid our associates from the Archives have done something unwise."
There had been no time for encrypted datapads. No time for mission parameters calibrated for Agent Jibral's eyes only. Yet, the matter was not so urgent, the equation not so out of balance that Khalid could run the risk of speaking freely. What lengths the Imperial Knights, the Security Bureau, Intelligence, or any other aspects of the Empire had taken to monitor and ensure the loyalty of their lightsaber-wielding enforcers, Khalid could not be entirely sure; but after a life lived in secret, the abandonment of such precautions went against every fibre of his being. That was his challenge: to convey the appropriate matters to Lúka Jibral, without ever stating them outright.
"They have uncaged the Hunter. It went as you warned, and now your Children are in danger."
The flash of recognition in Jibral's features told Khalid that he had succeeded in his attempt. There was barely a pause before the bedsheets were flung aside, Lúka on his feet, prowling the apartment in an instinctive pattern to retrieve the tools that had been strategically concealed. No effort was made to hide his hiding places from Khalid, the futility of such a thing was well understood. That same acceptance preserved the Knight's silence, no attempt made to solicit more information than was offered. Khalid waited, unmoving, doing Lúka a faint courtesy by not straying his gaze from the bed the Knight had abandoned. From his eye's corner, he watched a jacket hastily shrugged onto Lúka's shoulders; a blaster, slugthrower, and lightsaber each attached to their designated places on his hips.
"I have sent all I can to our Fourth Friend," Khalid added, as Lúka readied himself beside the door. A momentary pause followed; a moment of eye contact between the two. Khalid's voice turned soft, mask slipping the slightest fraction more. "Force speed," Khalid offered, and without further hesitation Lúka disappeared into the corridor, and beyond. Silently, Khalid finished the archaic saying for himself.
Force speed to you, young Jedi Knight;
And by it's Grace, may Hand and Heart,
Guide your Path as Wills the Light.
* * *
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