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It was an ingenious trap, The Ravenheart had to admit: a curling mass of steel tendrils converging to, in a moment, render him immobile — the earl's work had improved. Triggering at the vault's exit was brilliant as well, striking when he was unguarded. Yet he smiled, the flash in his eyes matching the shaded coin in his hand. The game was his.

The earl burst in to find his trap encircling where the lauded criminal had been. As the man deactivated the device, shivering in his triumph, Alistair Rook's unseen smile grew. Invited to witness the thief's capture after appearing beside the earl in a seemingly empty hall, he watched the tendrils retract; all that fell from them was a letter, set with a raven's mark.

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