Master Gilder stared at the small black safe box as if it were a coiled viper. He wiped his sweaty palms on his velvet doublet, leaving dark streaks on the expensive fabric.
"You want me to open it?" Gilder whispered, his voice pitching high with panic. "You said it was trapped."
"Yes," Revas said, leaning casually against a stack of gold bars that was worth more than a small fiefdom. "That's why I need you. The trap is likely keyed to a kinetic trigger. It expects a specific touch. A hesitant, sweaty, guilty touch. Yours."
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then if there's acid...the acid sprays out," Revas said cheerfully. "Don't worry, it usually aims for the eyes. You have two of them."
Mirabelle stepped forward, holding the lantern high. The light cast long, dancing shadows against the walls of the vault.
"Do it, Gilder," she ordered. "We don't have time to debate. The manager will be back in forty minutes."
