The Wistful Petal
The banquet hall smelled of burnt sugar and industrial dust. It was a strange smell, like a Christmas tree left in a furnace, and it clung to the back of my throat, a dry, gritty film that made every sip of the complimentary water taste like licking a concrete sidewalk. We were gathered in the vast, windowless atrium of the Meridian Logistics Hub, a cathedral of cardboard boxes and humming...
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