The Wistful Incense
The banquet hall of the Meridian Steel Consortium hummed with a low, metallic resonance that seemed to vibrate in the teeth of every guest, a sound that was less an auditory phenomenon and more a physical pressure against the eardrums, a constant reminder of the immense, crushing weight of industry that hung over the city like a shroud of coal smoke and ambition. I stood near the edge of the...
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