The Golden Song
The banquet hall smelled of roasted duck and stale beer, a cloying mixture that hung heavy in the air of the converted warehouse on the edge of the city. Julian stood by the buffet, holding a paper cup of wine he had not sipped, watching the crowd swirl around him like a slow-motion storm. He was a man who believed in the architecture of logic, in the clean lines of data and the predictable...
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