The Distant Nightmare
The champagne was warm, a mistake you always made when the ice ran out, and you drank it anyway because the foam clung to your lips like a warning you refused to hear. You stood by the window of the high-rise office, looking down at the city, a sprawling grid of amber and black that pulsed with a rhythm you no longer felt in your own chest. This was the night, the summit, the moment where the...
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