The Faded Quadrant
The banquet hall smelled of roasted pork and stale beer, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the wool of your shoulders and the lining of your collar. You stood near the edge of the room, holding a paper cup of water you had not yet taken a sip from, watching the senior partners laugh at a joke you did not hear. The air was warm, stifling, and heavy with the perfume of lilies that filled vases...
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