The Distant Clue
The fire did not start with a spark, but with a smell. It was a sharp, acrid tang that cut through the heavy, perfumed air of the Grand Hall, a scent like burnt sugar mixed with old paper. It hung in the chandeliers, it clung to the velvet drapes, and it seeped into the pores of the guests who stood in their silk and satin, murmuring to one another with the polite detachment of people who have...
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