The Wistful Incense
The disaster began not with a sound, but with a scent, a cloying, metallic sweetness that permeated the damp air of the Halloway Textile Mill, settling into the lungs of every worker like a fine, invisible dust. Arthur Vane, the thirty-two-year-old inspector whose ambition was as rigid and unyielding as the iron girders of the factory floor, stood before the loom where the anomaly manifested,...
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