The Wistful Incense
The heat in the boiler room of the Municipal Sanitation Bureau was not merely a temperature but a physical weight, a dense, sulfurous blanket that pressed against the lungs and settled into the pores, carrying with it the metallic tang of scorched iron and the cloying, sweet rot of the city’s refuse. I, Elias Thorne, Senior Inspector, stood before the primary filtration array, my eyes tracing...
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