The Golden Downtown

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2026-08-24 01:42:11 -

The banquet hall of the Ministry of Internal Affairs smelled of roasted pheasant and old dust, a scent that seemed to cling to the velvet curtains and the heavy, gold-leafed chandeliers. Eleanor Whitmore sat at the end of the long mahogany table, her fingers wrapped tightly around a small, withered golden lily that had been placed in her lap by an invisible hand. She was thirty-two, a senior...

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