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... ts own.
The moment the latches popped, pure light spilled across the black leather of the booth. It wasn’t just bright. It possessed physical weight. One hundred million spiritual silver bars, condensed into liquid capital, smelled of sharp ozone and freshly split atoms. The scent completely overpowered the synthetic jasmine and chilled champagne circulating through the Skybox vents.
The aristocrats who had scrambled away from my dirty boots stopped retreating.
They turne ...
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