The air in Trikala was usually thick with the sweet, comforting scent of baking dough, a familiar aroma that signaled the heartbeat of the local economy. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, that sweetness was violently replaced by the acrid, choking stench of burning chemicals and melting steel. Residents looked toward the industrial district, their hearts plummeting as a towering plume of black smoke choked the stars, signaling that the unthinkable was unfolding at the biscuit factory… Continue reading…
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