Rain lashed against the windows of the grand manor, blurring the already-dim lights of the stormy night. The air inside was thick with tension and the scent of expensive perfume, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. A lone figure stood over the body sprawled on the Persian rug, his face hidden in the shadows. The victim, Lady Cavendish, lay still, her sapphire necklace askew, a single crimson stain blossoming on her pristine white gown. A gasp escaped the figure's lips, a mixture of shock and something darker, something sinister.