The moon hung low, casting silver shadows over the manor's manicured lawns. Inside, the clock struck midnight; its chime echoed, unheeded. Footsteps, soft yet deliberate, whispered down the grand staircase. A study, lined with books, bore witness to a scene amiss. On the rug, a body lay contorted, a crimson bloom spreading silently. Detective Lila Gray, summoned by an urgent call, surveyed the room, her mind racing with possibilities. "No signs of forced entry," she murmured, noting the locked windows. The victim's glass, half-empty, sat on the desk, a fingerprint marring its surface. "Everyone's a suspect," her partner, Sergeant Jack Harrison, declared, eyeing the gathered household. A maid, trembling in the corner, clutched a pile of linens, her eyes darting nervously. The butler, stoic, stood by the door, his expression betraying nothing. An heirloom dagger, conspicuously displayed, now lay sheathed in evidence. Lila's gaze lingered on the portrait above the fireplace; the family resemblance was unmistakable. The air, heavy with the scent of lavender and secrets, hinted at a deeper, darker tale.