The moon cast a silver glow over the estate, its light revealing the manor's imposing silhouette. Detective Lorne entered the grand foyer, the echo of her footsteps a stark contrast to the silence. A chandelier loomed above, crystals shimmering like teardrops frozen in time. The air was thick with the scent of roses and an underlying hint of something metallic. In the center of the ballroom lay the body, an unmistakable stillness about it. A silk cravat, blood-soaked, lay discarded nearby, its folds exaggerated in the dim light. The victim's eyes, once bright with life, now stared unseeing at the ceiling. Guests gathered in hushed groups, their murmurs a low hum in the background. Among them, the killer lurked, faking shock with practiced ease. Lorne surveyed the room, her keen gaze noting every detail. The ornate clock on the mantel ticked on, oblivious to the tragedy. A maid sobbed quietly in the corner, her apron clutched in distress. The butler, stoic, offered water to the guests. Glasses clinked, a fragile symphony amidst the chaos. A dog barked somewhere outside, the sound muffled by thick walls. Lorne's partner, Detective Hale, began to cordon off the area. "No one leaves," he announced, his voice firm. Tension crackled in the air, palpable as the static on a radio. Each face told a story, a mix of fear and curiosity. The game was afoot; the first move had been made.