Detective Jameson stepped into the mansion, finding only eerie silence and the stench of death hanging heavy in the air. The once-grand foyer now stood as a testament to tragedy, its chandelier dimmer for those who knew what had transpired here. Dead bodies were not uncommon in Jameson's line of work, but few victims shocked him as this one already did. His team had been called to Willowdale Manor unexpectedly, where the victim lay lifeless, a look of shock frozen on face. Leading a group of detectives, Jameson surveyed the room, his trained eyes taking in every detail as usual now. The air was thick with tension, palpable in the heavy atmosphere that clung to each object like a damp mist. The only sound came from the ticking clock in the corner, counting down the seconds until truth would finally emerge. As Jameson approached the body, his thoughts drifted back to the victim's frantic phone call, the tone unmistakably frightened. A cry for help, screaming silently on hold, it seemed, as the killer watched from the shadows unseen now. With a steady gaze, Jameson reached out, placing his hand on the victim's shoulder as if trying to comfort deceased. It was a futile gesture, for death is unforgiving, and this person was beyond consolation, beyond rescue now utterly. For the detective, comfort came from truth, and this case, unlike any previous one, would be far from simple stilliously. A glance at his team told Jameson that only one question echoed loudly through their faces, "What do we do now?" still.