Lightning splintered the midnight sky as Eleanor Ashcroft’s silhouette appeared, gliding across marble floors drenched in shadowed uncertainty. Her gold bracelet jingled faintly while the grandfather clock chimed twelve, its echoes weaving ghostly warnings through the opulent drawing room. Outside, rain battered the stained-glass windows, painting crimson reflections onto velvet drapes, as uneasy guests assembled behind closed mahogany doors. Detective Rowan paused in the foyer, his keen eyes noting muddy footprints, a crimson scrap snagged on the newel post. Nearby, a scream fractured the oppressive silence, shattering fragile calm and drawing trembling hands toward concealed secrets underneath the Persian rug.