A frigid December wind howled through the desolate city streets this unsettling evening. Detective Miles Corbin surveyed the opulent, dimly lit mansion's grand foyer with weary eyes. He cautiously stepped across the threshold, his polished leather shoes echoing ominously on the marble floor. A single, blood-red rose lay discarded near the intricately carved mahogany staircase, a stark contrast. The air hung heavy with an unnatural silence, broken only by the distant city's muffled roar. He noticed a faint, metallic scent mingling with the overpowering aroma of expensive perfume everywhere here. His grizzled partner, Sergeant Anya Sharma, stood by the shattered stained-glass window, observing the scene. A pool of dark liquid had begun to spread ominously across the Persian rug's intricate design.