Dust motes danced within the parlor’s stale air. A Victorian mansion held secrets in its dim light. Lady Astoria lay dead, blood staining antique lace. Her pearl necklace was missing from her pale throat. Inspector Blackwood entered, an experienced man with a stern face. He surveyed the quiet room, a puzzling scene. A broken teacup lay near Astoria’s lifeless hand. It offered no immediate clues to the grim event. Sir Reginald stood there, his face contorted with grief. Or was it simply fear that his eyes betrayed? Blackwood considered him, his gaze sharp and unwavering. This case screamed secrets from every dark corner.