**The rain fell in silver sheets over Blackthorn Manor, its ancient stones slick with secrets.** Detective Elias Vane adjusted his coat collar, the cold biting like a guilty conscience gnawing at his ribs. A single candle flickered in the library window, casting long shadows that danced like accusing fingers across the walls. The butler’s voice trembled as he whispered, *"She’s gone—just like the others, sir, vanished without a trace."* Vane’s boots crunched on gravel, each step echoing the unspoken question hanging thick in the damp evening air. Inside, the grand fireplace roared, its heat doing little to thaw the icy dread coiling in the room’s silent corners. A crystal glass lay shattered near the hearth, its contents spilled like the blood that would soon stain the manor’s reputation. The victim’s perfume lingered—jasmine and something darker, the scent of a life cut brutally, abruptly short. Vane’s gloved fingers brushed the armchair, the fabric still warm, as if death itself had just risen and walked away.