The rain fell hard on the old mansion’s cracked stone steps, echoing through the silent, fog-laden night. Detective Mara Voss pulled her trench coat tighter, boots splashing through puddles as she approached the dimly lit front door. A butler in a wrinkled uniform opened the door, his face pale, hands trembling slightly beneath silver candlesticks. He whispered that the master was found dead in the study, throat slit, eyes wide with frozen terror. The clock struck midnight as Mara stepped across the threshold, a chill crawling up her spine despite the warm hall. Portraits of stern ancestors watched her pass, their eyes seeming to follow her toward the crime scene ahead. Blood pooled near the oak desk, smeared slightly, as if someone had tried to wipe it with a cloth. A single glove lay beneath the window, black silk, torn at the thumb, smelling faintly of lavender and gunpowder. Mara knelt, examining the glove, noticing a monogram stitched in dark thread: *E.B.*, barely visible in the weak light. The fireplace crackled, casting long shadows that danced like specters along the bloodstained walls of the silent room.