Rain tapped the windows like secrets begging to be heard. Detective Vale stood in the doorway, hat low, eyes sharp. The body lay sprawled beneath the shattered crystal chandelier. Blood pooled slowly, forming a perfect halo around her head. A single white glove rested inches from her outstretched left hand. The clock stopped at precisely ten past ten, frozen in horror. Smoke curled from a half-burnt letter in the fireplace. Vale knelt, lifted the glove, and found no fingerprints at all. Outside, a crow shrieked once, then vanished into the fog. He whispered, “Whoever did this wanted her silenced for good.”