Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9B4VH24EYV1MR734JFSCB

Fog pressed against Hawthorne Manor as Inspector Lyle arrived, summoned by a frantic telegram before midnight struck again today, quietly. The iron gate groaned behind him, and the grounds smelled of wet roses and something metallic, uncomfortably close to him. Inside, candles wavered in the corridor, casting long shadows that refused to match the portraits lining walls at all tonight. A maid led him upstairs, whispering that Lord Pembroke had been found in the library, locked from within somehow dead. Lyle noted the silence, broken only by ticking clocks, while guests gathered below, rehearsing grief with practiced eyes for him. The library door stood sealed by brass bolts, yet the key lay on a tray beside untouched brandy and cigars. When the butler finally opened it, cold air spilled out, carrying perfume, ash, and the faintest seawater from somewhere nearby. On the rug, Pembroke lay facedown, a letter clutched in his hand, addressed to Inspector Lyle alone in black ink.