Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9W84AE90N07S8TN4WFASA

The rain had hollowed the cobblestones and the gaslight shivered as the gardener found Mrs. Penhaligon's body near the gate. By dawn, a ragged crowd gathered like crows around the iron railings, whispering theories and holding umbrellas and muttered accusations. Inspector Grey arrived with mud on his shoes and a notebook already open to names he would cross later silently. Her gloves were folded on the grass as if waiting for hands that would never return from market or errands. A smear of perfume clung to the collar, lemon and jasmine, as if someone had lingered and lied quite deliberately. Inside the drawing room a clock continued to tick, indifferent, and the silver tea set trembled with fingerprints that morning. Grey's eyes found a scrap of paper pinned beneath a book, a child's drawing twisted around the initials and date. Outside, someone laughed sharply and somewhere a carriage rattled; tonight secrets would have sharp teeth and blood if truth came.