Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAQPH7KHQDC2C70JTESE5Q

Rain stitched silver lines across the harbor as the night ferry exhaled, delivering strangers and rumors to Graywharf that night. The lighthouse blinked a tired warning, while gulls circled like gossipers, hungry for misfortune and yesterday's forgotten confessions to feast. Detective Mara Vale stepped ashore, coat heavy with brine, eyes cataloging exits, faces, and the clockwork tidebooker's stall by customs. Graywharf Inn breathed warmth and smoke, yet its lobby fell silent when the bell clanged like a startled heart inside. Behind the desk, Mrs. Keene's smile misfired, landing crooked, as thunder rehearsed excuses no guest had requested for late arrivals. Room keys glittered like baited hooks, and someone had taken three, though only two rooms held registered breathing occupants tonight. In the parlor, a grandfather clock coughed twice, then choked forever, just as a scream severed conversation into ribbons downstairs. They found him among postcards and maps, the tidebooker, throat inked crimson, hands clenched around a stubborn brass compass tight. A puddle rat navigated the spreading red, fearless, while whispers tallied suspects like coins: captain, widow, drifter, minister and innkeeper. Mara knelt, counted secrets in silence, and noticed wet sand on windowsills, as the storm forgot to close doors behind.