Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAXEFQP1S6HMWG7XA9CFF4

Rain braided the streetlights as midnight bled into restless cobblestones. Detective Mara Quinn arrived, umbrella useless against the sideways storm. Sirens dwindled behind her, leaving footsteps like questions on stone. The mansion crouched ahead, windows blinking, a sullen animal watching. Inside, a chandelier trembled, whispering crystal prayers to nobody tonight. Butler Cormac waited stiffly, lapel blooming a brownish rainflower stain. He bowed, voice raw: the countess fell, and wouldn't wake. Mara followed echoes to the parlor, air sugared with lilacs. There, the countess reclined crookedly, champagne flutes surrounding like sentries. Her pearl necklace snapped, beads spelling panic across the carpet. A window gaped open; curtains clawed, desperate hands without bodies. Thunder applauded murder while a grandfather clock counted the alibi. Mara knelt, tasting copper air, inspecting lipstick on shattered flute. It smeared clockwise, not from sipping, but careful, guiding pressure. Cormac hovered, as lightning mapped his face with confession lines. She asked for matches; he produced three, but carried four. The fourth lay missing, exactly like the countess's purple pulse. Rain hissed harder, as candles shortened, like secrets losing patience. Somewhere upstairs, water ran, though nobody admitted bathing recently tonight. Mara pocketed a bead, and the room exhaled, listening closely.