Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKB2PF19SJ5BGJSQFHAVXGX

Rain hammered the boarded windows of Blackthorn House all night. By dawn, the village lane outside lay eerily hushed today. Inspector Mara Kline watched mist curl above the drenched hedges. Her boots sank slightly into mud, swallowing yesterday's delicate bootprints. Those prints belonged to Everett Vale, retired judge and philanthropist. Now Everett lay indoors, motionless, awaiting the coroner's reluctant attention. The front door gaped open, splintered around the heavy lock. No glass broken, no valuables missing, nothing obviously taken whatsoever. Mara ducked inside, tasting copper and lemon from overturned polish. Sunlight pierced dusty air, revealing specks like diligent, silent witnesses. Everett reclined in leather chair, posture absurdly peaceful, horribly final. Crimson stained his collar, seeping downward like ivy across brickwork. Beside him rested untouched tea, still steaming despite the chill. On the mantelpiece, clocks ticked uniformly, insisting nothing was wrong. Mara noticed the painting above Everett, hanging almost imperceptibly crooked. Behind its frame, faint drafts whispered secrets along the wallpaper. From the kitchen came sobs, jagged breaths shredding the silence. Housekeeper Nell Pryce waited there, clutching a towel like bandages. Her gaze fixed on Mara's coat, rainwater slowly dripping crimson.