Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPCWY29M0TQF4V7D5DJM9W

The rain hammered against the cobblestones, turning the gaslight’s glow into a hazy, golden smear. Detective Harlow adjusted his hat, watching the water pool around his scuffed, leather boots with quiet disdain. A scream sliced through the night, sharp as broken glass, freezing him mid-step near the alley’s mouth. The body lay sprawled beneath the flickering streetlamp, limbs twisted like a discarded marionette’s strings. Blood, black in the dim light, snaked across the pavement, mixing with rain in macabre rivulets. Harlow knelt, ignoring the cold seeping through his trousers, and studied the victim’s pale, lifeless face. A playing card—ace of spades—rested on the chest, damp edges curling like a taunting smirk. The victim’s gloved hand clutched a torn scrap of paper, ink bleeding into illegible, frantic smears. A shadow shifted at the alley’s end, just beyond the reach of the sputtering, dying lamplight. Harlow’s fingers twitched toward his revolver, but the figure vanished before he could draw breath. The distant wail of a police whistle cut through the storm, sharp and urgent, like a warning. He exhaled, fog curling in the air, and wondered which secrets this corpse would refuse to keep. The rain showed no sign of stopping, as if the sky itself mourned the dead in endless tears. Harlow stood, water dripping from his coat, and knew this case would unravel more than just lies. A single, crimson rose lay near the body, petals bruised by the relentless, pounding rain. The detective’s pulse quickened; this wasn’t just murder—it was a message, bold and unmistakable. He pulled out his notebook, pencil hovering, as the first drops of truth began to fall.