Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPMP4JWTPT3KCFCGZZGEVD

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 polished, black leather shoes. A scream sliced through the night, sharp as the knife now lodged in the victim’s chest. The body sprawled across the alley, limbs twisted like a marionette with severed, frayed strings. Blood mixed with rainwater, swirling into the gutter where the city’s secrets always drained away. Harlow knelt, ignoring the cold seeping through his trousers, and studied the lifeless, staring eyes. A single playing card—ace of spades—rested between the victim’s stiff, pale, outstretched fingers. The scent of cheap perfume and cigar smoke clung to the air, thick as the lies he’d uncover. A shadow flickered at the alley’s mouth, then vanished before he could turn his head. The victim’s pocket watch had stopped at midnight, its hands frozen in the moment of death. Harlow’s breath curled in the frigid air as he traced the jagged wound with a gloved finger. The killer had left no footprints, only the echo of a laugh in the downpour’s relentless hiss. A crumpled note in the victim’s coat read, *"You should’ve played your cards better."* The streetlamp above buzzed, its light dimming as if the night itself held its breath. Harlow’s pulse quickened; this wasn’t just murder—it was a message, bold and unapologetic. The victim’s name was Elias Vane, a man with enemies thicker than the fog rolling in. A woman in a red coat watched from the corner, her smile as sharp as the blade’s edge. The rain washed away the blood, but Harlow knew some stains never truly disappeared. He stood, the weight of the case settling on his shoulders like the storm’s endless, heavy clouds. Somewhere in the city, the killer waited, already choosing the next card to leave behind.