Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ37CWVJN4M36ZN3S1TKTS

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, silencing the distant hum of the city. He turned toward the alley, where shadows clung like cobwebs to the crumbling brick walls. The body lay sprawled beneath a flickering streetlamp, limbs twisted in unnatural, grotesque angles. A single glove, black and soaked, rested near the victim’s outstretched, lifeless fingers. Harlow knelt, ignoring the cold seeping through his trousers, and studied the pale, waxen face. The victim’s lips were parted, as if frozen mid-whisper, a secret trapped forever in the silence. A crumpled note peeked from the coat pocket, its edges damp but the ink still legible. *"Meet me at midnight—alone,"* it read, the handwriting jagged, urgent, and vaguely familiar. Harlow’s pulse quickened as he recognized the looping script of an old, forgotten case. The killer had left no footprints, no clues, just the eerie stillness of the empty alley. A match flared in the darkness, illuminating a face half-hidden behind a tattered newspaper. The stranger exhaled smoke, watching Harlow with eyes that gleamed like polished, obsidian stones. "Funny how death always finds the ones who run," the voice murmured, low and dripping with amusement. Harlow stood, hand hovering near his revolver, as the match flickered out, plunging them into blackness. The rain continued its relentless drumming, washing away the last traces of the night’s grim secret. Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed twelve, marking the hour of the dead.