Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQAKHC0SHQZB9VZYCGFQBA

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 still clutched in the victim’s hand. The body sprawled across the alley, limbs twisted like a marionette cut cruelly from its strings. Blood seeped into the cracks, dark and thick, mixing with the rain in a macabre dance. Harlow knelt, ignoring the cold bite of the puddle soaking through his trousers. The victim’s eyes stared blankly upward, reflecting the flickering light like shattered glass. A single playing card, the Queen of Spades, rested just beyond the outstretched fingers. The alley reeked of cheap whiskey and something fouler, like copper and spoiled meat. Harlow’s partner, Ellis, arrived breathless, his coat flapping like a wounded crow’s wings. “Another one,” Ellis muttered, his voice tight with the weight of too many unsolved cases. The victim’s pocket watch had stopped at midnight, its hands frozen in a silent, eternal scream. A shadow shifted near the dumpster, but when Harlow turned, nothing remained but the rain. The killer had left no footprints, only the eerie sense of being watched from the dark. Harlow lit a cigarette, the flame flickering as he exhaled smoke into the damp, suffocating air. The Queen of Spades meant something—he just couldn’t remember what it signified yet. Ellis snapped photos, the flash illuminating the alley in brief, ghostly bursts of white. A whisper slithered past Harlow’s ear, but when he spun, only the wind answered back. The victim’s lips were parted, as if they’d tried to speak one final, desperate word. Harlow’s gut twisted; this wasn’t just murder—it was a message, written in blood and silence.