Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQHD9JBJFMPYGAHMXRPWB6

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 damp wool, copper, and something sickly sweet—cheap perfume or decay. A shadow shifted near the fire escape, but when Harlow looked, nothing remained. The victim’s pocket watch had stopped at 11:47, its hands frozen in silent accusation. Harlow’s partner, Graves, arrived panting, his breath curling in the frigid night air. “Another one,” Graves muttered, his voice tight with the weight of too many unsolved cases. The streetlamp buzzed overhead, casting long, wavering fingers that clawed at the brick walls. Harlow noticed the muddy boot print pressed into the wet ground near the victim’s head. A torn scrap of fabric, emerald green, fluttered from the rusted drainpipe above. The victim’s lips were parted, as if whispering a name no one would ever hear. Harlow’s fingers brushed the knife’s hilt, but he left it where it lay. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolled midnight, hollow and mournful. The rain kept falling, washing away the truth drop by relentless, indifferent drop.