Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQK515MZXQWFM5JSTY8ZT0

The grand estate loomed under storm clouds, its gilded gates creaking ominously as thunder rolled across the desolate moors. Detective Harlow adjusted his damp trench coat, eyes scanning the gravel drive where fresh tire tracks vanished into the mist. A single candle flickered in the foyer, casting long shadows over the marble floor where a shattered vase lay scattered. Lady Whitmore’s butler stood rigid, his pale hands trembling as he clutched a bloodstained handkerchief to his trembling lips. The air smelled of lavender and something metallic, lingering like a ghost in the oppressive silence of the abandoned ballroom. Footsteps echoed from the upper hallway, too deliberate to belong to any living soul still residing within these cursed walls. A scream had woken the household at midnight, but now only the ticking grandfather clock dared to break the suffocating quiet. Harlow’s gloved fingers brushed the mantelpiece, where a framed photograph of the late lord had been deliberately turned facedown. The butler’s voice cracked as he whispered, "No one enters the west wing after dark—not since the last murder." A door slammed somewhere deep in the house, sending a flock of ravens scattering from the oak tree outside the shattered window.