Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9MQ89X9B3H3FZB6Z5KY70

The rain lashed against the windows of the old Victorian mansion, its iron bars groaning under the storm’s relentless fury. Detective Eleanor Vane adjusted her coat, the scent of damp earth and something metallic lingering in the air. A single candle flickered weakly on the grand foyer table, casting long shadows that seemed to whisper secrets. The butler’s stiff posture suggested he had delivered grim news, his knuckles white around the silver tray he held. "The master’s body was found in the library," he murmured, voice trembling like the candle’s trembling flame. Bloodstains marred the Persian rug where the victim lay sprawled, his eyes frozen in an expression of sheer terror. A shattered decanter lay nearby, its contents spilled like the man’s final, desperate breath upon the floor. The detective’s sharp gaze swept the room, noting the faint scent of lavender mixed with something far more sinister. Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, as if the sky itself mourned the man who had met his untimely end. A pocket watch stopped at three minutes past midnight lay beside the body, its hands frozen in time’s cruel embrace. The butler’s lips parted again, but no words came out, only a choked sob escaping his rigid composure. "Who discovered him?" Eleanor asked, her voice steady despite the chill creeping up her spine like a thief. "It was Miss Harlow," he whispered, his face pale as the ghostly specter of the deceased. The detective’s fingers twitched toward her revolver, the weight of the mystery pressing down heavier than the storm. A locked door stood between her and the truth, its key hidden somewhere in the mansion’s labyrinthine halls. The victim’s study was a shrine to greed, gold coins and ledgers scattered haphazardly across the desk like confessions. A single sheet of paper bore only three words: *"The debt must be paid in blood."* Eleanor’s breath hitched as she realized this wasn’t just a murder—it was a message meant for her eyes alone.