Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9VQE2FABAJR35ZXWPTX81

The rain hammered against the windowpanes as Inspector Harlow lit his pipe, its embers glowing faintly in the dim lamplight. A single, bloodstained glove lay on the desk, its fingers curled as if clutching something unseen beneath the polished wood. The victim’s name, *Eleanor Voss*, was scrawled in ink across the mirror, the letters trembling like a dying breath. Footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, though no one else had entered the locked study since the body was found. Detective Marlow adjusted his gloves, his breath fogging the air as he examined the scattered playing cards on the floor. A pocket watch stopped at three-fifteen, its chain snapped, and the ticking inside had long since fallen silent forever. The scent of lavender and gunpowder mingled, lingering like a ghost refusing to leave the cramped, shadowed room. A half-drunk glass of brandy sat untouched, its surface rippling as if someone had just set it down in haste. The fire in the hearth had burned low, its ashes cold, yet the room itself felt unnaturally warm, almost alive. A locked drawer stood ajar, its contents spilled—letters, a key, and a photograph of a stranger’s smiling face. Inspector Harlow’s fingers traced the initials carved into the victim’s desk, *J.V.*, a puzzle with no obvious answer. The clock on the wall ticked once, then twice, each second stretching like a noose tightening around the truth. Outside, the wind howled through the eaves, carrying whispers of secrets buried deep within these four walls. Detective Marlow knelt, his flashlight beam catching the glint of something metallic half-hidden under the rug’s frayed edge. The victim’s last words, scribbled in shaky handwriting, read: *"He knows what I did—but I didn’t do it alone."* A floorboard creaked behind them, though the door remained shut, and the only sound was the inspector’s sharp, held breath. The case had begun, and with it, the slow unraveling of lies that would either free the guilty or bury them forever.