Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB2F0GXBTFHSQK56F4V22S

The rain drummed against the windowpanes as Inspector Harlow lit his pipe, its ember glowing faintly in the dim lamplight. A single envelope lay on the desk, sealed with black wax bearing the crest of the late Lord Edgemont’s estate. The air smelled of damp wool and old books, the scent of a house long abandoned by its former inhabitants. Footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, though no one else had entered the study since the butler’s departure yesterday evening. Harlow traced the wax with a gloved finger, feeling the cold press of something sharp beneath its surface. Outside, the wind howled like a mournful chorus, as if the very elements conspired to keep secrets from prying eyes. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, each second stretching into an eternity of unanswered questions about the night’s tragic events. A shadow flickered past the doorframe, too quick to be the wind, too deliberate to be mere imagination. The inspector exhaled smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling where dust motes danced like silent witnesses to a crime unsolved. Lord Edgemont’s portrait stared down, his painted eyes seeming to follow Harlow’s every move with unsettling intensity. A floorboard creaked somewhere deep within the house, though no one had stepped upon it in hours. Harlow’s hand tightened around his pipe, the weight of the case pressing heavier than the lead in his pockets. The envelope’s edges were frayed, as if torn in haste by fingers trembling with either fear or fury. A single word was scrawled in ink across the back: *"Midnight."* The handwriting was elegant, yet trembling slightly. The inspector’s pulse quickened, realizing this wasn’t just a message—it was a confession, or perhaps a warning. The study’s fire had long since burned low, casting long, accusatory shadows that stretched toward the unopened envelope. Harlow reached for his magnifying glass, the cold metal biting into his palm as he prepared to uncover the truth. Somewhere in the house, a clock struck twelve, its chime ringing out like a death knell through the silent halls. The inspector knew then that the night’s mystery would not be solved by logic alone, but by the ghosts lingering in every corner.