Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ950KK1SRRPPQAR7Y37SBNR

The rain lashed against Detective Harding's worn trench coat with relentless fury as he stepped from his car tonight. A chilling wind whipped around the desolate old manor house, making the ancient trees groan ominously above. He pulled his collar higher, his gaze scanning the overgrown path leading towards the imposing, silent structure ahead. Police sirens wailed distantly, their mournful cry adding another layer of dread to the already heavy, suffocating atmosphere. A frantic call had summoned him to this forgotten place; something deeply disturbing awaited his stern, discerning eyes. The grand front door stood slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of darkness that promised only further, undeniable despair inside. Harding pushed it open carefully, the hinges groaning loudly like a tortured soul releasing a final, agonizing breath. His flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the cold air, revealing the vast, silent foyer. Then he saw it, sprawled awkwardly at the foot of the sweeping staircase: a figure cloaked in vibrant crimson silk. The woman's eyes stared blankly upwards at the shadowed ceiling, reflecting unimaginable horror from her lifeless, frozen gaze. A single, dark red rose lay clutched tightly in her pale, slender fingers, hinting at a cruel, deliberate, artistic touch. The pool of blood beneath her head marred the intricate mosaic floor, stark evidence of a brutal, recent, unforgivable crime. Harding knelt slowly, his gloved hand reaching for her cold wrist, confirming the stark, undeniable tragedy instantly before him. This was no accident; someone had snuffed out this poor woman's life with malice aforethought here in this grand, decaying hall. The game had truly begun with this gruesome discovery, and Detective Harding felt a familiar thrill of impending, difficult work.