Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95B3FAXEBDWRK7YXEYAV42

The grand ballroom lay eerily silent under the chandeliers' dim, dusty, forgotten, and ancient, peculiar glow. Detective Miles Corbin absolutely hated these incredibly rude, early morning calls disrupting his precious, peaceful slumber. A chill wind whipped around the ornate, sprawling mansion, rustling countless dead leaves across the stony path. Rain had just recently ceased, leaving glistening puddles to reflect the oppressive, grey, and unforgiving dawn sky. A uniformed officer, Sergeant Miller, stood waiting patiently by the massive, intricately carved oak front door. "Good morning, Detective," Miller offered, his voice a low, tired rumble, laced with palpable fatigue. Corbin merely nodded slowly, suppressing a yawn, already dreading the grim, unpleasant, tiresome tasks ahead. "It's upstairs," Miller continued, gesturing towards the grand, curving staircase looming in the massive, darkened foyer. Each heavy bootstep echoed ominously on the polished marble as they silently, slowly ascended the opulent steps. The lingering stench of stale perfume and something else, something metallic, grew stronger steadily now. They stopped before a bedroom door, slightly ajar, revealing faint, flickering yellow light from inside. Corbin pushed the ornate door fully open, his gaze sweeping across the opulent, silent room. An elderly woman lay sprawled grotesquely upon the plush, crimson carpet beside her expensive, antique bed. Her vacant eyes stared upward, reflecting nothing but the elegant ceiling's faded, ornate patterns. A silver letter opener, caked with drying crimson, protruded from her expensive, silk nightgown. Miles Corbin felt the familiar, cold knot tighten instantly in his weary, tired stomach.